Model Pet

Model Pet:

  A Short Story from Snapdragon

  by Jack Kardiac

  Copyright 2014 Jack Kardiac

  ISBN: 978-1-31161927-3

  Published by Mills Creative Minds, LLC, Lubbock TX

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publication, except as provided by USA copyright law.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.

  Disclaimer: The persons, places, things, and otherwise animate or inanimate objects mentioned in this novel are figments of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to anything or anyone living (or dead) is unintentional. The author humbly begs your pardon. This is a work of fiction, people.

  ~~~

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  Model Pet

  “Please don’t kill my cat.”

  I look up from the TV and stare at her. “What?”

  Megan stares back at me, frowning. “I’m serious, Jason. I’m only going to be gone for two days. That’s it. It’s a huge favor, I know…”

  “Wait. Slow down. Now, what are we talking about again?” I attempt to give her my full attention, but my eyes dart back to the television. They’re running yet another story about people’s pets being stolen, or running away. I snicker inside. Third time this week, and the news department still can’t settle on an angle.

  “Jason!”

  I jump in my chair. “What! I’m sorry… I’ll do it!” I glance around the room, trying to uncover a clue or a hint to get me out of her crosshairs. I find none. “Okay… where are you going again?”

  “Oh. My. Word.”

  Megan sighs deeply and grabs her purse off the table, avoiding eye contact. “Never mind. This was a mistake…” She rises to leave, and I dart ahead of her, intercepting her at the door.

  “No, wait, please. I’m sorry. Seriously, you can count on me, I just—” I shrug, looking as pathetic as I feel. “I… got distracted.” She takes a step back and shakes her head, clearly upset, but I can see she’s stifling a smirk. I still have a chance. “I’m sorry,” I plead. “I want to help. I do. Please?”

  “Fine,” Megan says, crossing her arms. “Do I have your full attention this time?”

  I stand erect and salute her. “Yes, ma’am, you do.”

  She grins. “No distractions?”

  “None,” I say, hitting the MUTE button on the remote.

  “Okay, then.”

  She leans in closer, and I try not to let on how incredibly intoxicating her perfume is. “I’m leaving this afternoon for a two-day conference in Las Vegas. My sister Mandy was going to look after him, but she’s sick, so…”

  “…so you need me to watch your cat?”

  “I know you’re busy with your work and you’re not really a pet lover, but it would seriously mean a lot to me.”

  “Ah, no worries,” I wave her off and pray my charming grin hides the lie. “I love animals.”

  Megan raises a brow. “Is that so?”

  I pray harder as I watch her eyes narrow. “Ahhhh-bsolutely. Love ‘em. Love, love, love.”

  “Well…okay, then.” She flashes a brilliant smile, and I try not to melt. “You’ve officially moved up to my new favorite neighbor.”

  “Sweet.”

  “And I promise I’ll cook you some of my fettuccini alfredo for dinner when I come back. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  “But…” She holds up a warning finger, head cocked to the side. “It’s not a date. Understand?”

  “Of course not. Just dinner between friends…neighbors!” I stammer, then raise a hopeful eyebrow. “Friendly neighbors?”

  “Jason…”

  “Kidding. Just kidding, of course…”

  “Look, I’ll bring Mister Friskies over at 4:30…”

  My face screws up. “Who?”

  “Mister Friskies.”

  “Mister…?”

  “Friskies!” Megan interrupts. “My cat.”

  My lips twitch as I try to stifle a laugh. “Your cat’s initials are M.F.?”

  “So?”

  I chuckle softly. “That’s pretty hilarious.”

  She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. “You know what? I think I should leave now,” she says, clearly reaching the point of exasperation.

  “Understood,” I say, opening the door. I honestly don’t know how I keep screwing up every single conversation I have with every single gorgeous woman I meet. It’s like I have a freaking superpower of pure suck.

