Ficlet of no redeeming quality: We're So Wonderfully Pretty
Author: rivlee
Title: We’re So Wonderfully Pretty
Rating: PG for language
Characters/Pairing: Spina, Snafu, Eddie Jones, Andy Haldane, Anna, OCs. Gen with Eddie/Andy implied.
Warnings: Mention of character death.
Summary: There’s a new member of the household.
Disclaimer: This is all fiction based off the characters as portrayed in the HBO mini-series. No disrespect or harm is meant or intended. Title and cut text from The Cure’s The Lovecats.
A/N: Unbeated. Every last mistake is mine. This ficlet has no point and redeeming value. Consider it more of a character study/practice. In this AU verse, Eddie was a Gunnery SGT in the Marine Corps since battlefield comissions pretty much never happen in modern warfare.
Ralph Spina was pissed off. It wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence in the mornings. He hated getting up, even more so when Merriell Shelton was at the breakfast table feeding them all six impossible things of bullshit before passing out any coffee. This morning was different though. Shelton had gone beyond all sense of proper roommate decency.
“Please don’t tell me that is a cat puking all over my sweater,” he said.
Shelton didn’t even look up from his Sudoku puzzle. “Why would I have to tell you that Spina,” he said, “if you clearly see it with your own eyes.”
Ralph pinched the bridge of his nose. It was too early for this shit. He needed an actual grown-up.
“Eddie,” Ralph yelled up the stairs.
Unlike common belief, Gene and Paw-Paw Roe weren’t the only people on this earth able to corral Merriell Shelton. For years he took unquestioned commands from R.V. Burgin, Eddie Jones, and Andrew Haldane. There was just enough of the Marine obedience left in Shelton that he still followed Eddie’s suggestions.
Ralph envied Eddie’s ability to come down the stairs, clearly just woken from a deep sleep, looking ready to handle anything.
“Hey, Spina, what’s up?” he asked, throwing a t-shirt over his head and covering the impressive artwork on his back as he entered the kitchen.
“Since Gene and Babe decided to fuck-off to D.C.-”
“I don’t think you can call Nixon expressly demanding their presence as ‘fucking-off,’” Eddie interrupted.
“Fine, since Gene and Babe aren’t here to mediate, you need to be my witness for the act of justifiable homicide I am about to commit.”
“Can it be justifiable if it’s almost spontaneous premeditation?” Eddie asked.
“I’ll ask Buck the next time he swings by on his way to Tulane,” Ralph said. He motioned to the kitchen table where the stray bag of bones started making a bed out of Spina’s hat.
“House meeting!” Ralph bellowed.
Shelton peered up from his paper. “Spina, you need to learn an inside voice.”
“Shelton,” he gritted out, “I didn’t bring a cat home last night. I’m pretty sure Eddie didn’t bring a cat home last night.”
“Nope, I brought an Haldane,” Eddie said, making a beeline for the coffee machine.
Shelton whistled at that. “Where is the Captain?”
“Shit, son, it’s Saturday. He’s sleeping a week’s worth of teaching off.”
“I don’t know how he handles those kids.”
“He learned to handle you, Snaf. You’re like the ultimate litmus test for someone’s nerves.”
“Aw, thanks, Gunny,” Shelton said with a genuine smile.
Ralph could feel his face getting hot. “Cat,” he gritted out. “Hat.” He pointed to the table.
“In French, chat, chapeau,” Shelton said.
“In Spanish, el gato in a sombrero,” Eddie finished.
Ralph started pondering double homicide at the point of Dr. Seuss quotations.
“My grandmother knitted that sweater, Ma Heffron gave me that hat for Christmas. There is a stray animal in this house, without my consent, or that of Gene or Babe, and neither one of you seem worried about any possible diseases that flea-bag could be carrying.”
“It’s a cat, Spina, not the Antichrist,” Eddie said. He walked over to the cat and lifted it up, checked its fur and paws before putting is back down on Ralph’s hat.
“Verdict?” Shelton asked. “Remy said it should be alright. He found it behind Fitzwilliam’s.”
“Remy’s only a part-time vet technician,” Eddie reminded Shelton. “I don’t see anything wrong other than his weight. Might have worms, but we can take him into St. Martinville and get that checked out quick.”
“How do you know so much about cats?” Spina asked.
“I’m from the country, Ralph. It’s barn cat land. That and I grew up with at least five of these monsters in the house.” Eddie ran his fingers from the cat’s head down to its spine, smiling when it released a little chirrup.
