Loveseat Nights

7

sunday, feb 7

Nine a.m., not fully caffeinated, and staring at a bleeding basset hound. That’s me, Adrien Finkwell, at your service.

“Since when do bluebirds attack full-grown dogs?”

Mona rolls her eyes and continues bandaging Bogie’s wound.

“Oh, so not only do you use your first aid bandages on a dog and not on me,” I say, “but you’re ignoring me too?”

“Please, Adrien, I’m a little busy caring for my pet.”

I let out a groan and flop backwards onto the loveseat -- except I miss by an inch and end up colliding with the floor.

“Stop it, you’re scaring Bogart” is all Mona has to say.

“Come on, I could’ve cracked my skull open!” I call back, wincing as I sit up from the carpet and rub the back of my head.

“But you didn’t,” she replies indifferently. “Alright, Bogie, you’re all done!” She slaps him on the back playfully and ruffles up the fur around his ears.

If there’s one thing I’m thankful for, it’s that Mona isn’t one of those crazed pet owners who do the “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy? Aw, you’re such a good boy!” routine and play fetch in their dreams and have a folder in their computer just for pictures of their adorable little babe. She sees Bogie as more of a companion than a plaything or simple animal. Maybe because she needs a companion these days; I mean, the girl spends her free time watching movies from the 50’s.

“You’re really cruel sometimes, you know that?” I ask her, flicking at her sweater. The weather is cooler than usual today, with duller clouds and no sight of the sun. Pretty much the perfect day to stay inside and watch a movie. I’d enjoy it more if I weren’t being held against my will.

Well, sort of against my will.

“Cruelty is the only way to get results,” Mona replies. She eyes my flicking hand and slaps it away. “Stop, you’ll ruin the threads.”

“Oh, is this one of your thousand-dollar cashmere sweaters?”

“No, this is a twenty-dollar from Old Navy, but I still don’t appreciate you pestering me. Now wait here while I get the DVD.”

I watch her bound up the stairs. “Why is it up there anyways?” I call up. “Don’t you usually keep them downstairs?”

“Yeah, but I was watching some last night in my room,” she yells back. “Stay down there! Don’t come up!”

After a couple seconds, I exchange a look with Bogie. He cocks his head and make a hmmm whine while I smirk and put my pointer finger to my lips.

“Don’t say anything,” I whisper to him, quietly taking the stairs two at a time.

Upstairs is like the first floor, except more architecturally structured. At the top of the stairs, the game room is laid out in front. To the right is a long hallway stretching above the downstairs living room so that one can lean over the railing and see the loveseat, the coffee table, the plasma TV, and the gigantic sky window.

I peek my head around the game room. It seems to just be a living room-esque area, so I head down the corridor.

Similar to the hallway in my house, there are pictures lined up against the wall. I almost laugh out loud at Elementary School Mona, giddily smiling at the camera with two front teeth missing. Then there’s a picture of her family from many years back, clean and elegant and looking like one of those filler photos featured in picture frames. They look so fantastic.