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“I once rescued a cat,” she began as soon as the car was on the street. “Something had broken her leg, she was being eaten alive by fleas, and she looked starved. I couldn’t fix her leg; I don’t know to this day how vets do it through all that fur. I kept her in my room. I got her a litter box and bought her a bag of Kitty litter. I put a flea collar on her. I fed her something like four times a day and gave her milk in a saucer. She had the longest black hair, and I brushed her and brushed her. Her leg sort of healed at an angle. This was summer, and one day I left the window open a bit -- much less than the height of the cat. She squeezed through the opening, jumped to the ground -- from the second story, on a bad leg -- and ran away. I never saw her again.”Eric could see a metaphor without being hit over the head with a sledgehammer. Or, maybe, she had just hit him over the head with a sledgehammer. Well, she had taken control last night, and she clearly thought of it as something. I could feel panic set in as the guard asks to see some identification. Michelle says in her sexiest voice that if he is going to give her a big hassle, then Helena could just wait in the lobby and drive him crazy. But after a twenty-second session with Michelle, the guard would have let Saddam Hussen in without identification. There are only five people on the floor. Unfortunately, one of them happens to be my boss, John. As he bumps into Stacey, he looks the three of us over, and asks us if we are the female version of the three musketeers, Remember, we are pretty well all dressed the same. Michelle says we all fell in love with the same shoes and the outfits just seem to match. Then Stacey boldly says "I don't think you have met my sister, Helena, from out of town." My boss takes my hand, and I force myself to look him square in the eyes, with as pleasant a smile as I could manage." The opportunity required me to say something, and I am choking big time. Finally, after.
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