Writing by Carol Mays
103 Crazy Ideas for Surviving Suburbia
Mortimer
Mortimer, a witch's cat, comes to the aid of Narice, a woman who is being severely abused by her husband. When she wishes her husband dead, she gets more than she bargained for. BUY NOW or listen to Carol Mays read an excerpt.
CHAPTER ONE
“Nar-ese, where the hell are you!”
Narice Whiteworth knew all the different tones of her husband, Gunner Whiteworth, and this one meant he might hit her. “Asshole,” she muttered under her breath.
“Nar-ese!! Don’t make me call you again! Come a-runnin’!”
Narice knew from all her miserable years of marriage that she would suffer if she didn’t answer his call by the third holler. Suffering could be simple, like the silent treatment. It could also be broken bones, missing teeth, and bruises lasting months. The emotional scars would last a lifetime.
She had been ironing the bed sheets and knew this could take a while, so she yanked the cord out of the wall. Nervously, she shut the blinds to darken the room. She peaked through the keyhole to see if he was in the hall.
No, he wasn’t there.
She clasped the doorknob with one hand and braced her other hand against the wall. The settling house caused the door to jam. It scraped open. Baptized by bits of sawdust, she scurried down the stairs as if she were still twenty-four years old.
“Nar-ese!” Asshole’s voice echoed in the small, closet-sized bathroom at the foot of the stairs.
Her voice used to be sweet and cheerful when she was younger; now, it was just flat. “What do you need?”
He answered sharply, “I’m out of toilet paper! Why can’t you keep this bathroom stocked?!”
Gunner went through toilet paper like a drug addict with an expensive habit. In three steps and three seconds, Narice darted ten feet to a small cupboard and retrieved two rolls of extra-soft toilet paper, lightly woodsy scented, from the mammoth-sized package.
Seated on the toilet, Gunner slid the pocket door open with one arm stretched to the side. A sewer-like stench wafted through the air, and Narice gagged audibly.
“What’s your problem? It’s not that bad!”
Narice knew when to keep silent. She handed him the two rolls. He slammed the door shut with a THUD!
She waited dutifully outside the bathroom. The sound of water splashing against the walls signaled that he was finally done. He opened the door, brushed past her, and darted upstairs to his office, where he conducted his kingly business affairs. Narice, from day one of their marriage, was never allowed to be privy to the bills or any financial decisions. That was her first mistake, she realized as she entered the bathroom and cleaned up after Asshole.
She flicked on the fan, which was no match for Asshole’s bowels. She poured bleach down the toilet. Her life sucked! Like so many women, she married the wrong man, going from her father’s house to her husband’s house at the age of twenty-four. She dutifully raised and homeschooled two children who grew up and became well-paid professionals who never visited. And now, at fifty-seven years old, Narice was continuing her life without parole in the church’s prison known as Marriage, maximum security—cell block: the suburbs in the southern part of the United States: Texas.
After disinfecting the toilet and sink for the millionth time, she imagined she had a different life. She often fantasized, but this vision felt remarkably different. She owned an old, abandoned house in the middle of a freezing -cold – nowhere. But happiness resided in her heart – not pain and misery. A talking black cat accompanied her by a warm, peaceful fireplace.
The doorbell wrecked her daydream. It rang aggressively three times in a row.
“Git the door!” Asshole yelled from upstairs. Narice dried her hands and peeked out the window, although she knew who it was.
The sun shone brightly through the trees. She sighed at the beauty. Then she saw Asshole’s cousin, Bullet Whiteworth, whom she thought of as “Dumbass.” He had his own key to let himself in, but he liked to make Narice work.
She opened the door and plastered the best smile she could. Gunner and Bullet looked alike. Both had straight hair, now balding everywhere, brown eyes, a beer gut, and stood about five foot nine. Asshole, once handsome when he was younger, now existed as an abusive, privileged, white male lump of dough. Dumbass always carried a stupid expression that now made him look like a wanted serial killer.
Bullet pushed her aside and darted upstairs. “Hey, cusin! What’s new? Haven’t seen you since, ahh, hmm. Let me think. Yesterday, at the Christian Brothers’ Breakfast!”
They both laughed. Narice thought their laughter sounded evil.
“Let’s go downstairs!” Gunner said. “We can watch Conservative U News!” They stomped down the bare wooden stairs with Gunner leading the way as he always did. “You ready for that Lock and Load meeting?” he asked over his shoulder.
Bullet furrowed his eyebrows. Dumbass’s normal state: confused. “What?”
“You know. The Pioneers’ Meeting about gun-rights preservation. It’s on Thursday.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot. I’ll be there. We can’t have the liberals taking away our guns. It’s Un-American!”
Narice’s stomach churned, and she went to the kitchen because she knew what Gunner’s next demand would be.
“Nah-ree-se!” Git us a B—”
Before he could say, ‘beer,’ Narice stood in front of them with two opened, ice-cold bottles. They grabbed them roughly from her hands without saying a word. Asshole nestled snuggly in his camouflage recliner while Bullet tried to get comfortable on the old, worn brown couch.
On the television, police clubbed long-haired protesters. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Gunner said. “Get those liberals.”
“This was on TV at the feed store,” Bullet said. “I was in the checkout line when I saw it. You remember Tyler, Charlie’s son? Well, he mounted a TV to the wall over the cash register. It’s tuned to only Christian conservative news stations so that the customers will get the truth about what’s going on.”
Gunner grunted. “That boy is a genius.” He looked at Bullet, who was still trying to get comfortable on the couch. “Go ahead, make yourself at home.”
Bullet leaned back and propped his muddy boots on the coffee table. Narice muttered under her breath when she was safely out of their hearing range, “great! Another thing for me to clean.” Truck and beer commercials zipped quickly one after another. ‘Then the station’s 1940’S style theme song played: “red, white, and blue and conservative you!”
A tall, sixty- year- old, blue-eyed, blond-haired man came on screen. He wore a black suit, white shirt, and American flag tie. He stood in front of the White House. His voice shook with excitement.
