Bartholomew and
Geraldine had been dating each other for two weeks when Bartholomew
asked her to come to his house for dinner and meet Oliver, his cat.
Oliver felt he was responsible for Bartholomew since Bartholomew was
so young and without his parents. When his parents had died, which
was only two years earlier, he inherited the house, including Oliver.
He had been just two weeks away from his eighteenth birthday when
his parents died. By the time everything got sorted out by Aunt
Josephine and Uncle Jeffrey, Bartholomew had turned eighteen-- old
enough to inherit the house and live on his own if he wanted. If it
hadn’t been for Oliver, Bartholomew had no idea how he would have
survived the last two years. If it hadn’t been for Bartholomew,
Oliver knew exactly how he
would have survived.
Bartholomew put
the soup on the stove over a low flame and set the table. He walked
into the living room, grabbed newspapers, magazines and some books
that were lying on the furniture. He picked up some socks from the
floor and threw everything in the closet. He turned on some Dionne
Warwick music. Oliver followed Bartholomew around the house.
“Oh, Oliver, I
haven’t told you, but I have been seeing someone for the last two
weeks. Her name is Geraldine. She is a very nice woman who really
likes me. She will be here for dinner in about ten minutes.”
Oliver froze
mid-step. Bartholomew sat down on the sofa.
“Come here,
Oliver,” Bartholomew said as he patted the sofa cushion. Oliver
jumped up on the back of the sofa and buried his head against
Bartholomew’s.
“How come you
didn’t tell me earlier? You know I like to know what is going on
with you. You know I am responsible for you – purrrrrrrrr.”
“I wish my
parents were here,” said Bartholomew. He sank further back into
the sofa.
Oliver said
nothing and climbed down into Bartholomew’s lap. He let
Bartholomew rub his back, which made them both feel better. Oliver
was settling in for a long back rub when suddenly all of his senses
went on alert. He stood up in Bartholomew’s lap, his back arched.
He looked at the door and let out a low growl and a hiss.
“Bartholomew,
there is something out there! Something dangerous! Something
unnatural! We should go hide in the closet.”
The door bell
rang. Bartholomew stood up, dumping Oliver onto the floor.
“No
Bartholomew, don’t answer it!”
“What’s wrong
with you Oliver? Stop your hissing,” said Bartholomew as he walked
to the door.
Oliver hid behind
the edge of the sofa where he would be available, if needed, to
protect Bartholomew.
The door opened
and there stood what Oliver thought was a true-to-life monster. He
bolted towards the door, “NO BARTHOLOMEW! STAND BACK! I WILL SAVE
YOU!”
“OLIVER!”
yelled Bartholomew as he closed the door on Geraldine. “Don’t
make me put you in the bedroom! Now you behave for Geraldine.”
Bartholomew opened the door again.
“I am so sorry.
I don’t know why my cat is acting so strange. Come on in
Geraldine.”
“Thank you,
Bartholomew,” Geraldine replied with a smile and a very wet peck on
his cheek.
After Bartholomew
closed the door, he turned to show Geraldine to the dining room and
found Oliver backed into a corner, his fur on end.
“Now stop it!”
said Bartholomew to Oliver.
Geraldine
smiled at Oliver. “That’s surprising. Most pussies like me,”
said Geraldine.
“I
don’t know what’s got into him,” excused Bartholomew.
Geraldine
and Bartholomew moved to the kitchen to make sandwiches and salad.
Oliver found it difficult to relax. He decided he needed to be in a
safer place, but nearby. He jumped up onto a chair and then to the
top of the china hutch. He lay quietly up there, watching, waiting
in case he would have to strike.
Bartholomew
and Geraldine entered the dining room and put their salad and
sandwiches on the table.
“So
is this like the appetizers or some kind of California thing?”
Geraldine asked as she looked doubtfully at the food on her plate.
Bartholomew
said nothing but walked over to the hutch, opened a door and pulled
out a gift for Geraldine.
“Here,
Geraldine. Here is a gift for you.”
Geraldine’s
yellow eyes grew large and her hands immediately reached for it.
“Oh,
Sweetypie, you didn’t have to get me anything,” Geraldine said
without taking her eyes off the gift. She quickly removed the
wrapping.
“Ohhhhhh!”
Geraldine squealed when she saw a box from a jewelry store.
“Oh,
Baby, YOU are so
sweet,” she said with a great big smile.
She
opened up the box. Oliver stuck his head out from the top of the
hutch to see what Bartholomew had bought her.
“Aaaahhhh!”
Geraldine screamed. “Oh, I love them! I love you! How did you
know? These are so
precious,” Geraldine said as she held the large gold earrings up to
her ears and looked at her reflection in the glass door of the hutch.
“How
did I know?!” Bartholomew asked. “You only talked about them for
twenty minutes the other day, but I figured if that’s what my baby
wants, that’s what my baby gets.”
Oliver’s
hair stood on end and his claws dug into the top of the hutch. He
knew Bartholomew shouldn’t be spending that much money on someone
as monstrous as Geraldine.
“Come
here, Baby,” Geraldine said to Bartholomew. “I am going to give
you the biggest kiss.” Bartholomew and Geraldine stood with arms
wrapped around each other and they kissed. Oliver could not bear to
watch. It was a long, loud and sloppy kiss. Not only was Oliver
mad, now he was repulsed.