“That’s great, Eddie, good to know you’re the Cat Whisperer. Can we please talk about what it’s doing on our kitchen table?”
“He needed a home,” Shelton said. “You wouldn’t turn down an orphaned kitten, would you, Spina?”
Spina very much would. He’d find a home for the thing first. The Spina household only ever had fish and birds. Ralph knew better than to take in a stray animal.
“Now, now, Snaf,” Eddie said, “we do have to take into account the other members of our household. We can watch over this cat, but until Gene and Babe get back we can’t make a decision if he’ll stay.”
Shelton smiled wide at that. Everyone knew Gene Roe would never kick an animal out of his house. Just look how many stray human beings he’d taken home. And Babe was a given. The Heffrons always had a cat or two, as did the Guarneres.
“This shit is so not fair,” Spina muttered.
“Let’s just wait and see before we make any serious decisions,” Eddie said. “Spina, we’ll clean up your sweater.”
“I promise I’ll be gentle,” Shelton said.
“And we’ll get a lint brush to take care of your hat,” Eddie said.
“Fucking fine,” Spina muttered. “Just get that thing to the vet today. I don’t want worms.”
He grabbed his bag and headed out the backdoor.
“What about your breakfast,” Shelton yelled after him.
“I’ll make Anna feed me,” he answered.
********
“And why are you looking so pissed off this morning?” Anna asked, her accent turning even the most mundane phrase into lyrical prose.
“Shelton,” Spina answered.
Anna laughed and reached a hand up to swipe at his head. “You do have hair.”
“Shelton again,” Spina explained.
“I figured as much after you came through the door. Eva thinks the end of days is upon us, seeing your head uncovered.”
“Little known fact, the state of my headwear is as accurate as Nostradamus,” he replied.
Anna shook her head at him. “Lola brought in a large breakfast spread. Eat something then come out out to the floor.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he answered.
St. Boniface Clinic was Ralph’s third home. He loved working here. Old Man Doc Thibodaux owned the place, still came in, cane and all, to help with the immunization rush right before the start of the school year. He let Gene Roe run the place, hire the staff, make the decisions over the funds for the clinic. Gene loved this place, it was obvious in the amount of time he spent here, in the staff he hand-picked.
Anna Soro was the only other fully licensed doctor. Her family fled Zaire, Mobutu’s regime and the First Congo War in the mid-1990s, finding sanctuary in Belgium. The whole Soro family saw the move as a chance for re-birth and Anna told stories about how even then, as a young teen, she wanted to dedicate her life to helping others. She saw it as her way to pay back those who managed to get her family out. Now she spent a good portion of the year away working with Partners in Health, usually taking Renée with her, but Gene would never tell her to stop.
Ralph was a little in love with her, something Gene, Eva, their receptionist, and Lola, their other Registered Nurse, teased him unmercifully about. Nothing would ever come from it, Anna would never get involved with a co-worker and Ralph respected her for that, but she didn’t give him any shit for it either.
Ralph stumbled across Remy in the break room.
“You asshole,” he said.
“What?” Remy asked around the beignet in his mouth.
“You’re the reason I have some alley cat turning my kitchen table into its nest.”
“You’re welcome?”
“Fuck you, Remy. You know what Shelton’s like. He sees a stray animal and he has to take it home.”
“Spina, sorry man. Ray forbade me from bringing any more pets home, and the cat needed some decent food and a night indoors. Seeing as how my brother is also my landlord, there was no way I was going to piss him off.”
“Isn’t there in animal shelter we could drop it off at?”
“Sure, if you want its death on your conscience.”
“Remy-”
“Hey, it’s bare basics, boo. The shelters are crowded, that cat isn’t exactly a baby kitten and it’s a stray. The chances of adoption are nil, nada, nothing. Besides,” Remy said while pushing his blond hair back, “I think a cat would do you some good. Lighten all you fuckers up. Eddie’s the only one who smiles on a regular basis and he was a Marine for twelve years. Something’s wrong there.”
“Aren’t we supposed to start with plants?”
“I’ve seen what Shelton does to ferns. It ain’t pretty.” Remy stood up and filled a paper plate full of bagels and fruit. “I’ve got to get to work, but seriously, Spina, owning a pet isn’t the end of the world.”
“It puked on my sweater. The sweater my Nonna knitted.”
“Then make Shelton wash it out by hand. You’ll live, and so will the cat.”
