Put The Cat In The Freezer
Dawn's cat died. Three months ago. She's been keeping him in her studio apartment in the old 1960's single door fridge with a spring loaded fold down pocket freezer compartment that's normally one solid block of ice. When Gus finally passed away at 17 years of age, riddled with tumours, blind from cataracts, incontinant and incessantly vocal, Dawn was inconsolable. She tells people it was a psychotic break, a total mental, emotional breakdown. She stopped showing up for work, begged off commitments to her animal rights weekly potlucks and even missed the chanting pizza monthly get togethers with the Krishnas. That was the worst as she cherished the communal atmosphere and free vegan gluten free pizza and raw desserts. Plus, no one looked at her sideways there. Her two toned grey and red hair, braided as it was 40 years ago when she was a school girl, her uniform of athletic sandals, an armful of bracelets, short shorts worn year round, with tights in the winter, and a ...