“Good afternoon, Conservative U viewers! We have some late-breaking news! The Republicans, with the help of the Supreme Court, have just made it illegal to have an abortion anywhere in the United States. There will be no exceptions of any kind! Women or girls are expected to give birth no matter the circumstances. If their life is in danger, it is better to die than have an abortion.”
“Now that is good news!” Gunner said between gulps of beer. Bullet nodded and belched. “Well, I better git back to the ranch. Just wanted to stop by and brighten your day.”
He got up and left, slamming the door shut.
“Git, me another beer! I’m celebratin’!” Asshole’s voice echoed throughout the house. Narice looked in the fridge.
Empty. This was bad. Very bad.
“You just remember how I told you to vote, Narice! Good girls always vote Republican! Hey! Where’s that beer!”
He jumped out of his recliner and sprinted into the kitchen. Few things motivated him to move so quickly.
Shaking, Narice broke the news. “We’re out.”
Asshole slapped her so hard she lost her balance and hit her head on the steel double-door refrigerator. She was out - colder than the beer she had just served.
Follow Mays Publishing
NEVINS, by Carol Mays, tells the story of Nevins, a proper domesticated short-hair cat. He is no ordinary talking cat. He is tech-savvy and wealthy. He has a staff. Even so, the world is prejudiced. A lot of people don't like the idea of a cat adopting a human
Chapter One: Nevins and Clay
Nevins Davenport, a proper British domesticated cat, sat on the windowsill of his three-bedroom two-bath white bungalow house as he always did at three in the afternoon. His tail swished left and right as he watched the children play with the various playground equipment at the Botanical Gardens. The sun sparkled on his black fur, creating a beautiful blue hue.
Today was obviously one of those special days, because the tables were set with bright blue plastic tablecloths, which kept blowing off the tables and interrupting the mothers’ conversation. Nevins watched them desperately chase the cloths. The wind blew one over a mother, making her look like a blue ghost. Nevins chuckled. Finally, the mothers anchored them back on the tables using an ice chest and treat bags. Red, yellow, orange, green, and purple balloons tied with string and tethered to a small tree danced in the wind.
On one side of the field, two boys were throwing a ball to each other and when one of them caught it, the other would yell, “Good catch!” Near the swing set, one girl hung upside down from a bar, her long brown hair blowing like fringe in the wind. Others played hide-and-seek, darting behind large rocks and tree trunks, then running fast to get to base which was a giant metal pirate’s treasure chest.
Nevins found the human customs endlessly fascinating, but, one thing in particular caught his keen, yellow-green cat eyes. A young boy stayed by himself in the clubhouse and never played with the other children. Come to think of it Nevins had seen him in the clubhouse before.
The clubhouse, the latest edition to the Gardens, looked like a miniature pirate ship. Volunteers had spent weeks building it using recycled materials. Four, heavy eight-foot fence posts were sunk in the ground and an old red wooden row boat was perched in the middle attached to the posts by sturdy iron bolts. Recycled pine wood was used for the walls, door, and roof. Tree-log steps with a wooden pole railing led up to the pirate’s clubhouse door. A black and white skull and crossbones flag hung from a plastic pole at the front of the boat.
The boy sat alone watching the other children play. He didn’t interact with anyone and seemed invisible to everyone.
“Ok kids, come sit down!” one of the mothers yelled. “The pizza is almost here. Let’s light up the cupcakes and sing happy birthday.”
Nevins watched this strange custom. He thought humans did the strangest things, but this was the strangest. He wanted to get a closer look and smell, so he jumped off the windowsill and went out his cat door which was a small square hole covered by a thick plastic flap attached to the heavy oak front door.
As he emerged on the big front porch, a red Pizza World van with a giant globe on the van’s roof pulled up to the curb and stopped. It played music just like an ice cream truck. Nevins thought it sounded like the music box his human used to play every night. A teenager wearing a red t-shirt with a globe on it that said PIZZA WORLD hopped out of the truck. He carried three large boxes to the children and placed them in the middle of the table. A frenzy of arms reached into the boxes, grabbing slices. They ate fast and talked with their mouths full. Nevins thought the children devoured the pizza like a pack of wolves. No self-respecting cat would eat like that, he thought as he twitched his whiskers.
Deciding to stay on the porch and watch this show, he jumped on the old wicker rocker which had been his human’s favorite place to sit. The momentum of his jump caused the rocker to move back and forth. Nevins had to balance, which is no problem for a cat. He sniffed the air. There was a smell of rain mixed in with the heavy scent of pepperoni pizza. A gusting wind blew his black fur forward. Bad weather was coming.
“Presents time!” The mother announced, her arms loaded with brightly colored packages.
“Yes!” the birthday boy exclaimed, shoving an unopened box of pizza and a cupcake box to a bench. Then he jumped on top of the table and sat down in the middle with his legs crossed. Unbelievable! Nevins thought to himself. My human would never have tolerated such bad behavior!
As the birthday boy ripped the wrapping paper off the gifts at a frenzied pace, the wind blew a blue plastic tablecloth over the box of pizza and cupcakes. The boy in the clubhouse, who was watching the whole scene from the pirate ship’s window, smiled when he saw the cloth cover the food. Why?
The wind kicked up fiercely, and it ripped the paper. Nevins’s ears went back with every RIP, SCRUNCH, and SWOOSH of the paper. A small fragment of brightly colored paper blew through the air and landed on Nevins’s shrubs. How annoying.
The parents rushed in to pick up their children. Each was given a party bag, but one fell under the table. Nobody noticed— except the boy in the clubhouse. The birthday boy’s mother frantically swooped up as much of the wrapping paper as possible and threw it in the park’s trash can. But she forgot the pizza and cupcakes covered by the tablecloth. Then, she and her son carried the gifts to their brand new black minivan and loaded up the loot in a side door that opened with just a push of a button. The birthday boy ran back to the tree with the balloons, untethered them, and scurried back to the minivan. They drove off in a hurry.