“I hate you and your backroom psychology bullshit.”
“Consider it a plus that I feel you are secure enough in your own masculinity to be a male cat owner without any questioning of your sexuality.”
“Out, Remy,” he ordered.
Remy just laughed. “I’ll drop some food samples and shit off for you later.”
“It’s not staying.”
“You wanna bet?” Remy asked before sauntering out of the room.
Ralph just shook his head. Some days he really wished he stayed in Pennsport.
********
He stumbled through the door sometime after 8 PM. The only car in the driveway was Andy Haldane’s so he wasn’t so surprised when he found him laid out on the couch. He wasn’t expecting the cat on top of his chest.
“Haldane, I had no clue you were cat person,” Ralph said as he dropped his bag.
Andy pulled his feet up and made space for him on the couch. He smiled at Ralph. “When I was at college, living in one shitty apartment after another, we only had cats. Granted, they were two Maine Coons, so it was like having two medium-sized dogs, but still. My roommate wrote a whole paper on the psychology of cats.”
“Really, that’s fascinating.”
“I’m going to ignore your obvious attempt at sarcasm and give you a history lesson.”
“Yes, Mr. Haldane.”
“Do you know the reason cats put the ears back, narrow their eyes, and hiss when they feel threatened is because they are imitating snakes? It’s the best way to get their faces diamond-shaped and years of evolution watching snakes led to that learned behavior. They figured out just how often snakes make predators back off. These days, most people know to avoid a hissing cat. Even large dogs will back up.” He held up the cat, who kept sleeping through the demonstration. “You can’t tell me that’s not a little badass.”
“If I wanted a snake, I’d go to Paw-Paw Roe’s and fish out one of the cottonmouths in his back yard.”
“Babe would, in the words of Shelton, fuck your shit up so hard you wouldn’t know if you were coming or going.”
“Eh, Gene already knows Babe screams like a girl when it comes to the swamp’s animal life.”
“The sign of true devotion in a relationship,” Andy said. He dropped the cat down to the floor and smiled as it rolled back and forth on its back.
“So, Ralph, tell me the real reason why you don’t want this cat. Cat vomit washes out pretty easily and while the fur lingers, lint brushes never hurt anyone. Is it just what the cat represents? A sign of putting down firm roots? Do you have a fear of attachment? Because I got to tell you, it doesn’t make sense.”
“What doesn’t?”
“You are a self-identifying straight man who lives with four gay or bisexual men, three of whom are in relationships with other men, two with each other. And that doesn’t bother you a bit. You’re a city boy, from Philadelphia, a major city. Big Leagues in term of Urban Life, and yet you manage to live in a no-name boondocks town with little complaint. You could work at a hospital, easy, and yet you work at a free clinic for something just above peanuts. None of this bothers you. The only other time I’ve seen you this pissed off was when Eddie made steaks on a Friday during Lent. It doesn’t make any logical sense.”
“I always hated Logic.”
“Spina, tell me what’s wrong so I don’t have to call your father and ask why his son is a cat-hating psycho.”
“I’m not the biggest fan of change, okay?” Ralph admitted. Because Haldane, the fucker, had the kind of face which made everyone confess their sins. “The last major change in my life resulted in the murder of one of my best friends. I know it’s a cat, it shouldn’t seem like anything, but cats live for years and it is a major change over a lifetime.”
“Do you really think your move caused Julian’s death?” Andy asked.
“I think if me, Bill, and Babe were still watching over him he wouldn’t have taken a job which led to him being gunned down on a sidewalk in South Philly.”
“But Babe was still living there at the time, right?”
“Yeah, but he wasn’t really there. By that time he was spending two long weekends a month down here and doing an undercover job for Ron in Jersey. He’d only been in Pennsport for two weeks when Julian got killed. He was with him at the time, did you know that? The fuckers waited until Babe stepped into a store to act. They followed them, hunted Julian down like prey, and I can’t help the what-ifs. So, change and I, we’re not the best of friends.”
“Men are not prisoners of fate, but only prisoners of their own minds,” Andy said.
“Thank you, FDR,” Ralph answered.
“Alright,” Andy said as he sat up, “it’s time for story-time.”
“Say it ain’t so,” Ralph muttered.
“Raphael Spina, I am older and wiser than you. Not just because my age, but my life experiences, so don’t bitch.” He ran a hand over his face. “Do you know what I did before this?”
“You were in the Marines,” Ralph said.