“Mmmm,
you taste so good,” said Geraldine. “You know what I wanna do
with you now, Bart?”
“What
do you want to do to me, Gerald…deen?” replied Bartholomew
BART!
Oliver couldn’t believe his ears. Bartholomew never lets anyone
call him Bart. Why was Bartholomew so possessed by her? Why
couldn’t he see how bad she was for him? Oliver peered over the
side of the hutch to see the two of them still embracing, still
kissing. Geraldine reached down and grabbed Bartholomew’s right
hand and placed it on her breast. With her right hand she reached
down and began to rub Bartholomew’s crotch.
“MMMEEEEEOOOOOWWWWW!!!!!”
Oliver leapt from the hutch, claws extended. He landed on
Geraldine’s head and almost fell off, pulling all of Geraldine’s
bushy hair with him.
“OLIVER!”
shouted Bartholomew.
Oliver
tried to swat at Geraldine from on top of her head, but her hair was
so full of knots and snags that his claws became entangled.
Bartholomew tried to hold onto Geraldine so she wouldn’t fall over
while also trying to grab Oliver. Geraldine grabbed onto
Bartholomew’s belt and continued rubbing his crotch.
“Geraldine,”
cried Bartholomew over the loud meows and hisses coming from Oliver,
“you have a cat attacking your head!”
“Oh
Bart, I want you so bad,” Geraldine said, barely audible above the
sound of furniture moving and plates and glasses crashing.
Then
the smoke alarm went off and Bartholomew and Oliver noticed the smell
of burnt soup coming from the kitchen.
“Oh
no!” said Bartholomew as he tried to rush to the kitchen. But
Geraldine had a strong grasp of his belt and her hand was still
between his legs, so he fell to the floor.
Geraldine
was on him in a second trying to undo his belt with a crazed cat in
her hair, alarms going off and smoke starting to fill the room.
Bartholomew threw her off, got to his feet, and ran to the kitchen.
He grabbed the pot off the stove and threw it in the sink. He turned
off the burner. He scrambled onto the counter and was reaching up to
turn off the alarm when Geraldine grabbed Bartholomew around the legs
- her face at the same level as his crotch. She murmured “Oh,
Bart,” and buried her face into him.
Despite
all of the chaos, Bartholomew suddenly had clarity. He calmly turned
off the alarm. He reached down, grabbed Oliver around the stomach
and helped him get his claws unstuck from Geraldine’s mass of hair.
Bartholomew threw Oliver into the dining room. Oliver immediately
resumed his station on top of the hutch.
Bartholomew
looked down at Geraldine, who was licking the zipper on his jeans and
making some kind of animal noises. He carefully moved Geraldine out
of the way so he could get off the counter. She wrapped her arms
around him and started kissing his neck.
Bartholomew
pulled her close and whispered into her ear, “Geraldine, did you
notice my cat attacking your head?”
“Yes,
I did,” Geraldine said in a pouty kind of baby voice. “And you
were so bwave and stwong to come to my wescue. Let me reward you,
Bart.”
“Geraldine,”
Bartholomew said, peeling her off one arm at a time, “my name is
Bartholomew.”
“But,
but…,” said Geraldine.
“Maybe
we should have this dinner another time. I need to air out the house
and calm down my cat. Then I need to clean up this mess. Let’s
try this again later, okay?”
“OK,”
she said as she rubbed his nipples through his t-shirt. “You’re
so smart. Where’s my earrings?”
She
found them on the floor, picked them up and walked to the door. She
turned and beckoned to Bartholomew with her finger. He walked over
to her.
“You
call me. Maybe you can take me out for steak next time. Maybe see a
show.” She gave him a peck on the cheek and walked out the door.
Bartholomew
turned to witness a disaster site: dining room table and chairs
knocked over, glasses, plates and food on the floor and smoke still
hanging against the ceiling. He began to clean up, and then he heard
Oliver on top of the hutch.
“And
you!” Bartholomew said. “You! What got in to you? Your
behavior was totally insane. You are an insane cat!” Oliver
leapt down and skulked over to the sofa.
After
cleaning the dining room, Bartholomew finally sat down with Oliver.
Bartholomew reached out his hand and began to pet him.
“Purr
- didn’t I warn you something dangerous was at the door? Why don’t
you listen to me? You shouldn’t be seeing her. She is shallow,
just wants you to spend money on her and is obviously in heat all
the time.”
“Oh,
Oliver,” said Bartholomew. “Sometimes I am so confused. I know
you don’t like her, but she calls me sweet names and says nice
things about me all the time. And I don’t have anybody else. I’m
twenty years old, and I am still a virgin. I know that’s not that
bad, but I couldn’t even imagine being close to someone the last
two years while I was dealing with my parents’ deaths. But now I
want someone. I’m tired
of being alone.”
Oliver
flicked his tail and wrapped it around Bartholomew’s arm.
“You
have me,” he purred.
“I’m
so glad I have you Oliver. I don’t know what I would have done
these last two years without you. But…you’re—you’re not a
person. You’re not a girl.”
Oliver
crawled into Bartholomew’s lap wishing to resume the backrub that
was so rudely interrupted.
“Well,
we could have you spayed,” Oliver said cattily.
__________________________________________________________
Written by Mark Granlund
Illustrations by Mary Esch
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