The boy in the clubhouse carefully walked barefoot down the log stairs. His blue jeans were torn on both knees so that each step he took down the stairs made his knees protrude from the holes. He wore a light green button down shirt, which camouflaged him whenever he sat in the grass. He walked over to the bench and picked up the pizza box and cupcake box that had been covered by the tablecloth. He carefully placed them on the table, and ate slowly, chewing the pizza and wiping his mouth with a spare clean napkin. That is what I call proper manners. Exactly how a proper housecat would eat. I like this human.
The boy carried the pizza and cupcakes up to the clubhouse and then came down the log steps and retrieved the treat bag from under the table. He dumped it out. Two pieces of bubble gum, one black plastic comb, a pack of playing cards, some sunglasses and a chocolate bar spilled across the table.
“Score!” the boy exclaimed, hastily stuffing the loot back in the bag. He then ran toward the creek.
Satisfied that the boy was okay, Nevins hopped off his rocker and back into the house. The next morning he woke to a strong wind blowing leaves against the windows, and he started worrying. How is that boy in the clubhouse doing? Without even washing himself to make sure each strand of fur lay back perfectly, he jumped through his cat door and onto the front porch. The boy sat all alone in the clubhouse. He was wearing the same torn jeans and green shirt. I can’t stand this. Bad weather is coming. How do humans coax a cat out of a tree? Hmm. I know! With food!
He went back inside to his computer. What do humans eat for breakfast? They are not like cats who eat the same thing. He remembered his human used to like a burger place, but he could not remember the name of it. So, he did what any intelligent cat would do—he looked in the history section of the computer and found the name of the burger place: Wonder Burger. It made Nevins sad to see it, because it was his human’s favorite place to eat. With a heavy heart he pressed the button and typed the order. He paid for it using his human’s credit card. It would be delivered to the house.
While he waited, he pressed the button of the dispenser for the dry cat crunchies which he ate every morning. He loved the mixture of chicken, beef and fish flavor. His fountain circulated cold water. I love the way this water stays fresh.
The wind gusted even more. Hmm… Now, how do I get the boy here? Do I go over to the clubhouse and speak to him? Do I coax him over to the house by meowing? I’ll just have to wing it!
He jumped through the cat door and sprinted across the street. The cars always drove so fast that he had to be careful. One time he started across the street and a car sped up and tried to hit him! Humans could be so rude at times.
But he wasn’t going to let that bad experience stand in the way of trusting the boy. After all, how many cats have scratched a human? He used all his cat skills to sneak up to the clubhouse.
“Meow.” The boy did not hear him. So, he let out his most pitiful, “Meow! Mew! Meow!”
The boy poked his head out of the window and looked down. His sandy-blonde hair is a bit overgrown for most humans.
The boy smiled. “A cat! I love cats!”
Music to my ears! This is all I need to hear to convince me I have chosen the right human.
The boy scurried down the stairs and bent down. “Ahh. You are cute. You can live with me here if you want.” The boy held out his hand for Nevins to smell it. Then, the boy petted him lightly on the head. Nevins looked at the boy’s brown eyes.I wonder how old he is? He is very thin and small for a human.
Nevins tried to think of all the important things to remember about humans. He was impressed that the boy did not try to pick him up. Cats consider that very rude. The only thing ruder would be comparing a cat to a dog. That was the rudest thing in the world!
“Would you like to live with me in my clubhouse?”
Nevins was not sure this was the right time to speak to the boy. “Meow.”
The boy laughed. “O.k. I’ll take that as a maybe. Wait there.” The boy went up the stairs—barefoot—two at time and sprinted down with some of the leftover pizza. “I wish I had some fish for you, but this is all I have, and it’s pretty dried out.” Nevins politely ate a few bites.
The roar of a blue convertible sports car rounded the corner. The radio was playing some loud boom, boom, boom type of music that disturbed Nevins. The driver pulled over to text something, and the noise of the radio was so loud that Nevins wanted to press his ears all the way against his head. But the annoying music stopped abruptly, and a piercing loud beep was followed by an announcer’s urgent voice.
“We interrupt this program to give you the latest emergency broadcast!” The announcer’s voice was anxious. He stumbled over his words and took a deep breath. Nevins noticed it, but he was not sure humans could detect it. All he did know at that moment is that for sure trouble was coming and fast.
“The tropical storm is now upgraded to a category 5 hurricane. Hurricane Hector is expected to hit land tomorrow at 12 p.m. All citizens in the Corpus Christi area should evacuate immediately, especially if they are in low-lying areas.”
The sports car sped off and the voice of the announcer faded.
Jumping tuna! What do I do? Take in this young boy and reveal that I can speak?
“We’re in trouble little cat,” the boy said. “I only have this clubhouse to live in and I don’t think it will hold in a big storm. There is no way I am going to a shelter. There is an abandoned house a block away, but I’m afraid it may not hold either. Then, there is an old building four blocks from here.”
Nevins could not stand it any longer. He sat up and spoke in his British accent. “You can stay with me.”
The boy did not speak for a long time. He just stared at Nevins. “Oh, I think I need to eat something, little cat. I think I just heard you talk to me.”
Nevins spoke again. “You did. And, my name is Nevins. Nevins Davenport. I live just across the street.”
The boy fainted. Jumping tuna! Nevins thought frantically to himself. Now what do I do? He began to lick the boy’s face and slowly he regained consciousness.
The boy lay flat on the ground just staring at Nevins. Suddenly, a Wonder Burger car pulled up to Nevins’s house and a woman jumped out of the car carrying a small bag. Oh, this is a mess! I flat forgot about ordering the breakfast.
Nevins scurried quickly across the street and positioned himself behind a bush. The woman rang the doorbell. Nevins cleared his throat then said, “Just leave the bag on the small table next to the rocker. I included your tip with my credit card payment.”
The woman smiled, placed the bag on the table, and left. Nevins ran back across the street. The boy was now sitting straight up. “Little cat, did you just speak to me and tell me your name is Nevins Davenport?”
Nevins sighed. “Yes. And, I am trusting you.”
The boy looked at him and smiled. “Thank you. My name is Clay. I’m an orphan. My parents died in a car accident a year ago. I lived with my grandmother on Elm Street, but she passed away a month ago.”
Nevins interrupted, “Listen, I want to hear your whole story, but we need to get to my house.”