“Yeah, and I was an officer. A Captain, by my last tour over there,” Andy said, gesturing to the East. “Do you know what the hardline of the Corps is, according to the desk jockeys in Washington?”
“No.”
“The mission is the most important thing. The lives of your Men and any deaths therein are an unfortunate byproduct of successful mission completion. And Marines know this, from the newest boot to the saltiest Gunny. Grunts know that their officers’ careers are built on their backs and their lives. It’s a belief that’s pretty much across the board for all military branches of all time. Even though that’s the party line, when I was at Quantico going through my officer’s training, I had one instructor who said something to me that hit home. It stayed with me through it all. A true successful mission is one in which none of your men lose their lives.
The Battalion heads? They don’t have to be there when you send your men, your boys, to die. They don’t have to witness and live with the firsthand consequences of their actions. They don’t have to hold the hands of dying kids, giving the last bit of comfort as they go to whatever they view as an afterlife, if they have one at all. They see deaths as numbers, not persons lost. And it’s not something unique to the Corps. When you are the one officer in the Squad, Platoon, whatever, you are the one who ultimately gives that final order, so believe me when I say, I have sent more men to their deaths than you can imagine.
I can’t tell you how to cope, and you don’t need that sentimental bullshit. We each find our own way. We’ve all got survivor’s guilt. But Ralph, you can’t live your life in stasis just because you’re the one still breathing.”
Ralph looked down at the cat, now curled up in his lap and purring. “They teach you those speeches in Officer’s School? No wonder your students listen to you.”
“I didn’t get any of my jobs just because of my strong jawline,” Andy said.
Ralph laughed. He poked at the cat in his lamp and smiled as it gave him the feline equivalent of a fuck-off glare. It was an orange and white tabby and Ralph could already imagine the wave of destruction his dark clothes would endure because of the fur ball in his lap.
“Oliver,” he said.
“What was that?” Andy asked.
“Oliver. He’s an orange cat, an orphan, so we’ll name him Oliver.”
“I never knew you were such a Disney fan,” Andy said.
“I’m not, not really, but Babe had bright orange hair as a kid. We were little when Oliver & Company came out. Everyone called Babe, Tito, since he always wore this stupid headband like The Karate Kid. Julian was Oliver. It’s not all that common to be a kid with no siblings where we come from. God, they fucking hated it at first, but Johnny, Babe’s older brother, he was the one that said if you owned the name, stopped acting like it bothered you, the other kids would stop. We used those names up until middle school. Bill was Dodger.”
“And who were you?”
“Fagin.”
“Ah,” Andy said, “the hat.”
“I make them look good. Always have, always will.”
“I’ll tell Eddie the name when he gets back. Everything’s fine, by the way, as far as they can tell. Eddie had them do extensive blood work, seemed to think your new friend would be around for a while. Why don’t you go take a nap?”
“You trying to mother me too?” Ralph asked.
“Can’t be helped,” Andy admitted.
********
Ralph woke up to Oliver sleeping on top of his head.
“You trying to take the place of my hats?” he asked. “I don’t think they’ll let me wear you to work.”
Oliver just mewed in response and went right back to sleep.
The house was quiet, Ralph checked the clock and grimaced at the 3 AM which shone back at him. He did not mean to sleep that long. He shuffled out of bed and down to the kitchen for something to eat. He turned around when he heard a chirrup and saw Oliver following behind.
Shelton was passed out on the kitchen table, his uniform shirt on and his fingers still grasping a cup of coffee. Spina pried the mug away and poked Merriell in the side.
“’s fuck going on? Sledgehammer, where you at?” he muttered.
“Merriell, get your ass off the table and up to bed,” Ralph said.
“’Fuck off, Leyden,” he replied.
Ralph sighed and dragged Merriell out of the chair, into the living room, and dumped him on the couch. He couldn’t wait until Gene and Babe came home and Shelton returned to being their problem.
He went back to the kitchen and ate a turkey sandwich by the moonlight, breaking off a few pieces for Oliver. Next to the toaster was a whole basket of shit Remy dropped off. There was a packet of papers listing shots and licenses, a ton of food and treats, and a bunch of garish New Orleans Saints cat collars.
“I’ll be damned if any cat of mine becomes a Who Dat? We’re going Phillies all the way.”
Oliver just hopped off the counter in response and went over to Shelton’s work boots. He sniffed at them for a moment and then proceeded to shred the laces.
