The angry cries of the two combatants were blood curdling. When it was over, more than a few people had trouble getting back to sleep.
By "cat fight," of course, we're referring to the actual feline variety. This should be distinguished from the human cat fights that take place around the Sack's centre circle.
Those tend to happen during daylight hours.
***
Florence had been dating Slim Ford for almost six months. Most of her suitors don't last that long. This is because she has very clear ideas about what she's looking for in a partner. If a man doesn't quickly pass muster with her quality control department, Florence will send him packing at the earliest opportunity.
Slim Ford, however, received a decent try-out. In the end, he was found wanting for a very simple reason. He couldn't be trusted.
***
A lanky frame, a fondness for cowboy boots and ownership of a pick-up truck earned Slim Ford his moniker. I'm told his real name was Jeffrey. We're using the past tense here because Jeffrey is now a mere footnote in the Sack's history book. Florence says he'll never grace the cul-de-sac with his presence ever again.
Florence was under the impression that Slim Ford was divorced. She had some good reasons for believing this. First, this is what he told her. Secondly, she had no reason to believe otherwise. His life seemed to be wide open to her. She had been to his home on numerous occasions. She had even met some of his extended family.
Recently, however, Florence discovered that Slim Ford wasn't divorced. He was only separated from his former spouse.
Florence said it was one thing to be deceived about this fact. It was the length of his separation that added insult to injury. Slim Ford had only been separated for about eight months.
The icing on the cake, however, was something even more significant. During the last month of their relationship, Slim Ford had neglected to tell Florence about another important detail in his life. He was attending marriage counselling sessions with his estranged spouse.
Of course, Slim Ford was not the one to divulge this information to Florence. She learned about it from a third party. It came in the form of a telephone call from Slim's wife.
When the smoke cleared from this unfortunate matter, Slim Ford received several consequences for his actions. Florence, of course, gave him his proverbial walking papers. And his wife, not surprisingly, issued him a more tangible type of document. She served him with divorce papers.
***
It should be no surprise that Florence was steamed about Slim Ford's deception. She informed Mrs. Wonders that the experience has permanently altered her view of the entire male species.
To recover from the experience, Florence decided to spend a weekend at her cottage. Located on a secluded cove, her oceanside cottage offers a perfect tonic of reflection and renewal.
While this decision seemed like a good idea for Florence, it created some anxiety for your agent. Whenever she leaves her Sack home unattended, Florence will ask the Wonders' to keep an eye on things. Your agent's response to this request is always the same.
"No sweat," I say to Florence. "Don't worry about a thing."
***
As the worry-free Florence leaves the Sack for her cottage, your agent's worry meter becomes engaged. I worry that her house will burn down on my watch.
Of course, this is a very unlikely outcome. There has never been a problem with Florence's home while she's away. Nevertheless, it doesn't stop me from imagining the conversation with Florence when she returns to the Sack and finds her home in ruins.
"Sorry about that," I say to Florence, avoiding her eyes. "I just turned my back for a second and the place was gutted."
***
Shortly after Florence asked for your agent's home security services, I received a second, similar request. This one came from Oscar.
That particular weekend marked a significant wedding anniversary for Oscar and his wife, Gloria. In celebration, they planned a weekend getaway. This would mean leaving their son, Dorian at home.
Dorian, of course, is sixteen years old. This would be the first time he had been left alone for an entire weekend. While Oscar was confident that the boy would behave himself, he told his son to call your agent if he required any immediate adult assistance. Then he asked me if I would "keep an eye on things" during the weekend.
"No sweat," was my reply to Oscar. "Don't worry about a thing."
***
My worry meter quickly moved into overdrive. It was now possible for two houses to burn down during my watch. Even though Dorian would be held accountable if something went amiss, your agent, as the responsible adult, would still hold the burden of blame in the matter.
"Sorry about that," I imagined myself saying to both Florence and Oscar, after their respective homes were decimated. Of course, I wouldn't be saying this in person. Instead, these words would appear on a sign in the midst of the Wonders' lawn.
I would be seeking refuge on the west coast until the matter blew over.
***
Thankfully, neither house burned down during that weekend.
Florence returned from licking her wounds at her cottage. Her house was in the same condition as when she left. As usual, she expressed her gratitude for your agent's stewardship.
I replied in my customary fashion. "It was no sweat," I said with a wave of my hand, "anytime at all."
Oscar's house remained intact, as well. However, this didn't mean that shenanigans did not occur during his absence. In fact, a very significant event occurred. It garnered almost the same kind of attention that one might expect from a house fire.
At the height of the matter, your agent's worry meter exploded.
***
The affair took place on the evening after Oscar's departure. It was a Saturday night. Your agent and Mrs. Wonders were spending a quiet evening in our front room. Mrs. Wonders was watching something on the television. Your agent reclined on the couch with pen and notebook in hand.
When the shenanigans began, the state of Oscar's house was the furthest thing from my mind. Dorian had spent a quiet Friday evening with a few friends and everything seemed in order during the Saturday's daylight hours.
Shortly after ten o'clock, Mrs. Wonders announced her intention to retire for the evening. Only a few minutes later, she called out to your agent from upstairs, urging me to look out the front window. As I rose from the couch to do so, the telephone suddenly rang. It was Weed.
"Are you supposed to be keeping an eye on Oscar's place?" he asked.
"Yup," I said, slowly.
"Then, you're not doing a very good job," said Weed, with a hint of merriment in his voice.