Clay nodded. “Let me just get my things.” He ran up the stairs and came down with a small white plastic grocery bag. “Ok, let’s go,” Clay said as he jumped down the last two steps. They quickly crossed the street and walked up the steps to the front porch.
“The Wonder Burger bag is for you,” Nevins said. “I ordered you some breakfast. Come inside and we can talk.” He stood up on his hind legs, reached with his two front paws, pulled the handle down, and opened the heavy oak door.
Follow Mays Publishing
Nevins thinks things are going to finally get back to normal after the court trial over custody of Clay. But the problems are just starting in this much-anticipated sequel
Chapter One
Nevins Davenport, a proper British domesticated cat, yawned and curled up at the foot of his bed where he liked to rest. It was midnight. Time for a long sleep. He closed his eyes and counted tuna jumping. Ah, how relaxing.
This night was like any other. Life had settled into a pleasant routine after winning the court battle for custody of Clay. The annoying newsmen had stopped coming around, and Clay was doing well in school.
As each tuna jumped, Nevins felt calmer and soon he dozed off. Nothing could rouse him from his peaceful slumber.
Except for that persistent scratching at the front door.
“Scr…scr…scratch!”
One eye popped open. What was that?
“Enough!” he whispered annoyed, jumping off the bed. His tail swished vigorously left to right as he briskly padded into the living room being careful not to wake up Clay. His claws lightly tapped the wood floors. I wonder if I should call Robert? No, there’s no time! I will deal with this myself! I can’t understand why my house is always the target of a burglar! The last time I had to fight an intruder was after the hurricane. I clawed that guy. I am so annoyed with this that I may bring on a full cat fight! Doesn’t anyone know you should always let a sleeping cat Purr?!
He crept up to his cat door, carefully unlatched it, and peeked out. A gust of wind blew in his face. The smell of cedar trees mixed with rain filled the air. He saw two black, furry legs and a bushy silver and black tail.
It was Reginald the Raccoon with Pearl the cat standing on his shoulders trying to ring the doorbell!
“What are you two doing?”
Pearl gingerly hopped down landing on all four legs with a thump.
“We were trying to ring your doorbell,” Reginald explained. “But Pearl kept clawing over it.”
Nevins’s whiskers twitched. “Are you serious?! It is midnight. I know you both stay up at night but this is ridiculous.”
Reginald took a deep breath and let it out slowly before saying, “Nevins, we have a big problem, and we need your help.”
Figuring he needed a comfy chair to hear their problem, Nevins hopped out of his cat door onto the porch of his white bungalow house. The cool wind blew in bursts scents of oak and cedar trees mixed with green grass and a refreshing hint of rain. The smell comforted Nevins as he jumped up on his old, white rocker that belonged to his late human, Walter. It was at times like these that he missed him the most. “O.k. What is the problem?”
Follow Mays Publishing
Nevins 3: The Ark
Chapter One
Plucky
Nevins Davenport, a proper British domesticated cat, lay in bed trying to get some sleep when he heard the throaty squawk.
“Jumping tuna! Jumping tuna!”
It was Plucky, Mrs. Peabody’s parrot!
Nevins hated being disturbed on a Saturday morning, especially at 6 AM. The most annoying thing about Plucky was that he was imitating Nevins’s favorite expression.
“Jumping tuna! Jumping tuna!”
A series of squawks followed.
Nevins jumped out of bed and scurried to the kitchen, where Robert stood over the coffee pot. “Can you hear that?” Nevins asked.
Robert nodded. “Yeah, I don’t know what to make of it.”
Nevins’s temper flared. “Robert, there is a noise ordinance in this city! We can’t live with that!”
Robert, who always tried to defuse any potential fight between Nevins and Mrs. Peabody, just nodded in agreement. “Maybe the parrot will calm down after a while.”
“You can’t be serious! She taught that bird my favorite line, ’jumping tuna,’ just to irritate me! Well! I’ll show her!” Nevins pulled out his cell phone from the kitchen drawer and was about to dial the police non-emergency number when suddenly, the parrot began to squawk, “I’m sick! I’m sick! I’m sick! Need help! Need help!”
Nevins froze. Robert and Nevins looked at each other. Clay, now twelve years old, walked into the kitchen, followed by Harold. Clay yawned, “I can’t sleep with that bird.”
Harold added in his cockney accent, “I’m no expert on parrots, but that last bit sounded a bit desperate.”
Robert furrowed his brow. “Maybe I should go over there and see if everything is all right.”
Everyone followed Robert out of the kitchen, through the dining and living room, and out the front door. They all stood on the porch. The thick, sticky humidity clung to them immediately. July is always unbearably hot and humid in the summer in Corpus Christi, Texas. It just gets worse until about November. Daylight had not yet crept in—darkness enveloped them. The smell of freshly cut lawns filled the air. The wind blew in the direction of Mrs. Peabody’s house and swirled around them with the added scent of roses.
The parrot squawked again, “Jumping tuna! I’m sick! Need help!”
Robert put on his flip-flops and ran down the porch stairs. Nevins, realizing that this may be serious, followed him. Clay was about to tag along, but Nevins stopped him. “Harold and Clay, it would be best if both of you stayed in the house.” Nevins noticed the rebellion on their faces. He had to think fast. “Look. We need to split up because we don’t know what we’re dealing with.” Perfect move on Nevin’s part. Clay and Harold exchanged knowing looks of agreement and silently went back inside the house. Nevins turned and ran to catch up with Robert, who was already knocking on Mrs. Peabody’s front door.
“There’s no answer,” Robert said, ringing the doorbell. “I may have to break the door down.” He tested the locked door.
“Jumping tuna! Don’t do that!” Nevins exclaimed. “Look, I’ll just run around the side where that annoying parrot is perched and see what I can find out. Stay here!”
Nevins ran to the side of the house. He stopped just under the window. He was older and admittedly much heavier. And now, out of breath from running. His vet had been on him for the last few years to lose weight. He hated to admit that his weight was that of a human child—twenty-two pounds! But he knew a cat can always jump—or keep trying.