“Oliver, my friend,” Ralph said, “welcome to your new home.”
Title: We’re So Wonderfully Pretty
Rating: PG for language
Characters/Pairing: Spina, Snafu, Eddie Jones, Andy Haldane, Anna, OCs. Gen with Eddie/Andy implied.
Warnings: Mention of character death.
Summary: There’s a new member of the household.
Disclaimer: This is all fiction based off the characters as portrayed in the HBO mini-series. No disrespect or harm is meant or intended. Title and cut text from The Cure’s The Lovecats.
A/N: Unbeated. Every last mistake is mine. This ficlet has no point and redeeming value. Consider it more of a character study/practice. In this AU verse, Eddie was a Gunnery SGT in the Marine Corps since battlefield comissions pretty much never happen in modern warfare.
Ralph Spina was pissed off. It wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence in the mornings. He hated getting up, even more so when Merriell Shelton was at the breakfast table feeding them all six impossible things of bullshit before passing out any coffee. This morning was different though. Shelton had gone beyond all sense of proper roommate decency.
“Please don’t tell me that is a cat puking all over my sweater,” he said.
Shelton didn’t even look up from his Sudoku puzzle. “Why would I have to tell you that Spina,” he said, “if you clearly see it with your own eyes.”
Ralph pinched the bridge of his nose. It was too early for this shit. He needed an actual grown-up.
“Eddie,” Ralph yelled up the stairs.
Unlike common belief, Gene and Paw-Paw Roe weren’t the only people on this earth able to corral Merriell Shelton. For years he took unquestioned commands from R.V. Burgin, Eddie Jones, and Andrew Haldane. There was just enough of the Marine obedience left in Shelton that he still followed Eddie’s suggestions.
Ralph envied Eddie’s ability to come down the stairs, clearly just woken from a deep sleep, looking ready to handle anything.
“Hey, Spina, what’s up?” he asked, throwing a t-shirt over his head and covering the impressive artwork on his back as he entered the kitchen.
“Since Gene and Babe decided to fuck-off to D.C.-”
“I don’t think you can call Nixon expressly demanding their presence as ‘fucking-off,’” Eddie interrupted.
“Fine, since Gene and Babe aren’t here to mediate, you need to be my witness for the act of justifiable homicide I am about to commit.”
“Can it be justifiable if it’s almost spontaneous premeditation?” Eddie asked.
“I’ll ask Buck the next time he swings by on his way to Tulane,” Ralph said. He motioned to the kitchen table where the stray bag of bones started making a bed out of Spina’s hat.
“House meeting!” Ralph bellowed.
Shelton peered up from his paper. “Spina, you need to learn an inside voice.”
“Shelton,” he gritted out, “I didn’t bring a cat home last night. I’m pretty sure Eddie didn’t bring a cat home last night.”
“Nope, I brought an Haldane,” Eddie said, making a beeline for the coffee machine.
Shelton whistled at that. “Where is the Captain?”
“Shit, son, it’s Saturday. He’s sleeping a week’s worth of teaching off.”
“I don’t know how he handles those kids.”
“He learned to handle you, Snaf. You’re like the ultimate litmus test for someone’s nerves.”
“Aw, thanks, Gunny,” Shelton said with a genuine smile.
Ralph could feel his face getting hot. “Cat,” he gritted out. “Hat.” He pointed to the table.
“In French, chat, chapeau,” Shelton said.
“In Spanish, el gato in a sombrero,” Eddie finished.
Ralph started pondering double homicide at the point of Dr. Seuss quotations.
“My grandmother knitted that sweater, Ma Heffron gave me that hat for Christmas. There is a stray animal in this house, without my consent, or that of Gene or Babe, and neither one of you seem worried about any possible diseases that flea-bag could be carrying.”
“It’s a cat, Spina, not the Antichrist,” Eddie said. He walked over to the cat and lifted it up, checked its fur and paws before putting is back down on Ralph’s hat.
“Verdict?” Shelton asked. “Remy said it should be alright. He found it behind Fitzwilliam’s.”
“Remy’s only a part-time vet technician,” Eddie reminded Shelton. “I don’t see anything wrong other than his weight. Might have worms, but we can take him into St. Martinville and get that checked out quick.”
“How do you know so much about cats?” Spina asked.
“I’m from the country, Ralph. It’s barn cat land. That and I grew up with at least five of these monsters in the house.” Eddie ran his fingers from the cat’s head down to its spine, smiling when it released a little chirrup.
