Humdrum

gI find myself with too much time and too little to do with Rassmussen away.  I’ve considered cleaning out the basement of his roadkill collection.  I even threatened him with it when he left.  It didn’t help matters.  He told me it was replaceable and to do whatever I liked, which immediately took all the fun out of it.  I’m sure he said it because he knew it would.

Now, I spend the time I would have spent cleaning up after him helping Mrs. Meadows with her cats.  Lately, her collection of stray cats has ballooned, and she isn’t as young as she used to be.  She needs help.  I guess I need to feel helpful, so I clean cages, trim claws, and work the cat adoptions at the local PetsShop.  Last week, we found homes for two gray long hairs and a litter of calico kittens.

I don’t hear from Rassmussen as much as I used to.  I continue to write him and send care packages.  His lady friend leaves letters for him on my front porch.  At least I assume it’s the same woman he met the night I followed him.  I never see her, but the handwriting on the envelopes remind me of something from a wedding invitation, complete with elaborate flourishes and curls.

The letters just magically appear.  I forward them.  I’d feel guilty if I didn’t, but I don’t like it.  The least she could do is introduce herself.  To his credit, Rassmussen hasn’t written her back, not once.  Then again, I so seldom hear from him, and I am the one who forwards his taxidermy magazines, his favorite snacks, and a supply of his favorite boxer shorts.  He wrote the other briefs chafed.

I’d think he would appreciate my efforts and write more, but here I sit with nothing to remind me of him but the lingering odors wafting up from the basement.  For all I know, he won’t come back.  He could just as easily return to his homeland in Europe, or go directly to her.  After all, a man has his needs.  Then again, he may find a woman and a keeper as easy to replace as his roadkill.

Can you imagine their children?  The children of a gargoyle and a human?  Can gargoyles even father children?  I never thought to ask.  I bet she would know.  Besides, it is none of my business.  I’m just his keeper.  She’s his woman.  I’m in charge of clean underwear.  She’s in charge of satisfying his libido.

I’d say I’m getting screwed in this deal, but then . . . perhaps I shouldn’t go there.

I should close.  Tomorrow is another cat adoption day.  I promised I would give the kittens a bath and blow-dry them before the big event.  It isn’t what I want to be doing, but it is better than this, this waiting.

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