Of Man and Animals. Thomas R. Hauff
effort had made her manager in four short years, and she enjoyed it too! She moved the pizza box on the table, scooping up the last piece of cheesy bread and popping it into her mouth. All gone and cleared for breakfast! Margaret hated a mess. She knew people who were messy and she could not stand it! They always have a reason for not putting things away or cleaning up. But Margaret had learned from her daddy that “every thing has its place and every place has its thing.” How hard can it be to change that habit? She had been messy once. But daddy had helped her learn to clean up after herself. That’s all it takes is a little help from someone who cares. Margaret sighed. Perhaps that was the trouble. People just don’t care anymore.
Tracker had gorged on his breakfast and was lying on his side dozing by the door. He was a lovely cat! Pretty cinnamon orange, with orange eyes. He was so soft and cuddly too! Margaret smiled at him as she stood. She laid the paper out, put out a place setting, and began to make waffles. There is nothing like waffles on Saturday morning! Margaret made a small batch. As she did, she poured Tracker a nice bowel of whole milk. He needed it to settle his nerves. Often after eating he would wheeze and cough as he settled his heft down for a nap. Margaret was sure he was too excited about seeing her in the morning, and probably had some sort of respiratory problem too. The milk helped him to calm down and sleep.
As the first waffle cooked, Margaret nibbled at the jam. Just a few teaspoons to idle the time as she waited. She looked out the window and noticed Brian Gottlieb washing his truck. He sure spent a lot of time doing that! Here it was not much past seven a.m. and he’s out washing the truck. People get hung up on things and they can’t seem to see they are obsessed. It’s not as though the truck was actually dirty per se. He did use it to go “four wheelin’” (as he called it) but most of the time it looked as clean as any other car on the block. Certainly Margaret’s car was clean and she didn’t wash it more than a couple times a month, if that. In fact, no one she could think of washed their cars as much as Brian Gottlieb. He had a problem with his truck. Margaret spooned a large dollop of jam into her mouth as she contemplated Brian’s work. It was really sort of sad that he wasted such time on it. He was a nice looking young man; cute really. But he wasn’t married. He didn’t even date that much. Margaret doubted any woman would want some guy who obsessed over his truck! That was undoubtedly the problem.
The waffle appeared ready and Margaret dumped it onto her plate. She then filled the waffle-maker again for the next one before she sat down to eat. She quickly buttered the waffle, spooned the jam onto it (raspberry), and poured a little syrup on for extra pizzazz. “The coffee!” she exclaimed to herself. Tracker looked at her and blinked before laying his head back down to wheeze himself back to sleep. She set the coffee maker, and went about preparing her cup hurriedly: A little cream, three tablespoons of sugar, and ready to pour! The Bunn streamed out the coffee in short order and within a few minutes she was licking her lips over the last few forkfuls of her first waffle and reading the paper.
Councilman Dexter was in deep! She laughed to herself. He was notorious for womanizing and had been caught with a young lady in a motel. Margaret did not condone such things herself. She had never had sex as a teenager, or at all for that matter, and felt it was wrong to do so. She was raised right, as a good Christian woman. And respectable, good people didn’t sleep around like animals! People were not made to demean one another that way in Margaret Nadine’s eyes. Serves that bastard Dexter right if he gets tossed from office! And Margaret almost choked on her bite from waffle number two as she laughed at his duress. “Gotta get more coffee,” she thought, and started spooning sugar into her cup.
When the breakfast dishes were cleared, the paper read, and the table wiped down, Margaret settled into her easy chair in the living room. She loved to sit and read on Saturday morning with Tracker. He enjoyed the wide expanse of her lap in which to lie, as well as the occasional scratches behind the ears. He was flopped out on her right now, with his belly up, and his eyes fast closed. Margaret was wading through War and Peace for the second time. She enjoyed reading long, involved books in which the characters were well developed by the author. Count Rostov was her favorite in this classic, and he had just entered the army. Margaret sat nibbling a little popcorn and wolfing down his exploits in the fields of Russia. She glanced out the front window, and noticed Brian had finished his washing and was talking with the neighbor on the corner, Jeff Bonhart.
