by Lindsay Kaplan
We called in sick today from work and stayed home, under the covers, smoking and kissing and spilling cereal milk on the floor for the cat to lick up. At one point the doorbell rang and you teased it was probably my landlord, and I pretended to freak out, so we tip-toed to the door in our underwear, you wearing the sheet around your neck like a cape, and me gripping the spoon like a weapon. The doorbell rang again. I giggled. You swung open the door and cracked the glass cereal bowl over the landlord's head and I screamed and screamed but you didn't stop — I could hear you attacking him as I ran down the stairs of my building half-naked, flecked with blood, still clutching the spoon. I never saw my cat again.
Lindsay Kaplan is single, has no landlord, and hates cats.