He made it up the windowsill on the third attempt. Not bad, Nevins thought. He pressed his face against the metal screen of the open window. The parrot, startled, flapped its wings vigorously and squawked. Nevins ignored the bird and waited patiently for his keen cat eyes to adjust—for only a cat could truly see in such low lighting.
A dark figure, Mrs. Peabody, lay motionless on the floor.
Nevins yelled, “Dial 911! Emergency! Jumping tuna emergency!”
Robert was already giving directions to the dispatch operator when Nevins rejoined him on Mrs. Peabody’s porch.
“Yes, the neighbor is a lady who lives alone. 326 Morningstar Drive. Can you repeat that last question? My phone cut out.” Another longer moment passed before Robert spoke again. Nevins was getting agitated. Even Robert seemed annoyed even though he remained calm. “I would say she is about 70 years old. One moment, let me find out.” Robert looked down at Nevins and quickly asked, “Is she conscious?”
Nevins rolled his eyes. “What part of emergency does this operator find confusing?! No, she’s not conscious! Give me that phone!”
He jumped up on his hind legs despite his weight and grabbed it out of Robert’s hand. “This is Nevins Davenport speaking. Mrs. Peabody, my neighbor at 326 Morningstar Drive, is passed out cold on her bedroom floor! Is this your first job! Send an ambulance post haste! She is a human of about 70 years old, and no nine lives left!”
Nevins hung up abruptly. Robert exclaimed, “Nevins! You should not have hung up!”
Nevins’s tail fluffed up to three times its size. This only happened when he was about to attack. “Listen, Robert! Humans are absolutely stupid when it comes to emergencies! I have had quite a bit of experience in these matters! Walter, my human, might have lived if that ambulance had gotten to him sooner! And, the way they drive zigzagging through the city! I should know! When poor Clay was injured, I rode on top of the ambulance that drove him! No! Don’t argue with me about how to talk to a dispatcher….”
The roaring sound of emergency vehicles drowned out the rest of Nevins's yelling.
A police car, an ambulance, and a fire truck pulled up. Three firemen quickly broke the door down. Two police officers, followed by the emergency medical technicians, rushed inside. One of the officers turned to Robert and Nevins and said, “Stay here.”
A few minutes later, they rolled Mrs. Peabody out on a stretcher, attached to an IV and wearing an oxygen mask. One of the police officers carried the parrot in a cage. “This must be her pet. Here,” she said, handing the cage to Robert. “You’ll have to look after the bird. Does Mrs. Peabody have any relatives? We’ll need to contact them.”
Nevins told the officer about Mrs. Peabody’s closest relative and how to contact him. “Fine. We’ll contact you if we have any further questions.”
“What is wrong with Mrs. Peabody?” Nevins asked.
The officer shook her head. “Not sure. I heard one of the technicians say it may be COVID. It’s a good thing you called. She may have died.”
The first rays of daylight broke through the clouds as Nevins and Robert watched the ambulance drive away, followed by the firetruck and police car. They made their way up the porch and stopped at the front door. Plucky broke the silence.
“Jumping tuna! Jumping tuna! Jumping tuna!”
Carol Mays
Church Bullies
Hey! It’s great to see you again! The last time we visited, I was ranting about my trailer and then the HOA in my neighborhood. Well, now I’m angry about my church. I’ve been to a lot of them, and they are all the same. It doesn't matter what religion it is--Protestant, Catholic, whatever—bullies run these places. Yes, I said bullies. Just hear me out. And don’t worry. I’m not going to preach anything. No Bible passages or scriptures. I don’t think I know any—come to think of it.
Now, to be fair, there are probably some really good churches out there run by really nice people who are just amazingly understanding. If this is your church, then you must be one of those people who manages to get in and out and participate just enough without any problems. But I’m warning you, the bullies are there too. They just haven’t gotten to you—yet. Let me help you. Bullying is usually subtle. These are the people who stare at you the minute you walk in. The ones who over-smile and the ones who glare at you. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Smiling is bullying? Yes, it is! It is an invasion of your mental comfort space. It’s a way to put you on notice that you are on their turf. But the worst bullying is the kind I have endured. I’ll be more specific.
I was at church singing my favorite hymns. I love to sing, and my church is small, so my voice carries. Anyway, I was singing and doing what I thought was a pretty good job. And this guy, who is extremely annoying, kept staring at me. It was weird, like serial killer weird. You know, like classic 1970s to the 1980s serial killer. I ignored him. After church, I needed to go to the restroom, because the service ran longer than usual, because—get this—the previous Sunday, a man got up from his pew before church started, went across the aisle over to a woman who happened to be a visitor, and told her that she “needed to cover up!” The man thought her outfit was too revealing! The whole homily was about how wrong it was to treat someone like that—especially a guest. So, evidently, the priest had no problem with the woman’s plunging neckline.
Anyway, I was on my way to the restroom, and this weirdo grabs my arm when I passed by him. I’m not kidding. This was right in the church. I swung around, and fortunately, he let go of me, but I nearly fell over. I had to take a step back to get my balance. I gave him the look of death. He then says to me, “I just wanted to tell you that you have a beautiful voice.” Are you kidding me? He could have just said, “excuse me,” but no! He grabbed me! I just wanted to get away from him, so I mumbled a “so do you.” And that seemed to knock him off guard. His face turned all red, and he said that no one had ever said that to him. I turned and walked off. But I am still pissed off about this and mainly with myself. I should have told that idiot not to touch me. You see, that is bullying behavior. But then he got bullied by this other man, who is the husband of this horrible, snobby woman I silently call ‘crooked mouth’ because she always has her expression set just that annoying way. She twists her mouth in a sideways upturned manner. Well, anyway, before church started, I heard the weirdo in a heated, verbal argument with crooked-mouth-woman’s husband, who is an even worse bully. He’s super gruff. Need more proof of bullying? Here is the next one.
I was at church one day. It was packed, but I found a seat next to this nun and put my purse under my seat. Suddenly, this bitch, who lives a few blocks from me, shoved my purse from under my seat. It sailed between me and the nun, and I managed to grab it before it took flight. If the nun hadn’t been there, I would have totally told the Bitch off. Need more proof? Okay.