“That’s great, Eddie, good to know you’re the Cat Whisperer. Can we please talk about what it’s doing on our kitchen table?”
“He needed a home,” Shelton said. “You wouldn’t turn down an orphaned kitten, would you, Spina?”
Spina very much would. He’d find a home for the thing first. The Spina household only ever had fish and birds. Ralph knew better than to take in a stray animal.
“Now, now, Snaf,” Eddie said, “we do have to take into account the other members of our household. We can watch over this cat, but until Gene and Babe get back we can’t make a decision if he’ll stay.”
Shelton smiled wide at that. Everyone knew Gene Roe would never kick an animal out of his house. Just look how many stray human beings he’d taken home. And Babe was a given. The Heffrons always had a cat or two, as did the Guarneres.
“This shit is so not fair,” Spina muttered.
“Let’s just wait and see before we make any serious decisions,” Eddie said. “Spina, we’ll clean up your sweater.”
“I promise I’ll be gentle,” Shelton said.
“And we’ll get a lint brush to take care of your hat,” Eddie said.
“Fucking fine,” Spina muttered. “Just get that thing to the vet today. I don’t want worms.”
He grabbed his bag and headed out the backdoor.
“What about your breakfast,” Shelton yelled after him.
“I’ll make Anna feed me,” he answered.
********
“And why are you looking so pissed off this morning?” Anna asked, her accent turning even the most mundane phrase into lyrical prose.
“Shelton,” Spina answered.
Anna laughed and reached a hand up to swipe at his head. “You do have hair.”
“Shelton again,” Spina explained.
“I figured as much after you came through the door. Eva thinks the end of days is upon us, seeing your head uncovered.”
“Little known fact, the state of my headwear is as accurate as Nostradamus,” he replied.
Anna shook her head at him. “Lola brought in a large breakfast spread. Eat something then come out out to the floor.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he answered.
St. Boniface Clinic was Ralph’s third home. He loved working here. Old Man Doc Thibodaux owned the place, still came in, cane and all, to help with the immunization rush right before the start of the school year. He let Gene Roe run the place, hire the staff, make the decisions over the funds for the clinic. Gene loved this place, it was obvious in the amount of time he spent here, in the staff he hand-picked.
Anna Soro was the only other fully licensed doctor. Her family fled Zaire, Mobutu’s regime and the First Congo War in the mid-1990s, finding sanctuary in Belgium. The whole Soro family saw the move as a chance for re-birth and Anna told stories about how even then, as a young teen, she wanted to dedicate her life to helping others. She saw it as her way to pay back those who managed to get her family out. Now she spent a good portion of the year away working with Partners in Health, usually taking Renée with her, but Gene would never tell her to stop.
Ralph was a little in love with her, something Gene, Eva, their receptionist, and Lola, their other Registered Nurse, teased him unmercifully about. Nothing would ever come from it, Anna would never get involved with a co-worker and Ralph respected her for that, but she didn’t give him any shit for it either.
Ralph stumbled across Remy in the break room.
“You asshole,” he said.
“What?” Remy asked around the beignet in his mouth.
“You’re the reason I have some alley cat turning my kitchen table into its nest.”
“You’re welcome?”
“Fuck you, Remy. You know what Shelton’s like. He sees a stray animal and he has to take it home.”
“Spina, sorry man. Ray forbade me from bringing any more pets home, and the cat needed some decent food and a night indoors. Seeing as how my brother is also my landlord, there was no way I was going to piss him off.”
“Isn’t there in animal shelter we could drop it off at?”
“Sure, if you want its death on your conscience.”
“Remy-”
“Hey, it’s bare basics, boo. The shelters are crowded, that cat isn’t exactly a baby kitten and it’s a stray. The chances of adoption are nil, nada, nothing. Besides,” Remy said while pushing his blond hair back, “I think a cat would do you some good. Lighten all you fuckers up. Eddie’s the only one who smiles on a regular basis and he was a Marine for twelve years. Something’s wrong there.”
“Aren’t we supposed to start with plants?”
“I’ve seen what Shelton does to ferns. It ain’t pretty.” Remy stood up and filled a paper plate full of bagels and fruit. “I’ve got to get to work, but seriously, Spina, owning a pet isn’t the end of the world.”
“It puked on my sweater. The sweater my Nonna knitted.”
“Then make Shelton wash it out by hand. You’ll live, and so will the cat.”
“I hate you and your backroom psychology bullshit.”
