Chapter Twenty-Five
The Couch
The time to worry about sanity is when you start to enjoy daytime TV.
A week later Mavis had taken up residence on my couch, which had by then moulded to her body. Every night I arrived home to find Mavis sprawled out like a Greek goddess with Puss at her feet. Mavis was retreating into herself and Puss was making the most of it.
I had two women to feed, little money, and a cat with the taste buds of millionaire. Puss sniffed at nothing but the best. And now that the Bag Lady’s barbecued chicken wings were no longer on the menu she had taken to standing by her dish of tinned whatever and glaring at me.
While Mavis, “staying sober,” was drowning her sorrows in my herbal tea collection.
Lumpy and Mavis had spent the week going around in circles texting eac