  “See you this afternoon,” she says as she walks into the hallway before turning around. “Please, just…don’t kill my cat, okay?”

  “Megan. Come on! It’s two days! What could possibly happen?”

  ° ° °

  She drops off Mister Friskies two hours early, and I hate him from the moment we make eye contact.

  It’s not like he actually does anything to deserve it. I just can’t stand animals. They’re annoying and territorial, and they constantly pee and poop everywhere they feel the urge. Cats are the worst because they have their stinking litter boxes that you — the dominant species — have to clean out all the time. It’s insane.

  Plus, he just looks weird. All white with black paws and a bizarre black smudge right on his forehead. You’d have thought someone slapped their thumb on an ink pad and wiped it straight up the middle of his head, smudging an ugly streak from eyes to ears. It makes him look ridiculous, but I’m sure Megan finds it endearing.

  The things I do for the remote chance of love.

  She walks out to the parking lot below and we wave her good-bye, me propping up his paw like some kind of evil puppeteer. There’s little question how much we both hate it. As soon as her car is out of sight, I disappear back inside where I grab Mister Friskies by the throat to have a heart-to-heart chat.

  “Hey. Dummy. Let’s get one thing straight here, shall we? I don’t give a flying fig about you. Got it? I’m only doing this as a favor for your lady-friend. That is it. So stay out of my way, okay?” He tries to squirm away, but I have a decent grip, so he’s not going anywhere. His tail is twitching back and forth like a snake preparing to strike, and I hear him let out a low growl.

  I reach over with my other hand and start tapping him on his smudge spot. “Uh-uh. No, sir. You give me problems? I’ll freakin’ give you a bath in the toilet.” His eyes actually seem to widen as he stares up at me. “I promise you, if I have to? I will make that swirly happen, Mister F. So knock it off.” I drop him to the floor and nudge him toward the den with my shoe, making the meanest “don’t mess with me” face I can muster. He scampers away and then stops to turn around and scowl at me for a few seconds before slinking off to do Lord knows what.

  Two days with this furball? No sweat. I got this.

  ° ° °

  9:43 p.m., and I’m in the middle of watching Godzilla online when my cell phone rings. I glance at it and frown. It’s not Megan calling to check in on her furry friend. It’s Mr. Vancil. My boss.

  “This is Jason,” I answer, realizing how stupid it sounds immediately after. I mean, the guy’s calling my c
ell phone. He knows who it is.

  “Ridge? This is Mr. Vancil.”

  “Oh, hello, sir! How are y—”

  “Look,” he interrupts, “I don’t have much time, so let me get to the point.”

  “Okay…”

  “You’ve been working on the Mason model the past few weeks? The mansion?”

  “Ah… yes, sir! That’s correct! It’ll be done next Wednesday, just like I promised…”

  “I need it tomorrow morning. 7:00 a.m.”

  Something inside me dies. “Wait, what?” I say, trying hard to mask my panic. I have five more days! I was supposed to have five more days!!!

  “Mason called. He’s going to be in town tomorrow morning. Wants to see what we’ve come up with. So meet me at the office at…”

  “But, you don’t want to show him a half-finished model, do you?”

  “What? No, of course not!”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but there’s just no way it’ll be done by tomorrow! I mean, I just finished the west wing…” My mouth is starting to fill with cotton even as I feel the rest of my body break into a sweat. “The gazebo alone is gonna take me—”

  “The what?”

  “The gazebo?” I pause. “Um…the porch-like thing on the outside of—”

  “Hell, I know what a gazebo is, you moron!” Vancil barks. “I just didn’t hear you! Stop mumbling!”

  I bite my lip to keep from reacting. “Right. Okay, then. Well, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to call him back and tell him…”

  “Excuse me?”

  Man, this guy really needs to get his hearing checked. “I SAID,” a little louder, “YOU SHOULD CALL MR. MASON AND—”

  “Absolutely not! Are you insane?! This is our