Sir Toby

“Ma'am, can you please open the door?” Get the fuck out of that ghetto shit hole. Subway is just 6 blocks from here.

Supporting his weight and forearm against the door jam, Rob leaned forward resting his face and hiding his eyes in his right-angle elbow cubby. "Ma'am, can you please open the door, so we can see what that smell is?" Rob and his partner Cliff responded to the complaint that a "stench like a dying man was a'coming from apartment 4B." The two officers had been on the scene for 35 minutes now, and they were stuck on the same pickup line.

“Ma'am, can you please open the door?”
“No.”

The sound of the woman's voice was close to the door and two feet off the ground. The quality of her words were muffled. She must have been sitting against the door facing away from the hallway. So much for kicking the door in. HEADLINE: Bruiser Cop Crushes Crazy Whore.

Rob drummed on the door with the butt of his hand. His knuckles were turning bright red, and the fleshy part of his hand allowed him to pound just a bit louder. I can't believe this bitch won't open the door. Plus it smells like ass in the hallway. "Radio the fire department. We might need to force our way in," said Rob.

Cliff walked toward the end of the hallway near the open window talking into his radio.

“Ma'am, can you please open the door?”
“Why?"
“We just want to see what that smell is. We got some complaints from others in the building.” Just silence. Damn. It’s like talking to a fucking child.

"Ma'am, can you please open the door and let us just take a look inside?" Crazy fucking shut-in. I bet she just shit her grandma undies and likes the lubricant.

Cliff came back down the hallway rebuttoning his radio to his uniform. “Firetruck's on the way.”
“The 26?”
“Yeah.”
“Sweet. I haven't seen Jim in weeks.”
“Said it'll be about 45. They’re finishing up a fire over on Chestnut.” Things were silent for a moment. “I hope she doesn't have a dead body in there. She sounds nice. I don't want to arrest her." Cliff looked at the door and scratched his chin like a father waiting for her daughter to return from her first date.

“Yeah,” Rob replied. I hope she does have a dead body in there. That’s the only way this bullshit waste of time would be worth it. It’s lunch, and I should be eating a cold cut combo.

"It's not a dead body" emanated from the door.

Cliff moved closer to the door and took a knee. “What is it then?” Cliff asked just above a whisper.

“It’s Toby.”
“Who the hell is Toby?”

Cliff turned to Rob and shook his head. “Be quiet.”

What the hell? Why’s he giving me the look? Some crack-pot bitch barricaded herself in her dank apartment and I’m the asshole? Let’s just chop the door open when Jim gets here with the ax.

“Who’s Toby?” Cliff asked through the door.
“He’s my cat.”
“Oh.” Cliff quickly got off his knee and whispered to Rob. “I think I get it. Where’s the pamphlet we got last week?”
“Which what now?”
“That pamphlet that lady brought to the last debriefing?”
“I have no idea. Check in the trunk of the car.”
“Okay. Wait here. Try to keep her talking.”
“Fine.” What the hell are you looking for now? Just wait for the fucking ax. Maybe Jim will let me bring down the pain. I’ll splash that fucker right through the “4B” on the door.

Cliff ran down the stairs and out of the patrol car parked outside the building. Rob walked over to the open window to watch Cliff shuffle through the trunk of the car. Rob lit a cigarette and blew the smoke slowly out the window. Below, Cliff pulled out his phone and started making a call. Who the hell he’s calling now? Jim’s on his way with the ax. Cliff ran back upstairs.

“What’d she say?”
“Nothing.”
“Did you try talking to her? Or were you just smoking?”
“Hey, man. She’s crazy. What’s my talking to her gonna do?”
“Don’t call her that.” Cliff walked back over 4B. “I’ve got someone coming to talk to you. Maybe she can help with Toby.” There was no response.
“So who’d you call?”

Cliff passed Rob a black and white pamphlet. “The Centre for Living with Dying.” Holy fuck. Are you fucking kidding me? Rob opened the pamphlet. There were phone numbers and some bullshit quotations about living with loss and grief.

“How’s this place going to help her?”
“I got some woman named Carolyn on the phone. Said she could come right over.”
“What for?”
“Maybe she can help us out.” Rob was visibly annoyed. “Look. If this Carolyn lady can’t talk her out, then we can bust in with Jim when he gets here. Cool?”
“Fine.” This shit is getting old. I can’t believe how many tax dollars are going into this one holed-up freak.

Carolyn arrived 15 minutes later in a casual maroon pant suit from Marshall’s. She wore a red scarf and her hair was up in a bun.

“Hey. I’m Cliff, and this is my partner Rob.”
“Nice to meet both of you. So where is she?”
“Right over there in 4B.” I can’t believe this dyke has a fucking job talking to insane people. What a waste of money. If this were jungle law, I’d have chased both of them down and fucking eaten them for being so soft.

“Hi. I’m Carolyn. Officer Cliff called me. Can you tell me more about Toby?”
“He’s my cat.”
“What color is he?”
“He’s brown and white with a black tail.”
“So how’s he doing?”
“He’s dead.”

Can you fucking believe this? This lady has a rotting cat sitting on her lap. All that shit and decaying organs leaking out the asshole. No wonder this hallway smells like fucking death.

“I’m sorry.”
“It’s just that David died six years ago, and we didn’t have any kids. David and I picked out Toby from the SPCA together.”
“When was that?”
“About 8 years ago.”
“You and Toby are good friends?”
“Yeah, we were friends.” The words were quiet and muffled by sadness and the door.
“How would you feel if we had a small ceremony for Toby out in the yard?”

What? This is insane. She’s going to freak. I bet this cat-lady is gonna be insulted by that. I better get my gun ready when she opens the door with a butcher knife.

In the smallest words of the day: “That’d be nice.”

Jim and his team of firemen arrived as Cliff was just finishing the hole. The woman from inside the apartment, despite having nursed Toby for several days, was in pretty good shape. Her cotton night gown was slightly stained from sweat. Her hair was matted in the front from her own oils and poofed in the back where her head rested against the front door.

The woman walked to the hole and placed Toby in the ground. She was crying, but not as hard as one would expect. Toby’s legs were stiff, and Cliff had misjudged the size of the hole. But everything ended up working out. After some massaging and maneuvering, Toby fit snugly into the ground. Jim leaned on his ax as he watched Cliff fill the hole, patting down the extra dirt that always remains after burying a loved one. Rob sat on the back steps of the apartment building smoking.

In a moment mostly for herself, her words were barely audible over the wind. “I’m not crazy, am I Toby? We were friends. I only ever went out to buy you food, and while I was out, I would buy myself food. I'm sorry I couldn’t take better care of you, but you’ve spent the last 6 years with me. You can go see David now. Can you tell him that I miss him?”

Fucking ridiculous.

A pant suited social worker. A burly 28-year-old fireman. A police officer. And a woman who loved her cat. All standing in the run-down back yard of slum apartment building. Weeds tickling their ankles. The ground, hard and dry, now had one spot of tenderness.

Fucking ridiculous.

Jim put the ax down on the ground and walked over to the woman and gave her a hug. “When you’re ready, I’d love to take you to the pound and help you pick out another cat.”

They all helped the woman back up to 4B.

“You coming, Rob? We can get your precious cold cut combo now.”
“Yeah.” Fucking ridiculous waste of time. He flicked his cigarette onto the mound of freshly turned earth. Lunchtime, bitches.


The Centre for Living With Dying