“Dog is just God backwards, don’t you know?”
“That’s nonsense. Do you ever hear yourself when you speak? You sound as if your mind is the size of a walnut.”
“That’s also true of dogs.”
“Go to hell.”
Like many people in the world, Hector Ringwald hated his name and the sound of other people’s voices. But that’s the bargain when you move in with someone. Or allow them to move in with you. You have to hear their voice and you have to hear them say your name again and again. So, he looked across at Sylvia and nodded for her to continue her story.
“I bring the subject up because I was with Erin today and she and Tommy just got the most precious little mutt. He’s only a puppy, just three months old. We watched it for hours and had some wine. The pup is named Francis. Can you believe that? Francis. Not even a purebred but the name makes him sound so regal. Tommy’s taken to calling it Frank which Erin doesn’t care for too much.”
“Hmm…” Hector was reading a newspaper and glancing up now and then to nod along. Poor Tommy, stuck with some insatiable creature, Hector thought. Before he knew it, there would be babies crying for tits he didn’t have in the middle of the night. Sylvia continued, sipping on a tall glass of chardonnay.
“Francis is actually quite smart. He only pottied a little in the house while we were there. But that was when I was telling Erin the story of last night and that poor old man. She was so captivated and I of course was speaking and remembering so we didn’t hear little Francis whining. Then Tommy walked in and gave poor Frank, I mean Francis, the most awful, curse-filled sermon. Then he took to Erin and I had to leave or he would have blamed me next.”
“People curse when they drink.”
“Yes, I suppose they do. Mostly men. And butch women.”
“That’s right.”
Sylvia mused on this for a moment with her wine. When she finished it, she stood and returned from the fridge with the glass full. “Honey, what if I went and got us a pet? Wouldn’t you like a cat?”
He was prepared to lay into her for not offering to refill his glass, but her question startled him.
“You don’t want a dog?”
“Oh no, they’re far too much trouble,” Sylvia replied, knowing full well what she had done, imposing the temporary abstention. She kept speaking, “It’s practically a full-time job. And they’re expensive. Do you know how much Erin spends on food for Francis every month?” Hector shook his head. “$50.” Hector nodded. “That doesn’t include treats, toys, doctor’s visits. Plus, they paid nearly $500 just to get him and another $300 for all of his shots and he’s to be neutered at six months.”
Hector whistled, then said, “Then you can’t leave the damn thing alone for more than a few hours. The beast will tear apart the house. If you leave extra food, they eat it all in one sitting and throw it up 10 minutes later.”
“That’s right. Cats are honestly so much smarter. Do their business in the litter box.”
And leave you well enough alone most of the time, Hector thought. If a cat would placate Sylvia and give her something to do, all the better. Some cats have true, honest personalities. They’re not warm, but they’ll heat you up at night in the winter when you don’t have money for the gasman.
“So, what do you think?” asked Sylvia, looking hopeful.
“I’d like it to be a boy.”
“What would you want to name him?”
“Maybe we should continue the family name. Or something related to it that only we would know. Oval. Oval Ringwald.”
“Oval. It sounds feminine but I don’t mind it.”
“Does it? Now that’s all I’m going to think about when I hear you and your friends cooing over the boy. You’ve ruined it.”
“Don’t say that Hector. We can name it Oval. What about Sphere?”
“Sphere. Are we getting a Sphinx? It sounds Egyptian to me.”
“Oh, a Sphinx would be beautiful.”
They said no more on the matter for the rest of the night. Hector took Sylvia to bed, but she was too drunk to perform, and she took to saying his name many times in between curse words describing how woozy she felt.
They woke the next morning and Sylvia was ready. She mounted him, sweating and filling the air with the scent of sauce. She got what she needed and went to shower. Hector was left to finish himself off. Sylvia only ever was hot to trot in the mornings when she was hungover. Hector couldn’t afford to not give it to her and so he did as he was told. Her great aunt’s trust fund was all that separated them from oblivion.
Sylvia went out. Hector stayed in and worked on his script. The Silverlake neighborhood was full of yuppies like him that dreamed of working on a third-rate, Tuesday night network show. He knew his ideas were too provocative for network. But they watered everything down if you could just get a damn foot in the door.
He’d gotten a page done. A good page. Better than many of the pages before it when Sylvia walked in.
“Honey, can you come in here for a minute? I know you don’t like me interrupting you when you’re working but this will only take a moment.”
Hector sighed, tossed the laptop to his left and rose from the bed. In the entrance room, which also served as the living and dining room, there was the ugliest cat Hector had ever seen.
“It’s a Sphinx!” squealed Sylvia. “She’s so precious, I had to get her. Don’t you think she’s beautiful?”
Just then, the thing squatted and started pissing. She finished and walked into the bedroom, ignoring Hector.
“How old is she?” asked Hector, keeping his temper down.
“She’s eight. But they can live as old as 20. Most likely, she’ll be gone by 15, but she needed a good home.”
Sylvia always thought of herself as a martyr. “I told you I wanted a boy.”
“It turns out there are no male Sphinxes, Hector.”
“We didn’t have to get a Sphinx. And, what the fuck, is that even right?”
“Please don’t curse, darling. You know I don’t like it when you curse. Have you been drinking?”
He hadn’t but, defeated, gave up and walked to the kitchen for a beer. Sylvia followed and found a wine glass. She poured it tall and said, “Well, now we can use your original idea.”
“What?”
“We’ll name her Oval, like you wanted.”
“Oh.” Then Oval walked in and gave an awful cry. What did she want? Hector had no tits for her.
Yes, that’s how it ends. What did you think? Shoot me an email patrick@patrickchristman.com