Bella the Cat has taken to defecating in my bathroom. It’s not much fun to have to avoid stepping into a pile of kitty poo in the morning (apologies to people with weak stomachs). So it looks like the Brat Cat is off to the vet’s next week. I know it’s necessary but the ‘Ow, ow,ow’ that emanates from her basket while we are in the taxi makes me feel like the meanest cat-mummy on the planet.
A couple of nights ago I succumbed to the urge to binge. There was a kind of bitterness lodged in my heart. As I left the flat I saw Our Friendly Neighbourhood Drug Dealer (the New Zealander) skulking outside the flat of Our Friendly Neighbourhood Psychopath. No doubt he was waiting to ‘do a bit of business’. All the bitterness inside came spewing out. ‘You saw what happened,’I screamed. ‘Why didn’t you intervene? Are you that much of a coward? Do you know how I feel now? No, I don’t think you do and I hope to God you never have to.’
I did not stop to see his reaction. I ran over to Hanover Court. Doug’s door tempted me but I turned away from it and, amazed by my own swiftness, I ran up the eight flights of steps to the top of the building. And then suddenly I was outside, standing on the ledge. The city was spread out before me. I spat on it from above. I stood there for what seemed like forever. Wouldn’t it be easy to just let go? I have no children to leave behind. Only my piles of drawing and scribbling. But then it occurred to me that this is exactly what the Pseudo-Messiah wants – someone to die in his name. I backed away from the edge, confident that I will thwart his plans. I am ashamed to say that I turned to the only friend I have around here: Doug. Fortunately, he was still awake. I sat down on his big easy chair and Freddi the Dog flung herself into my arms. ‘I’m not going to die for him, I’m not going to die for him,’ I repeated.
‘That thing,’ Doug scoffed. ‘He’s not worth pissing on!’
‘I won’t give him what he wants.’
(To be continued…)