I’m a vendor at various locations. I am truly grateful for all the opportunities I get to sell jewelry, various stuff that I make, and the books I write and self-publish. Well, I got this amazing opportunity to set up my table at a top professional building during the holidays. It was a benefit provided by this company for the employees to have a shopping opportunity. Well, I was ready and here came the executives one by one looking at all the wares of my fellow vendors. Well, who happened to be one of the snobby professionals? No, not the weirdo. Thank God for that. It was a Deacon from my church. Oh, he is a sour, horrible little man. I smile and welcome him to my table, and what does he say? “So, this is what you do for a living.” And, with that, he walked away. See what I mean! A bully!
Well, I could tell you of other church bullying stories like this woman who called me and told me not to come to the fellowship time after church because that was reserved for “them.” Meaning I was not the right ethnicity to socialize with “them.” Or I could tell you about a time when I took a Bible class, and this woman who ran it said, “We have tolerated your diversity enough!” So, I can’t win. Either I’m too ethnic or not ethnic enough. So, here’s what I plan to do. If I ever go to church again, I am from now on—going to fight back, and I don’t care if Jesus himself is there.
Hey, wait, don’t leave. Why are you always running away? Let me pour you another glass of wine. It’s your favorite kind.
Pepper Cane's Rant
Merry Christmas, you say? For you maybe, but not for me! I mean, who ever heard of one of Santa’s elves getting arrested and having to do community service? That’s the mess I’m in now! You see, I’m an elf -- a real elf -- who just so happens to have made one little mistake and now I’m sentenced to 60 hours of community service during the Christmas season at this stupid mall as -- get this -- are you ready? An elf -- helping the imposter Santa at the Picture Gallery. It’s a mind numbing nightmare. On top of my 60 hours, I have to go to anger management sessions with this complete idiot -- some psychologist, named Dr. Phil. He kinda looks like the Grinch with his bald head and beady eyes. And, really I shouldn’t be here. The mall, I mean. It’s kinda all your fault -- well, maybe not yours but people like you. You see, most people think elves live at the North Pole, are short, eat tons of sweets and make toys all day long. WRONG!!!!!
Elves are everywhere doing all sorts of jobs -- not just toy making and baking. I don’t have tons of time to explain this to you but let me see if I can. There are two kinds of elves: Green Hats and Red Hats. Green Hat elves are construction workers, plumbers, electricians, you know -- skilled labor stuff. At the North Pole they do the baking, card making and any sled repairs needed. Red Hat elves, which is what I am, make toys at the North Pole, and are often teachers, doctors, nurses, writers and stuff like that everywhere else. I used to be a top Red Hat Elf before the Incident. I made simple things which kids used to want for Christmas: blankets, pillows, stuffed toys, and my best of all: Sock Monkey. That’s been popular for a long time until that bitch stole it from me and mass-produced Sock Monkey -- and not very well made I might add. I found out about it when Spike -- oh, you don’t know him. Do you? You might. He’s a Red Hat hot-looking elf with spiked blue hair, edible piercings, and a tattoo of a red hat on his right arm. Well, Spike makes wild, cool, crazy cool toys that do amazing things. He invented pop rocks, exploding volcanos, motorized scooters just for kids, well just about anything that explodes or flies. He’s so cool. Well, Spike is the one who told me that Candy Land -- the bitch -- stole my Sock Monkey and changed the look to get away with it. She thinks she is so wonderful just because she’s from the wealthy and famous family who invented the game -- Candy Land. She’s used to getting her own way and when -- oh, yeah she’s a Red Hat elf too if I failed to mention that but I guess you could’ve figure that out. Oh, where was I? I get so mad I forget what I’m talking about. Oh, yeah. She stole my pattern of Sock Monkey off my desk and instead of him being the usual brown sock she made all different variations of Sock Monkey -- that part was fine -- all she had to do was ask me. But the part that is not o.k. is that she makes them talk and say some nauseating, high pitch-voiced phrases that when you pull the string it makes a: pooshk sound and says, -- “Candy Land is my favorite game! Pooshk -- Candy Land is where I want to live! Pooshk -- Candy Land is fun for you and me!” It’s selling at an over-priced store ironically at this stupid mall.
Well, I got so mad that I confronted her at one of our Christmas parties. It was such a perfect party too. Chocolate fountain, pizza, a crystal ball and rock- n -roll Christmas music. Spike was playing the electric guitar and singing. Oh, he’s so hot!
“Candy!” I yelled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing stealing my Sock Monkey and making it your own?” She turned and looked at me with her perfect grape eyes -- all the guy elves love purple-grape eyes -- I have chocolate-brown eyes but you can see that -- and in her annoying fake-whisper sweet voice she had the nerve to say, “I don’t know what you are talking about. I checked and your Sock Monkey didn’t have your name on it. You didn’t register it. So, I just perfected it and made it more up-to–date and cool. Oh, and my Sock Monkey -- registered in my name -- has accessories. So, I don’t know what you’re talking about Peppercane.” She patted me on the head -- because she’s taller than me. I snapped. I completely lost it. On her. I never lost it like I did at that party. I can remember Spike yelling, “Way cool! An elf chick fight!” I kicked her knees then, I punched her face making her red velvet Louis Vuitton Hat sail across the room and land at Santa’s feet. Candy’s eyes rolled back, then she hit the floor with a wobbly thud. Santa looked at me with a grave expression.
You can guess the rest. Rudolf couldn’t keep a secret if his red nose and Christmas depended on it. I was arrested, booked and put in a cell across from the real Grinch -- not Dr. Phil. There were some others there on the naughty list. I can’t believe I just snapped like that. I really can’t explain myself. I’ve been taking it from her all my life and I just couldn’t take it anymore. Dr. Phil says I’m a disgruntled elf and says I should, “just let thangs go -- invent somethin’ new and register your inventions from now on.” I wanted to punch him when he said that, but I just smiled and said, “Thank you, I will do that from now on. I am so fortunate to have your help.” Santa bailed me out and is giving me a second chance.