“Consider it a plus that I feel you are secure enough in your own masculinity to be a male cat owner without any questioning of your sexuality.”
“Out, Remy,” he ordered.
Remy just laughed. “I’ll drop some food samples and shit off for you later.”
“It’s not staying.”
“You wanna bet?” Remy asked before sauntering out of the room.
Ralph just shook his head. Some days he really wished he stayed in Pennsport.
********
He stumbled through the door sometime after 8 PM. The only car in the driveway was Andy Haldane’s so he wasn’t so surprised when he found him laid out on the couch. He wasn’t expecting the cat on top of his chest.
“Haldane, I had no clue you were cat person,” Ralph said as he dropped his bag.
Andy pulled his feet up and made space for him on the couch. He smiled at Ralph. “When I was at college, living in one shitty apartment after another, we only had cats. Granted, they were two Maine Coons, so it was like having two medium-sized dogs, but still. My roommate wrote a whole paper on the psychology of cats.”
“Really, that’s fascinating.”
“I’m going to ignore your obvious attempt at sarcasm and give you a history lesson.”
“Yes, Mr. Haldane.”
“Do you know the reason cats put the ears back, narrow their eyes, and hiss when they feel threatened is because they are imitating snakes? It’s the best way to get their faces diamond-shaped and years of evolution watching snakes led to that learned behavior. They figured out just how often snakes make predators back off. These days, most people know to avoid a hissing cat. Even large dogs will back up.” He held up the cat, who kept sleeping through the demonstration. “You can’t tell me that’s not a little badass.”
“If I wanted a snake, I’d go to Paw-Paw Roe’s and fish out one of the cottonmouths in his back yard.”
“Babe would, in the words of Shelton, fuck your shit up so hard you wouldn’t know if you were coming or going.”
“Eh, Gene already knows Babe screams like a girl when it comes to the swamp’s animal life.”
“The sign of true devotion in a relationship,” Andy said. He dropped the cat down to the floor and smiled as it rolled back and forth on its back.
“So, Ralph, tell me the real reason why you don’t want this cat. Cat vomit washes out pretty easily and while the fur lingers, lint brushes never hurt anyone. Is it just what the cat represents? A sign of putting down firm roots? Do you have a fear of attachment? Because I got to tell you, it doesn’t make sense.”
“What doesn’t?”
“You are a self-identifying straight man who lives with four gay or bisexual men, three of whom are in relationships with other men, two with each other. And that doesn’t bother you a bit. You’re a city boy, from Philadelphia, a major city. Big Leagues in term of Urban Life, and yet you manage to live in a no-name boondocks town with little complaint. You could work at a hospital, easy, and yet you work at a free clinic for something just above peanuts. None of this bothers you. The only other time I’ve seen you this pissed off was when Eddie made steaks on a Friday during Lent. It doesn’t make any logical sense.”
“I always hated Logic.”
“Spina, tell me what’s wrong so I don’t have to call your father and ask why his son is a cat-hating psycho.”
“I’m not the biggest fan of change, okay?” Ralph admitted. Because Haldane, the fucker, had the kind of face which made everyone confess their sins. “The last major change in my life resulted in the murder of one of my best friends. I know it’s a cat, it shouldn’t seem like anything, but cats live for years and it is a major change over a lifetime.”
“Do you really think your move caused Julian’s death?” Andy asked.
“I think if me, Bill, and Babe were still watching over him he wouldn’t have taken a job which led to him being gunned down on a sidewalk in South Philly.”
“But Babe was still living there at the time, right?”
“Yeah, but he wasn’t really there. By that time he was spending two long weekends a month down here and doing an undercover job for Ron in Jersey. He’d only been in Pennsport for two weeks when Julian got killed. He was with him at the time, did you know that? The fuckers waited until Babe stepped into a store to act. They followed them, hunted Julian down like prey, and I can’t help the what-ifs. So, change and I, we’re not the best of friends.”
“Men are not prisoners of fate, but only prisoners of their own minds,” Andy said.
“Thank you, FDR,” Ralph answered.
“Alright,” Andy said as he sat up, “it’s time for story-time.”
“Say it ain’t so,” Ralph muttered.
“Raphael Spina, I am older and wiser than you. Not just because my age, but my life experiences, so don’t bitch.” He ran a hand over his face. “Do you know what I did before this?”
“You were in the Marines,” Ralph said.