By this time, I had crossed to the front window with the telephone in hand. It took several seconds for the scene at Oscar's house to register in my mind. There was a crowd of teenagers on his front porch. Another group of youths had ensconced themselves in the Sack's centre circle. Incredibly, a further stream of party-goers was ambling up the street toward Oscar's house.
"I guess I better go ever there," I said to Weed, before hanging up the phone.
***
Your agent is rather slight in stature. Teenagers, especially the male variety, seem to be constructed from much larger stuff than in my day. It took a bit of time to negotiate through the crowd of teenagers to gain entry into the house. When a tall, gangly kid accidentally bumped into me, he turned and said politely, "Sorry, dude."
"No sweat," I replied. I have no idea if this was a dude-like response.
While navigating this path, I noticed that almost everyone in the Sack was either on their front porch or standing in their front windows to observe the affair. Gordon and his new girlfriend, Gordette stood on his porch. Both had their arms folded and wore looks of disapproval on their faces. Big Doug stood like a sentry on his driveway. Only our strict gun control laws likely prevented him from holding a shotgun in his hands.
Elizabeth was visible in her front window. Her husband, Prince Philip was beside her. Both appeared to be wearing pajamas. Weed and Little Doug were sitting on their porch with drink in hand. They seemed to be enjoying the shenanigans unfolding in front of them.
There was a distinct odour of marijuana as I navigated through the outdoor crowds. Most of the youths seemed to be armed with a can of drink. I was met with the same state of affairs when I finally gained entry to the house. As I edged between the revelers in Oscar's foyer, my cell phone rang. It was Dorian on the line.
Despite the noise in the house, I heard his words quite clearly. "I need help!" he said, in an urgent tone.
I finally located him in the kitchen. Amidst the crowd of young people, Dorian and two of his buddies were wedged into a corner. When he saw me, his face erupted with relief.
"This is not my fault," he said quickly. "It was Facebook!"
***
According to Dorian, he was most certainly not hosting a party. He said it might look that way, but it was not his intention. His two buddies were quick to make the same assertion.
Dorian and his two pals had settled in for the evening to watch Hockey Night in Canada together. The Montreal Canadiens were scheduled to give the Toronto Maple Leafs another spanking. Shortly after nine-thirty, however, six youths showed up at the door without warning. Dorian said he knew most of them from school. Not wanting to lose face, he reluctantly allowed them to enter the house.
It soon became evident that his visitors had learned about the absence of Dorian's parents from his Facebook page. Apparently, his plans for the weekend were prominently displayed there.
Weed, who is savvy about such things, told me later that Dorian's Facebook page read: "Parental unit away. Non-stop partying with my crew."
***
Things quickly grew out of control for Dorian. Word had spread through the local online community that Oscar's house was open for mayhem. Within the next half hour, almost thirty teenagers had gained entry to the house. The same number now milled about on the porch and in the Sack's centre circle. Dorian claimed that he was unfamiliar with most of them.
These numbers didn't include the steady stream of adolescents who were still heading into the Sack.
Your agent began to urge the visitors to leave the premises. Dorian and his two buddies attempted to do the same. We didn't appear to be having much success at first. Suddenly, however, the crowd seemed to develop its own sense of urgency to leave.
This was because the old town's police had arrived on the scene.
***
Four peelers entered the house. Your agent looked out the front window and saw three police cars in the Sack with their lights flashing. The reflection of red and blue against the houses was reminiscent of the night that Burning Manor was set ablaze.
The mass of youths in the centre circle had dispersed. Some had sprinted through the backyards of Sack homes, while others simply walked boldly past the peeler cars.
Inside the house, your agent was able to explain the matter to the peelers. According to the officers, such impromptu gatherings are quite common when someone's Facebook or MySpace page notes the absence of parental authority. When Oscar and Gloria returned from their anniversary getaway, they encouraged me to remind them of the legal liabilities involved when underage drinking occurs, regardless of their knowledge of it.
Dorian also received a pointed lecture about the matter from a female officer. Thankfully, he nodded appropriately and respectfully. On several occasions, however, he repeated the same line of defense.
"All we were doing," he said earnestly, "was trying to watch the hockey game."
***
Incredibly, there was no damage to Oscar's place. There were a considerable number of empty drink cans strewed about the house and in the street. But Dorian and his pals collected them in recycling bags.
It was well after eleven-thirty when your agent finally returned home. The Sack had returned to its movie set appearance. Gordon, however, remained standing in his window with his hands on his hips. I gave him my trademarked peace sign, but he didn't reply in any fashion.
As per my agreement with Dorian, he informed Oscar of the shenanigans when his parents returned. It didn't take long for Oscar to show up at the Wonders' door. His face was dark with anger. Thankfully, his rage was neither pointed at your agent, nor at Dorian.
Oscar's wrath was directed at Gordon.
***
Not only had Gordon admitted to calling the peelers, but he also sent Oscar a long email diatribe about parental responsibility and the evils of alcohol and marijuana. Apparently, the email was sent in his capacity as the Grand Poohbah of the Sack's Resident's Society. It was also copied to Elizabeth.
According to Gordon, Elizabeth is now second in command of the august Society.
I allowed Oscar to rant and rave about the matter for a short time. Eventually, he ran out of steam. Then he thanked me for keeping an eye on Dorian and dealing with the Facebook-inspired shenanigans.
"No sweat," I replied calmly, "anytime at all."
***
Next: Recent Maxwell shenanigans. . . .
2 comments:
Hahahahaha! this is great!
Thanks for reading!
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