The Bonharts were very nice people. Well, Margaret thought they were anyway. She had had conversations with Shawna Stewart about them in the past, and had to admit they were sometimes a little selfish. They enjoyed their deck in the back yard, and often sat out in the evening chatting with friends. Sometimes though, they just sat out and listened to music. That was the rub for Shawna and her husband Stacy (“That’s a funny name for a man,” Margaret giggled. Stacy Stewart! Say that three times fast!). The Bonharts played their classical music too loud sometimes. And Margaret had to agree that it intruded on occasion—though she loved classical music. Some people just expected others to go along with their ideas she supposed. It was a common failing in many people. She could forgive it in the Bonharts. They were full of other good qualities. They sometimes invited her over to sit with them in the evening. And she always had a pleasant time, chatting and snacking on various treats. They would laugh, or sometimes just listen to music and watch the stars. It was nice. Besides, that Shawna Stewart shouldn’t complain. The Stewarts owned a restored “street rod” and when Stacy monkeyed with the engine it reverberated through the entire neighborhood! Some people just made more noise than others. And although Margaret would never play her stereo that way, or race her car engine, she had chosen to tolerate the insensitivity of the Bonharts on occasion.
Margaret’s musings were interrupted by the sight of Johnny Spellman heading back down the block having finished his paper route. She wrestled herself to her feet, and got to the door, huffing, before he could pass. She leaned out over the cold porch and hollered at him at the top of her lungs, “Hey Johnny Spellman! Try to hit the mat next time, huh?!” Margaret was sure Johnny flashed her a penitent “sorry Ms. Skyler” look before she turned to go in. Brian and Jeff had both snapped their heads in her direction at her bellow that had rung out up and down the street. This partially annoyed Margaret. It was none of their business if she needed to correct the boy!
Brian and Jeff loaded golf clubs into Brian’s shiny truck and they tore out to go “hit the pill” as Jeff called playing a round of golf. Margaret didn’t go in for such things. She didn’t believe in wasting time out of her day. She munched a little more popcorn, and seeing that the morning had disappeared, she ousted Tracker from his sleep and headed for the kitchen to start lunch. Margaret had a hankering for some dogs and beans. She opened two cans and poured them into the saucepan. Before placing them on the stove however, she plucked out two of the little hot dogs that are mixed in with the beans and placed them on a saucer. Tracker paced at her feet expectantly, and as she bent to place the daily treat down for him he squealed a long meow of pleasure. Margaret grinned and stroked him as he began to gobble his snack. She then set her own beans to cooking and looked in the fridge for something to accompany them. “Let’s see,” she thought, “I have meat in my hot-dogs, so I need something sustaining.” She closed the fridge, and opted for a large piece of French bread. Just the ticket!
Having finished lunch Margaret needed a nap. “People just don’t take naps as much as they used to,” she said to Tracker as they both lay down. Tracker climbed up her side and settled heavily on her stomach in his “sphinx” pose. His eyes seem to say, “I’m lord of all I survey.” Margaret scratched him and said, “You are one fat cat!” To this he closed his eyes and purred loudly. She marveled that a cat could get so big. Just the other day she had commented with pride on her tiger sized pet. She smiled softly as she drifted off to sleep.
Margaret awoke as Tracker huffed his way down off her and out of the room. She lay quietly listening, expecting and then hearing the crunch of hard cat food as Tracker began to munch. She lolled over and got up, glancing out the window into the back yard at her over-run gardens. She had had the idea once of growing fresh food, but had only gotten as far as the first year. Truth be told, she had not even harvested all the produce. She had found that weeding and hoeing and what-not was not to her taste. It was Vicky next door who had interested her in the project. She had a very large garden herself. Frankly, it had looked more inviting when Vicky was grubbing around on her hands