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CHOPPIN’ TOMATOES
By Linda Ettinger
Boy, am I glad that man with the funny way of talking is gone. I heard him tell my mom that I was dirty. Can you imagine? I mean, she gives me a
bath every two months!
I’ve got a pretty good life here. Three squares a day, and I’ve got a nifty, leopard-print bed to snooze in. Best of all, I get to sleep
with my mom every night, until Leonard Littlehouse came to visit. What a jerk!
Horace licked his black-and-white spotted paw, rubbing the side of his large, round face. He stretched luxuriously. His stomach rose
and fell with the rhythmic sound of his purring.
In the beginning, she thought Leonard was cute. They were always kissing. I became so jealous, but Leonard didn’t care. Ugh! I’d listened
in to their conversations. He thought she had some money. But we’re not rich, just comfortable.
The furry cat wiggled his tail. I love that warm sun.
My mom and I have a great life. We didn’t need Leonard Littlehouse. He just wanted to move in and have her cook for him. She doesn’t even
cook for me, just gives me the same old thing every night, but I never go without a meal. Leonard chased her around the house, making her laugh, but then she started to cry. He wasn’t satisfied with the
way his life had turned out, with little money to live on, not preparing for his retirement years. It depressed her. Mr. Leonard wouldn’t pet me––just teased me. I hate him!
Horace continued to stretch his corpulent body as he lay on the cool, pink-tiled floor.
That guy wanted my mom to move away from the desert with him––get rid of yours truly.
He didn’t like me and wouldn’t let me sleep with them. I had to sleep in the bathroom with my old, smelly box.
“Elvira, I want you to make up your mind. Do you want me to move in or not?”
Oh please, let her say NO. If she says yes, what will happen to me?
Horace sat on his favorite chair in the living room. His pink nose twitched with nervousness.
He looks like a big, gray beetle with all that salt-and pepper-hair. I’d like to squish him––crush him with my paw, like I do those nasty,
black spiders in my garden. I chew them up and spit’em out in the dirt.
They were always cooking. Leonard was too poor to take her out to dinner.
The late afternoon sun slanted over the San Jacinto Mountains, silhouetted against a blue desert sky.
Elvira and Leonard stood in the sunny kitchen preparing dinner. He sliced fresh salmon for barbecuing. Elvira stood at the counter cutting lettuce and tomatoes for salad.
“I was famous in Australia, Elvira. I want that same attention and adulation. Since that glorious period of my life, I’m just not happy or
satisfied with myself. You know, I was an Olympic runner. I won the Olympics in 1956 for my country.”
“But this is 2002. Get over it.”
Leonard looked at her with pale blue eyes.
He acts like a baby. GROW UP. I had to.
“Well, Leonard, I can’t make you happy. I’ve got my own worries.”
“What are YOUR problems?”
“Oh, forget it. Let’s get dinner ready. I’m hungry.”
You’re hungry. Where’s my third meal of the day? My blue bowl is empty.
Leonard picked up the platter of fish and walked through the sliding door to the rose-filled garden.
That fish smells good. I wish I could pounce on it––devour that stuff with my sharp teeth. I think I’ll pad into the kitchen.
The pink sunset streaked behind barren, brown mountains––a backdrop to the view.
Leonard slapped the salmon on the barbecue. He walked back into the kitchen with the empty platter. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes, I heard you.”
“Well then, what’s your answer?” His Australian accent echoed in the sun-filled kitchen.
If she says yes, I’ll be a dead duck, I mean, a dead cat. My heart will break. I love my mom. She’s my whole world. Horace buried his pink nose in his black-and-white paws. Please say no.
Leonard continued to look at her. “You can sell your house. We can move up to Bellingham, Washington.”
“What’s in Bellingham?”
“It’s cooler up there.”
“What about Horace?”
“Oh hell, get rid of him.”
The large, black-and-white cat’s body stiffened. Oh no, I hope she doesn’t say yes. Say no, mom, say no.
“You’ve GOT to be kidding? I don’t think I really knew you until now. I could never do that. I love my cat. He’s family. It won’t work.”
“Well then, bring the cat along.” Leonard stared at her.
Chop, chop, chop. The tomatoes were turning into tomato sauce.
Hey, Mom, shove that knife into puke-face. Sure, Lennie boy, bring me along, then you’ll get rid of me in Bellingham. I love my
house, my chair, and my garden. His little pink nose twitched harder.
“You know, Leonard, you and I want the same thing.”
“What might that be?”
“To be taken care of. I think you should leave. You’ve got your answer.”
“What answer?”
“I don’t want you living off me!” Elvira slammed the knife on the granite-topped island.
“How dare you! I’m a good catch. Women find me attractive.”
“Well then, go out and find yourself another lady, buddy.”
“You’re some kind of witch.”
“That’s your opinion.”
That son-of-a-buck, I’m gonna nip him! Horace lunged for Leonard’s ankle. He sunk his sharp, pointed teeth into white, hairy
flesh.
“Ouch! You miserable beast. That hurts!” Leonard sputtered, bent over and slapped the cat’s face, He kicked him in the rear.
Horace slunk under the kitchen table––ears slanted backward. He hissed, staring at Leonard with large eyes like black marbles. He licked his
paws, rubbing them against his face.
“Darn cat!”
Elvira picked up the knife, pointing it at Leonard––ready to lunge. “How could you do that? Horace is my baby. You are a brute.”
Leonard dropped the empty platter on the kitchen counter, grabbed his jacket, and strode to the front door, slamming it behind him.
Thank God. Horace padded from under the table. He rubbed his furry body against Elvira’s ankles.
She picked up the heavy cat, nuzzling her face in his fur. “It’s you and me, buddy. I love my Horace.”
Linda Ettinger (aka Linda Cross) of Palm Desert, CA, is a member of the Palm Springs Writers Guild and has attended the Southern California
Writers Conference in San Diego and Palm Springs, also the Frankfurt Book Fair. She’s a member in letters in the National League of American Pen Women. Due to extensive experience with foreign travel,
many of her stories are set in places all over the world. Her work has appeared in the Cantaraville Journal, the anthology Curiouser and Curiouser, and in Desert Voices. She writes under the pen name
Linda Ettinger.
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