“Yeah, and I was an officer. A Captain, by my last tour over there,” Andy said, gesturing to the East. “Do you know what the hardline of the Corps is, according to the desk jockeys in Washington?”
“No.”
“The mission is the most important thing. The lives of your Men and any deaths therein are an unfortunate byproduct of successful mission completion. And Marines know this, from the newest boot to the saltiest Gunny. Grunts know that their officers’ careers are built on their backs and their lives. It’s a belief that’s pretty much across the board for all military branches of all time. Even though that’s the party line, when I was at Quantico going through my officer’s training, I had one instructor who said something to me that hit home. It stayed with me through it all. A true successful mission is one in which none of your men lose their lives.
The Battalion heads? They don’t have to be there when you send your men, your boys, to die. They don’t have to witness and live with the firsthand consequences of their actions. They don’t have to hold the hands of dying kids, giving the last bit of comfort as they go to whatever they view as an afterlife, if they have one at all. They see deaths as numbers, not persons lost. And it’s not something unique to the Corps. When you are the one officer in the Squad, Platoon, whatever, you are the one who ultimately gives that final order, so believe me when I say, I have sent more men to their deaths than you can imagine.
I can’t tell you how to cope, and you don’t need that sentimental bullshit. We each find our own way. We’ve all got survivor’s guilt. But Ralph, you can’t live your life in stasis just because you’re the one still breathing.”
Ralph looked down at the cat, now curled up in his lap and purring. “They teach you those speeches in Officer’s School? No wonder your students listen to you.”
“I didn’t get any of my jobs just because of my strong jawline,” Andy said.
Ralph laughed. He poked at the cat in his lamp and smiled as it gave him the feline equivalent of a fuck-off glare. It was an orange and white tabby and Ralph could already imagine the wave of destruction his dark clothes would endure because of the fur ball in his lap.
“Oliver,” he said.
“What was that?” Andy asked.
“Oliver. He’s an orange cat, an orphan, so we’ll name him Oliver.”
“I never knew you were such a Disney fan,” Andy said.
“I’m not, not really, but Babe had bright orange hair as a kid. We were little when Oliver & Company came out. Everyone called Babe, Tito, since he always wore this stupid headband like The Karate Kid. Julian was Oliver. It’s not all that common to be a kid with no siblings where we come from. God, they fucking hated it at first, but Johnny, Babe’s older brother, he was the one that said if you owned the name, stopped acting like it bothered you, the other kids would stop. We used those names up until middle school. Bill was Dodger.”
“And who were you?”
“Fagin.”
“Ah,” Andy said, “the hat.”
“I make them look good. Always have, always will.”
“I’ll tell Eddie the name when he gets back. Everything’s fine, by the way, as far as they can tell. Eddie had them do extensive blood work, seemed to think your new friend would be around for a while. Why don’t you go take a nap?”
“You trying to mother me too?” Ralph asked.
“Can’t be helped,” Andy admitted.
********
Ralph woke up to Oliver sleeping on top of his head.
“You trying to take the place of my hats?” he asked. “I don’t think they’ll let me wear you to work.”
Oliver just mewed in response and went right back to sleep.
The house was quiet, Ralph checked the clock and grimaced at the 3 AM which shone back at him. He did not mean to sleep that long. He shuffled out of bed and down to the kitchen for something to eat. He turned around when he heard a chirrup and saw Oliver following behind.
Shelton was passed out on the kitchen table, his uniform shirt on and his fingers still grasping a cup of coffee. Spina pried the mug away and poked Merriell in the side.
“’s fuck going on? Sledgehammer, where you at?” he muttered.
“Merriell, get your ass off the table and up to bed,” Ralph said.
“’Fuck off, Leyden,” he replied.
Ralph sighed and dragged Merriell out of the chair, into the living room, and dumped him on the couch. He couldn’t wait until Gene and Babe came home and Shelton returned to being their problem.
He went back to the kitchen and ate a turkey sandwich by the moonlight, breaking off a few pieces for Oliver. Next to the toaster was a whole basket of shit Remy dropped off. There was a packet of papers listing shots and licenses, a ton of food and treats, and a bunch of garish New Orleans Saints cat collars.
“I’ll be damned if any cat of mine becomes a Who Dat? We’re going Phillies all the way.”
Oliver just hopped off the counter in response and went over to Shelton’s work boots. He sniffed at them for a moment and then proceeded to shred the laces.
“Oliver, my friend,” Ralph said, “welcome to your new home.”