Fictionlet
“Erf,” said Greg as he stretched from the couch to the washcloth that had fallen just out of his reach on the floor. “Could you pass me that?”
“Why should I?” Brigid asked. “You’ve got arms.”
“Yes, two in fact,” said Greg. “But as Ozymandias seems to consider a day wherein he’s not lying across my torso to be a day of his life wasted, I am also wearing a cat. And I’m loathe to shift him for the purely selfish motive of respite from a headache.”
Brigid craned her neck to look over and see that in the ten minutes Greg had been lying on the couch, Ozymandias had indeed made himself at home on Greg’s stomach and was in a very deep sleep. “You should be more careful to avoid dropping washcloths when wearing a cat,” she said. “Now how will you make your headache go away?”
“Well I had a cunning plan that hinged on asking you to pass me the washcloth,” Greg said. “But it doesn’t seem to be panning out all that well.”
“You should have known that was a mistake,” Brigid said. “I am a cruel, cruel person and would rather torment you.”
“Apparently,” said Greg. “But it hardly seems fair for you to take it out on Ozymandias.”
“How am I taking it out on Ozymandias?”
“Well, if you don’t hand me the washcloth, I’m going to have to roll over to reach it, spilling him to the floor, at which point he will undoubtedly get very huffy and hide under a chair.”
“You think he’d go that far?”
“I’m convinced of it. He’s a cat of principle. He might even give you a dirty look.”
Brigid weighed this. “That would be bad,” she said.
“It’s in your power to prevent it,” Greg told her.
“Welllll … all right,” said Brigid, getting up and walking the two steps required to get to the washcloth and hand it to him. “In recognition of all those breakfasts you’ve made, I’ll do it this time. But I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for the cat.”
“Your noble sacrifice in time of hardship is an inspiration to us all,” said Greg, refolding the washcloth and putting it over his eyes.
-The Gneech
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