Carpeted

I always parked my car on the opposite side of the road to my apartment building. It wasn’t to get a few extra steps in as I crossed the street. No, the real reason was my landlady, Giselda. I’m not surprised she preferred to go by a different name, by the way – Sally – though it made little to no sense. It had no connection to her real name, and she didn’t have the personality for it.

Giselda was cunning with razor-sharp eyes that saw every new dent on the wall or stain on the carpets from the first day a tenant moved in. I figured a long time ago I’d never get my deposit back.

She lived in the flat above me, and she had a bad habit of backing out of the driveway and reversing with a screeching speed that threatened to hit any car parked on the kerb. So I knew better than to park there.

What I didn’t know was she could kill my cat. There was a sunny glow on the roads the day that my cat went missing. Yoda went for a stroll and never came back. The next day, I put up posters all over the neighbourhood before coming home, defeated. On the front steps, Giselda met me. I smelled her before I saw her. She wasn’t one to wear deodorant.

Giselda gave me an odd smile, some evil rippling over the surface of that soft and doughy face, “Did you get my heart-shaped cookies, sweetie?” Sweetie?

“Oh yes, I saw them by my door this morning. So that was you?”

She nodded.

My voice was nervous, “That was nice of you.”

She gave a wave of the hand like it was no big deal. “Anyway, off to the car wash. It’s been a few too many years. Need to give the car a good wash over.” She giggled and scooted off.

I put two and two together quickly. There was no way this lady would gift me cookies, without reason. And a good wash of her car? She ran over my cat.

I tortured myself with pictures of the scene as I drifted off to sleep that night, the black wheel climbing the hill of Yoda’s back and making carpet in my dreams. I grew paler with each passing day, images of my dead cat swimming in front of me. Poor Yoda, with her bug eyes and bright orange paws!

Yoda came back the following Sunday, returned by some good Samaritan who saw her in his backyard. I’d lost five kilos in the ordeal. I stood still as Yoda made circles around me on the soft lounge carpet. Guilt washed over me like slime down a wall. I’d given Giselda a side-eye of disgust all week.

I yelled out to her from my window, knowing she was sitting in her usual spot outside in her balcony.

“Hey, Sally?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks again for the cookies. They were delicious!”

“No worries,” she replied then said, “I’ll be sure to give you some more next time I drop ‘em on the floor!”