I Choo-Choo-Choose You!

Начало книги

Pandora (“Pandy” for short) was a purebred Siamese and could only be described—although this phrase wasn’t in common use twenty years ago—as a hot mess.

Some of her problems were obvious even to a casual observer. For one thing, Pandy was morbidly obese. She had all of a Siamese cat’s fine-boned delicacy of frame from the shoulders up and the hips down. But her midsection carried an excess seventeen pounds of pure lard. The tiny, porcelain-doll perfection of her head and neck made for a jarring contrast with the enormous belly—ballooning out on each side of her body—that swayed ponderously as she walked. Watching Pandy stroll about the house always made me think of a song popular on Miami dance radio at the time, which admonished, Shake it . . . don’t break it . . .

I loved Pandy dearly, but I was probably the only one who did, aside from Maggie, my boyfriend Jorge’s mother. She didn’t do a very good job of keeping her hindquarters clean, bless her heart. (Pandy, that is—not Jorge’s mother.) Whether this was because her girth hampered her ability to reach around and get in there, or because Pandy had given up in some fundamental way, was unclear. But every upward flick of her tail revealed an incriminating brown ring, as permanently fixed as if it were tattooed to her fur, no matter how often or assiduously Maggie tackled Pandy with the Baby Wipes.

Читать дальше →