Sunday the Cat vs. Hannah the Stripper

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In my late 20’s, I met a woman named Hannah.  Hannah was a dancer – an exotic dancer. All right, Hannah was a stripper.

“Dancer?” as an old drunk at her club once said, “These girls aren’t exactly Ginger Rogers. Hell, most of ‘em can’t even dance as well as Roy Rogers!”

Anyway, Hannah and I went out on a few dates and enjoyed each other’s company. I asked her to my apartment and invited her to sit on the couch as I went to the kitchen to make some drinks. She smiled, crossed her incredibly long legs, and elegantly lit a cigarette. After a few minutes I heard,

“What is it with this cat? Why is it staring at me?”

Damn! Sunday the Cat was on the coffee table, intensively eyeing this possible rival.  Hannah grew up on a farm. Cats lived in her family’s barn only to keep down the mice and rat population. Having one as an indoor pet was like making a pet of a chicken.

“Oh.” I lied, “That means she likes you.” Hannah looked at me skeptically through her cigarette smoke. It seemed men may have lied to her before.

I shooed Sunday away and Hannah and I became even more friendly. When it got warmer, she began to remove her clothes. When I complimented her on how sensuously she did that, she said, “It’s my job – remember?”

When it was time, we walked into my bedroom; Hannah, me……… and Sunday. Hannah and I laid down on the bed……and so did Sunday.

“Get rid of the cat, OK?”

“It’s only a cat, Hannah, forget about it,” I said as I tried to start kissing her again.

“Well if you won’t get rid her, “ she said pulling away, “I will!” Then she gracefully hopped off the bed, picked up a squawking Sunday, tossed her out, and closed the door.

After a few pleasant hours, Hannah had to leave. As we walked into the living room, we both expressed our desire to see each other again.  I watched as the beautiful dancer began to pick up her clothes and was surprised when she looked puzzled.

“How did my clothes get wet?” she said as she brought them up to her unforgettable face. “And they smell. THEY SMELL! Your goddamn cat peed all over my clothes! Goddamnit! That bitch pissed on my clothes!”

I can’t remember exactly what I said next but it really didn’t matter – Hannah was in a rage. Somehow I knew we’d never date again; somehow, I was right.

When I returned to our apartment, my furry roommate was eating her top-shelf dry food from a bowl on her Chinese red tray.

“You little bitch……..”, I snarled.

Sunday continued to eat and never even looked up.



2 Responses to “Sunday the Cat vs. Hannah the Stripper”

  1. […] “Oh.” I lied, “That means she likes you.” Hannah looked at me skeptically through her cigarette smoke. It seemed men may have lied to her before.  Read more here. […]

  2. […] “Oh.” I lied, “That means she likes you.” Hannah looked at me skeptically through her cigarette smoke. It seemed men may have lied to her before.  Read more here. […]

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