Well, I guess I better get back to work my break is almost over. I see a long line of kids waiting to tell the fake Santa what they want for Christmas. I hope it’s not Candy’s stupid talking Sock Monkey. Wait -- I’m getting a text. It’s from Spike! He’s asking me to the annual Christmas Ball! I guess it’s a Merry Christmas after all!
Follow MAYS PUBLISHING
Threads
CAROL MAYS
Carol Mays has written four novels about talking cats.
That House
Nina Rothford, age 59, an empty–nester housewife, rode her red tricycle through her plush suburban neighborhood as she always did at six in the evening. Her life was perfect, just like the McMansions in this subdivision called Trees. Each street named after the trees that were planted there: Oak Drive, Mesquite Drive, Juniper Lane, Magnolia Way, etc. She rode past the homes with manicured lawns meticulously monitored by the ever-hovering, Home Owner’s Association, better known as the HOA. Little did she know that this evening would change her life forever, for she had just coasted past that house.
It caught the corner of her eye as she pedaled down the street. The house was one of the oldest in the neighborhood, which isn’t saying much since that makes it about forty-five years old. It was hardly an antique since it was built in the early 1980s. A couple: classic, old-fashioned, career husband and old-money wife, built it. A few years ago, the wife, annoying Mrs. Primrose, died at the age of 85. Now, alone, Mr. Primrose sat on the porch rocking back and forth.
Nina waved as she coasted past him. Mr. Primrose hollered, “Hey! Stop by for a spell!” Nina spun around and rode up the walk. She stopped in front of him and smiled, “Sorry about just riding on. I’m never really sure if the neighbors around here want to visit or just wave.” Mr. Primrose just nodded. He took a deep breath, coughed, and then said, “I know. This has always been a snotty place to live, but my wife loved it.” Nina never liked her, but thought she should say something nice. “I’m sorry about her passing away. She always made the best casserole for the annual HOA meetings.” Mr. Primrose coughed again, “Well, I’ve been very depressed lately, and the bills just pile up. I wanted to tell you that I’ve invited an old buddy of mine to move in. He and I were in the Navy together. I don’t want to go to a nursing home, and well, neither does my friend. We are going to hire around-the-clock home health nurses. Just thought you might like to know since you ride by every day.” Nina nodded. “Thanks for telling me.”
The next evening, Nina hopped on her trike and headed down Juniper Lane. She thought about her husband, who basically spent every waking moment shut up in his office watching the stock market. He called it work, but Nina thought it was just an excuse to have as little to do with her as possible. She spotted Mr. Primrose rocking back and forth, laughing. The other man laughed too as he gestured. They looked like they were having fun. “Hey! There you are! Stop for a spell! I want to introduce you to my navy buddy, Tom.” Tom, like all those old military guys, was in pretty good shape: full head of hair, all of his teeth, and surprisingly muscular.
“Pleased to meet you,” Nina said. “Well! Commander Pete Primrose! You never told me about this beautiful woman!” Nina blushed. “Stand down. She’s married.” Mr. Primrose said, laughing. Nina loved the attention. They invited her to sit with them. A nurse brought out a tray of sandwiches, chips, and beer. Nina enjoyed hearing about their navy life, all the places they went, and the fun they had. She shared her life with them, how her two children had moved on, and her husband’s preoccupation with the stock market. All she had was her male, black cat Mushymoto. “I think you have more than you think,” Tom said as he pointed to Nina’s trike. “That will take you where you need to go and keep you in good shape, too.” Mr. Primrose nodded, “Tell you what, Nina. Why don’t you just make it a habit to visit us every day at about this time, 6:00 pm. We’ll have supper together.” Nina nodded. “Sounds like a perfect plan, but I will bring the food. It’s the least I can do.”
Over the next six months, Nina visited Pete and Tom every evening. They sat on the front porch, laughed, told stories, shared worries and concerns, and enjoyed the many different meals Nina had prepared.
Then, one evening, Nina saw flashing red lights speed by her house. She hopped on her trike and pedaled fast. By the time she got to Mr. Primrose’s home, the paramedics had already driven away. She saw a blond woman barking orders at the nurse on the front porch. Tom saw Nina and went up to her. “What happened?” Nina asked. Tom shook his head. “Pete passed away.” Nina gasped. She held back tears. “How?” Pete replied, “his heart. He died peacefully in his sleep.” Nina worried, “What are you going to do?” Tom pointed to the woman yelling at the nurse, “Well, that’s his daughter, Rachael. She said I can stay here. They plan to rent the other two bedrooms to some other seniors like me.
As the weeks went by, Nina got less and less time to visit on the porch with Tom. He seemed different. Weak, depressed, and distant. He just wanted to sleep all the time. He had no appetite for the casseroles that Nina brought. The nurses who occasionally popped their heads out to check on him were hostile, and some of them looked scary. Nina asked Tom about it. He just said, “Well, Rachael hired a new home health group.”
Then, one cold day, Tom wasn’t on the front porch. Nina parked her trike on the walk. She knocked on the front door. A long-haired man wearing medical scrubs answered. “Yeah.” Nina, startled, jumped back. “Um, hi. I was wondering if Tom is here.” The man simply replied, “I don’t know any Tom.” And, with that, he shut the door in her face.
Every evening for two weeks, Nina rode her trike by that house. Every evening was the same. She saw the long-haired guy in scrubs smoking on the front porch. Another rough-looking guy leaned against the post, and a third sat on the ground vaping. They always stared hard at Nina as she rode by. She felt uneasy. She decided that if she were going to find out anything, she would have to ride her trike tonight. It would be scary, but she had to do it. She waited in her house until 10:00 p.m. Her husband was fast asleep. Nina rolled her trike out of her backyard and switched on her headlight.
