Desperately Seeking Susan

By: Erin (Kate)

"And Marky, she's the cutest little kitty ever! She's all white with black splotches and her little paws are all black too and her eyes are all blue—like bright blue—like Roger-eyes-bright-blue. And I got this blue ribbon that matches her eyes super perfectly and I was gonna wear it in my hair but then she started playing with it and it was just sooo cute, so I let her keep it. And I named her Susan—but I call her Suzy Q—except for when I'm mad at her—like when she chewed up my sweater that matches the ribbon that matches her eyes. And Marky…" I eye Maureen wearily. Who knew getting a cat would make her into even more of a ramble-ly nutjob? I've heard the eyes versus ribbon story about eight times in the past half hour and the name thing, like, six. But now she's leaning into me with the "Maureen is serious" look on her face… which maybe means we can move on with our lives from her cat. "Joanne doesn't like my Susan. She wants me to get rid of her. She's a meanie."

The pout on Maureen's face is so powerful that I'm convinced Joanne can feel it from across the room. And I'm right—Joanne looks over her shoulder and yells "Maureen, I'm allergic to cats!"

Oh geez… I glance back at Maureen, who's got one of her eyebrows raised expectantly and her lips pursed. "See? She's a big jerkface—she's lying because she hates my little kitty so much."

My eyes flick from Maureen's overly expressive face to Joanne's watery red eyes and the pack of Kleenex tucked into her back pocket. The urge to drop my head into my hands is suddenly very overwhelming. No good can come of this.

Fade Out

"Maaaark! She stole my kitty!"

Two weeks later, my stupid thoughts are proved right. A magnificent crying jag on the phone and I'm just inside the door of a mishmash of an apartment with the skinny arms of a hysterical blonde wrapped around my waist. "What are you talking about, 'Reeny?"

Maureen stares up at me and I realize she's not wearing any make-up. This is serious. "It's my Susan! She's missing! And I know Joanne did something with her, she hates her so much. She's always sneezing and being all gross and blaming it on the poor kitty."

Sighing, I awkwardly hug her. "I'm sure Joanne didn't do anything to your cat, Maureen."

"You just don't know, Mark. I came home from rehearsal and I jiggled Susan's favourite jiggly ball and she didn't come. And I looked all over for her and I couldn't find her anywhere. Marky," her voice lower to a dramatic whisper now and she looks up at me through her eyelashes, "I'm desperate."

I run my hand through my hair, uneasily looking around the apartment. How do I get myself into these things—Holy shit. "'Reeny? What's Joanne doing in your bedroom with a suitcase?"

"Oh." Maureen suddenly lets go of me and looks at the ceiling. She's sucking in her cheeks and making it veeeeery obvious that she's not looking at Joanne. "She's moving out."

"And why's that?" I tap Maureen's chin to make her look at me, at least.

She actually manages to meet my eyes for a second before looking down—almost embarrassed! Which is a big thing for Ms. Maureen Johnson. "Cuz I said for her to." All I can do is stare. "Screamed at her to, Mark, she stole my kitty. I had to break up with her."

Oh. My. God. It's madness. "Maureen. If—if—Joanne did something with your cat—which I sincerely doubt—she had a good reason. Sweetie, she's allergic to cats. Susan was making her very very sick."

And I've done it. Now she's crying. "Marky, you don't get it. I loved that little kitty so so much and she's gone. What if she wants her jiggly ball? Marky, you have to talk to Joanne for me and find out what she did with my poor lost beautiful little Susan."

Sometimes I think my eyes are going to fall out of my head from rolling them so much around her. "It's a big messy apartment. There are lots of places she could be. Are you sure you looked everywhere? She could be in your closet. She could be in that giant metal thing you call a sculpture. She could be—"

"Maureen, your kitten is so awesome!"

I fall silent and Maureen actually stops crying as Mimi bounces through the open door and "waves" Susan's paw at us. Her jaw drops at the sight of Maureen's tears. "Baby, what's wrong? Me and Roger took Susan to a kitty playground I saw in the newspaper and she had so much fun. Didn't Joanne tell you?"

Now all both Maureen and I can do is stare. At each other. "Oops." Maureen raises her eyebrow then turns in the direction of the bedroom. "Pookie? We gotta talk."

The End

Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine; the title is from some 80s Madonna (?) movie… but the basic plot is mine! Written for the rentchallenge Week 2 challenge.