The day my new parents, Millie and Sven came to pick me up from my apartment that was being cleared out, all my roommates were already gone as well as most of the furniture.
Sven just kept on driving and driving as I watched the city lights and glamour disappear in the rearview mirror. I started to panic. I mean. Come on! Was I being rescued or kidnapped? Where would I ever wear my fancy gowns where we were heading? Was that a cow? I am not a boot slapping hootenanny gal. I come from high society. I am meant for jewels.
We turned into a long gravel driveway and pulled up next to a house.
It was made of wood.
Just as I had feared, it was not a castle.
I however became hopeful when I was greeted by a servant in a tuxedo who I assumed was there to carry in my bags.
But he tried to kill me.
"Tuna!" hollered this new mother of mine.
And then I was escorted down a flight of stairs, and she showed me my new 'temporary' home.
"This is just until you and Tuna become friends. He is a sweetheart of a kitty, really. You'll see."
Jesus.
I picked up the receiver and dialed the feline senior citizen hotline.
The operator told me that the black hole was out of their jurisdiction.
Nothing she could do.
Next, I called the Humane Society.
"Ma'am," she said. "Our records show you to be sixteen years of age. I do not believe you will have much of a chance of being adopted no matter what your bloodline is or how adorable you claim to be. Have you tried the feline senior citizen hotline?"
That was two and a half years ago.
I am still here.
And that no good black and white punk is still prancing around upstairs.
I admit Millie has done a lot with the place, considering my neighborhood is nothing but a collection of Christmas crap, homeless junk and a pile of dirty laundry next to the furnace.
I am taken up and into the sunshine whenever jerk boy goes outside or falls asleep behind a door that can be locked.
My meals are served on Millie's finest porcelain from Target and my private restroom is freshened daily; however, I would not set my watch to any of this.
"I am sorry I am late today, Grandma. Tuna was being uncooperative this morning."
I have a hard time listening to Millie's stories because, frankly, she is full of shit.
Take this tale for example.
"Grandma, from now on, I am going to do a thorough cleaning of your assisted living apartment once a week."
I stared at her through my cataracts.
"Really, I know you don't believe me, but this time I mean it."
I looked the other way.
"We'll call it girls' day. You can sit in the basket while I pull clothes out from under you and fold them. This way the pile over there," she points, "won't get so tall."
I yawned.
"I will sweep, vacuum and mop your restroom, dining area and lounge, between loads."
I feigned sleepiness.
"How does that sound? What day works best for you? Do you like Tuesday or Thursday? Let's go with Tuesday."
This was more than eight Tuesdays ago.
And then a Thursday ago or so, she drags a vacuum down the steps and opens the door.
"Voila!" she says.
I was curled up in my heated bed at the time and opened one eye to see her silhouette in the doorway.
Next thing I knew a ball came bouncing my way and stuck a furry face right into mine.
"Grandma, look who is here," says Millie.
Shit. It was an old roommate of mine, from back in my apartment in the city.
Lucy is tiny as far as dogs go, but she thinks she is big and tough.
I smacked her.
"Hey. Be nice!" yelled my mom. "We are going to have a girls' day, like we talked about. You two can catch up, while I clean."
Okay.
Where I come from one does not invite company over and have one's staff vacuum around one's feet and one's guests' feet, while having high tea. One has one's staff clean and buff one's place, spit shine the silver and then invite company, in order to put on airs like one does not live amidst furballs, litter remnants and spider webs.
Lucy. Always bouncing. Always happy. Always wagging, Lucy.
Jesus.
"Grandma how have you been?" Lucy says with her face right back in mine.
And then before I can begin to tell her of my many hardships, including residing downstairs from a murderer in a tux, she starts with her bragging.
"I go to a stylist now. Do you like my new haircut? My mom says it brings out my beautiful brown eyes and accents my high cheek bones. We live in an apartment. Well actually, it is a suite. Do you know what a suite is? You should see my new mom. She is gorgeous. Looks just like a movie star. And my dad is the strongest man in the world. We like to go boating and shopping. Oh. You have got to come over sometime and see my new bed. It matches my parents' bed. They both have log cabin frames. Ya! I work from home with my mom in our very own office upstairs. I guess I am staying here in the black hole with you, Tuna, Grandma and Grandpa for a couple days because they went camping. I could have gone with. But I just can't seem to be nice to other dogs. I hate them all. And honestly, I am not into tent camping. My mom isn't either, but she says that sometimes you got to do things for love. And this place they are going to has running water. I prefer high count cotton sheets like you always told me about. I sure hope I never fall in love. What did you say you have been up to?"
And then, she forgot to wait for me to answer, wandered off, circled around and fell asleep on the pile of laundry.
I looked at Millie whipping around the lounge area on the other end of a vacuum hose looking pleased with herself.
Jesus.
I pulled out my hearing aids.
"I won't be needing these for a couple days."
With any luck, I thought, while curling back up into a ball inside my heated bed, Tuna will take Lucy out.
And then I fell asleep with a big smile on my face.