She turned the corner onto Juniper Lane and rode up to that house. A window blind was up in one of the front bedrooms, and she could see an old man sitting up in a hospital bed. A single light was on. Is that Tom? It can’t be. She rode around to the back of the house in the alley. Nina knew she shouldn’t do it, but she had to find out the truth. She parked her trike, switched off the light, and peeked through the fence. A light was on in the kitchen. The three guys who were on the front lawn were standing around the counter. Three more creepy home health workers sat around a wooden table. They were talking and eating burgers. In the back bedroom, a dim night light cast a long shadow. Nina could see two more old people in beds. In the living room, another dim light revealed six more hospital beds with patients, and just off to the right, the dining room, five more! How many do they have in there? Nina wondered. Something about the whole setup seemed wrong. Nina knew she had to do something.
The next morning Nina called the HOA. She hated doing it. “Good morning. This is Nina Rothford. I live at 1588 Oak Drive.” Cindy Perez, the director, answered, “Yes, Nina. How can I help you?” Nina told the entire story in five minutes. Cindy remained speechless. “Hello? Cindy? Are you still there?” Nina asked. “Yes. I don’t think I’ve ever dealt with anything like this in my thirty years of service.” Nina exhaled audibly, “Look. I know it sounds crazy, but I’m telling you the truth.”
“I believe you. I know Mr. Primrose passed away, and his daughter owns the house now. These homes are single-family only. So, if they are doing what you claim, then that’s a clear violation. I’ll have to check this out.”
Nina felt uneasy all afternoon. She needed to know something, and waiting for Cindy to investigate seemed too long. If there was anyone who could tell her about that house, it was the neighbor, Jill Cater, who lived next door. Nina dialed the number and almost hung up, but Jill finally answered. After Nina described the entire story, Jill simply said she didn’t know anything about that house. No way! Nina thought to herself. Jill is the noisiest person on the block. She’s lying. Why?
That evening, Nina rode her trike down Juniper Lane. As she approached that house, Racheal ran towards her and jumped in front of her trike in the middle of the street.
“I see you ride past this house every day! How dare you accuse me of running a hospice house! The HOA called me and said that you complained! How dare you!” She screamed and gestured. Nina, caught off guard, was speechless. Nina mumbled a weak apology. Rachael, satisfied, stormed back into the house. Nina rode home and called Cindy. She didn’t care that it was after-hours. It’s against the HOA bylaws for a resident who complains to be revealed. Cindy answered, “Nina. I was just about to call you.” Nina interrupted, “Did you tell Rachael that I complained?” Cindy replied, “No. No way. Why?” Nina explained her encounter. Cindy responded, “How did she find out? I didn’t tell her. Did you talk to anyone else about this?” Suddenly, Nina remembered. “Yes, Jill Cater.” Cindy said, “Well, that’s it. Anyway, I wanted to call you. You see, I thought it was weird when an electrician came by here a few weeks ago because he got lost. He said he was putting in ten extra sockets and a special breaker for the garage for that house. At the time, I didn’t think anything about it. I just thought they were trying to add something to that house to resell it. But, after you called, I became uneasy. I did some digging. I found out that Rachael owns a deep freezer business.” Cindy’s voice trailed off. Nina asked, “Are you saying that the deep freezers are in the garage of that house?” Cindy said, “I don’t know. I went over there, and a strange man in medical scrubs told me Racheal was out for the day. She called me back and denied that the house is even rented. There’s not much more I can do on my end.” Nina knew that if she was going to get to the bottom of this, she was going to have to find a way into that garage.
That night, promptly at 10:00 pm, Nina rode her trike down the alley behind that house. She carefully switched off her light and quietly peeked through the fence. The kitchen light was on, but no one was in it. There were now only three old people in the living room and one in the dining room. What is going on. Nina wondered. She knew that she had to see into the garage. The garage door had three windows at the top, but they were too high for her to reach. She rolled her trike up to it, looked around to make sure no one saw her, locked the wheel, and climbed up on the seat. She stood precariously on the trike seat and peeked into the window. The chilling sight nearly unbalanced her. Elderly people, dead, were laid out on long tables. The creepy medical scrub workers were surgically dissecting the bodies and removing hearts, lungs, livers, and other body parts. They were putting them in containers, then, into freezers against the wall of the garage. Nina let out a scream when she saw the horrific sight, but luckily, the workers didn’t hear her. They all wore earphones and must have been listening to music.
Nina’s heart pounded as she rode home quickly. She nervously unlocked the door of her home, yelling to her husband, “Dan! We need to call the police.” Dan stumbled out of the bedroom, blurry-eyed. Nina explained the entire story. They called the police who went blaring by their home five minutes later. Dan and Nina joined all the other neighbors who were standing outside that house. The police arrested the creepy medical staff. The coroner took out body after body in bags. Cindy showed up in her car and spoke with the police.
The months that followed revealed very little except that the old people were being murdered for their body parts, which were being sold on the black market. Racheal got off – somehow. The creepy staff all had previous convictions for various crimes of theft, drugs, etc. They were blamed for everything, and all went to prison. No one knew anything about a man named, Tom. Dan decided to divorce Nina. He left her the house and Mushymoto.
Nina continued to ride her trike at 6:00pm past that house. It had a ‘for sale’ sign and, strangely, quickly sold. The house was beautifully renovated. Nina heard from a neighbor that a family from out of state moved into it. They had two small children. It was rumored that they were desperate for a home, and they just didn’t care what had happened in that house. Also rumored around the neighborhood was that Jill’s uncle lived for a brief time in that house. And, Jill’s husband had an affair with one of the female nurses who took care of her uncle. Fortunately, the uncle was taken in by a distant relative.
Nina turned onto her street and saw a man riding a blue tricycle. He looked oddly familiar. As she got closer, she couldn’t believe her eyes. “Tom!” She exclaimed. “Where have you been!” Tom laughed. “Sorry about that. Well, I need to be honest with you. I was Pete’s friend, and I really did move into that house, but when I noticed they were drugging me by overdosing my medications, I escaped in the middle of the night. I contacted the police, who put a surveillance on that house. I wanted to call you so badly, but it would jeopardize the case.” Nina was so happy to see him that she jumped off her trike and hugged Tom. “Where are you living?” Tom smiled, “Well, I was put up for a long time in a police protection location, but now that is over. So, I’m currently looking for a place.” Nina smiled, “Well, Tom. I’m divorced. Dan left me. So, how about renting a room from me?”