Free Just North of Whoville by Joyce Turiskylie Page B

complaining. They just have it out for me. Me and my rats.”
     
    Yes, I knew it might possibly rain on Monday. But you’ve got to start somewhere. While the moldy towels were in the washer at the Laundromat down the street, I stopped by the pet store nearby to pick up my bi-weekly purchase of cat food and a large bag of cat litter.
     
    Oh yeah----The Glamorous Life.
     
    I glanced at the pet store bulletin board on my way out. Missing cats. Free cats. Purebred cats for sale. Cats, cats, cats. There were some flyers advertising apartments for rent. All at least five times the amount I was paying---and I could barely afford that. And then behind a flyer for “Cat Acupuncture and Holistic Therapy” I saw something that caught my eye. “Dog Walkers Wanted”.
     
    I could walk a dog. I felt fairly confident that after having taken several of my friends’ dogs out for walks in the park, that I could walk a dog. Maybe I had a skill after all. I know it doesn’t sound like much. But it was enough to take over my fantasy world for an entire Sunday afternoon as I scrubbed mold off the woodwork and cleaned out the cat box.
     
    Forget nasty, rude people----it would be just me and the dogs. Fresh air, sunshine, and doggie play dates in the park.
     
    Life was going to get better. I just knew it.
     
    The funny thing is, whenever I had a thought like that----that’s when it always got worse.
     
    It started on my way to work the next morning when I saw Shoeless Joe shuffling down the aisle in his tootsies. For someone who hadn’t had a pair of shoes in four years, his feet were in pretty good shape.
     
    Most commuters just ignored him as he passed. Like me, they’d caught on to his little game. But a tourist or two always reached into their pocket. The lady sitting next to me handed him a dollar. I said nothing. Nothing. But she looked at me as if I were the Anti-Christ.
     
    “ The poor man has no shoes,” she said accusingly at me, as if I’d taken his sneakers at gunpoint.
     
    “ Mmm-hmm,” I merely nodded, simply acknowledging a fact. It is true that he doesn’t have any shoes----at this moment.
     
    “ That’s the problem with you New Yorkers,” she said haughtily as she pulled out a map of the city. “You’re all so selfish.”
     
    I don’t know why people open their mouths when they’re in total shock, but I think it’s because their mouths are poised to say something. And I had something to say.
     
    “ Uh….ma’am,” I began formally and precisely. “He never has any shoes.”
     
    I don’t know what I expected in response, but it certainly wasn’t, “You people are sick!!!”
     
    She said this loudly as the train came to a halt and she stormed off at her stop. Commuters looked up at me over their morning papers, wondering what horrible, sickening thing I’d said to the nice lady as Shoeless Joe moved onto the next car of suckers.
     
    “ I’m sorry,” I tried to meekly explain. “But he never has any shoes.”
     
    They looked at me like I was crazy for even caring what she thought. Or even giving two second’s thought to Shoeless Joe. Why did I care? Why should they care? They went back to reading their papers.
     
    My work day was no better. I’d recently noticed that a sighting of Shoeless Joe was always a bellwether for a bad day.
     
    After work, as I trudged up the five flights of stairs, my cell phone rang.
     
    “ Yes!” I answered with all the optimism and good cheer left in me, “I called about the dog walking job!”
     
    It went downhill from there.
     
    “ No. I have a cat. But I used to walk my roommate’s dog in college… Well, no. Not professionally. I didn’t realize it was a profession,” I said, trying not to sound like a sassy-pants.
     
    But apparently it was a profession. Who knew?
     
    “ Oh sure, sure. Well, thanks anyway. Goodbye.”
     
    Oh well. Another dream bites the dust. Normally they died a slow, lingering death. But at least this one was quick