Things Get Worse, Part 1

Optimists scare me. My mom is an optimist—a woman focused on the silver lining.

My theory is that every silver lining has a big, black cloud right in the middle.

Whenever things were as bad as they could get, Mom always came through with a cheerful song and a reminder that “Things could always be worse.” Being raised by such a lunatic is another reason I am this way, but that is a topic for another time.

Yes, things can get worse, and they usually do.

All the same, I should have remembered Mom’s incessant reminder when I was complaining about Scam and Con. Things could always be worse. So what if there are two evil cats in the house, bent on wrecking my peace of mind and vomiting in my shoes? Things could always be worse.

I was momentarily distracted by the silver lining of Con warming to my presence and didn’t even realize that the black cloud had doubled in size.

I came home from work late one night, creeping in like a burglar. Tiny was already in bed, so I took off my shoes at the door. I was just about to make a mental note to hide my shoes before Scam or Con filled them with unpleasant substances. That’s when I saw it—a beast so large and frightening, my heart skipped a beat.

One often reads of hearts skipping beats, but those accounts usually involve roses, chance encounters on rainy nights, or teenage vampires.

This was none of the above.

It was a monstrous cat with dark fur, and it moved slowly and steadily across the floor toward me. For a moment, I thought I was in the wrong house. No such luck. I was home.

“What are you?” I backed towards the door, “What have you done with Scam and Con?”

It crept closer. Scam and Con were nowhere in sight. From the size of the beast, I could only assume it had eaten them.

Right before the creature could devour me, too, Tiny appeared in her bathrobe and slippers.

“I see you met Attila,” she said, “Isn’t she a great big love-ball! She weighs seventeen pounds. Iddie biddie kiddie kat!”

The iddie biddie kiddie kat narrowed its eyes at me.

I found Scam and Con hiding in the garage.

As it turned out, Attila was the beloved feline child of Tiny’s boyfriend. She was old, very fuzzy, stubborn, and uneducated. I used to think Scam and Con were difficult to reason with, but at least they tried (successfully) to outwit me. Attila had no time or patience with games of wits. If she didn’t like your attitude, she sat on you.

Attila scared me to death.

I was in the kitchen one day when I heard a frantic meow for help. Con scurried up to me and started butting me with his head, mewing like a kitten. He led me, Lassie-style, to my room. Apparently, there was a burglar, a monster, or a big black cloud in my room.

It was empty. Con had foiled me again.

I grabbed the spray gun to give Con a taste of his own medicine. A split second before his execution by water, Attila stepped out from behind a chair. She walked slowly toward us.

Con hid behind me. If I hadn’t had the spray gun, we might have both been squashed and devoured.

Con expressed his gratitude by throwing up in my shoe. Then, he stationed himself in my room and refused to leave—ever.

To make matters worse, the house began to seem haunted. I caught glimpses of something pale gray in the corner of my eye sometimes. Or I felt unseen eyes watching me at all times. Did Attila have influence in the ghost world? I had a feeling the spray bottle would be ineffective against a ghost—even a feline one.

After several days of this, I came to an uneasy truce with Attila, who was apparently a permanent part of the household. I agreed not to go near her, and she agreed not to eat me. It was a good arrangement.

“I’m so happy to see how well Attila is adjusting,” Tiny said, “I’m glad she isn’t stressed out and sulking out of sight like Princess.”

Princess?

In the back of my mind, I heard my mom say, “Things could always get worse!” I had a feeling they were about to.

To be continued.