Obsession

Hardingfele shut her umbrella covered with cats, set down her purse covered with cats, and sat down. On her cat T-shirt I could still detect a small stain of grease paint from when she had been a cat for Halloween last year. (Then again, since she had been a cat the year before, it could have been even older.) She said,

“Sorry I’m late. I had to make sure the cats didn’t escape from the cat-proof fence around the yard.”

“No worries,” I said. I know how she always has to make sure the cats are all in the house before she leaves.

“Are you sure you don’t want a cat?”

“You know I’m allergic,” I replied.

“There’s a really cute little plushy kitten up for adoption.”

“I’m getting a new doll,” her daughter Rockstar Tailor piped up. Hardingfele glanced at her as if surprised to find that she had human offspring and not just four cats, then she frowned.

“She’s so obsessed with those collectable dolls!” she told me. “It’s driving me crazy!”

Famous Hat