The Cat that Became a Dog / Stories of Fiction and Non-fiction

The Cat that Became a Dog

Fiction and Non-fiction

Stories

Regina Russell

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Regina Russell

Books you can trust with your heart.

Dedication

My father, Ronald Stokes, often told me that he should write a book. Unfortunately, though he accomplished many things in his life, writing a book was not one of them.

During the final season of his life, Dad asked me if I thought he would live to plant another garden in the spring. Though I expressed hope he would, he did not.

So this book is for you, Dad. It could never match the beauty of any of the gardens you and Mom planted and tended and fed me and my brothers from over the years. And outside right now, winter has Kentucky in its chilling grip and the fields are white with frost but I'm planting these words in your honor for I know spring will come.

Thank you for the stories you told me, the times you held me and for being my daddy.

The Stories

The Red Tie

The Cat that Became a Dog

Winding Up Equal

The Birthing of Marissa

I Thought I Heard, Mama!

Road Kill

Burning Matters

Puppy Eyes

Mama Cat and Me

Getting to Know Kathy

Old Lyn

Angelique Whitherspoon

Almost Impromptu Barbeque

Hummingbird Wars

The Red Tie

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and actions are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to anyone living or dead, businesses, events or location is entirely coincidental.

Rance usually dreaded most firsts, first days of classes when he was in college, first dates, and especially first days on jobs but this particular first day was not one he dreaded. In fact, he looked forward to this first with such anticipation he had awakened early, anxious to get started. It was his first day on a new job, a job which would actually use the education he had received as an economics major. He had been elated when he found out the job was his and that elation still lingered in him as he prepared to go to work. The salary and benefits were modest but promising if he stayed with the company for a few years. Rance had finally reached what he considered to be the springboard to the good life. He was twenty-four. To celebrate this acquisition, he had found an apartment within walking distance of the building where he would work, a little on the pricey side, he thought, but he planned to manage his money frugally as he moved up the company ladder.

Before leaving, Rance stood in front of the full-length mirror hanging on his bathroom door. He saw a savvy, trim, young, man wearing a dark, blue, Brooke’s Brothers suit staring back at him. He smiled at his reflection, noting with satisfaction that his close-cropped blonde hair had just the right amount of jell in it to keep it in shape for the day without appearing to be too glossy. He adjusted his tie, glanced at his watch and headed for the door. He planned to arrive at least a half-an-hour early.

On his way to work, Rance thought about his disrupted family, the divorce his parents had went through recently and how suddenly, his mother and father were living almost a whole country apart. It suited them, he thought. It was certainly better than trying to live in the same house with each other as they had done for the last twenty-five long years. After graduating, Rance realized there was no home to go home to, so he moved to the city where the prospects were best for finding a job. He missed some of his friends from college but his work and job searches had occupied most of his time and kept him from becoming lonely. He knew there would be time for friendships later.

However, this morning promised to be the start of the life he had envisioned for himself. He looked at the city around him alive with impatient commuters and people on the sidewalk hurrying to work, many carrying briefcases too. Rance smiled to himself, feeling a part of the whole movement of people that had some place to go and something to do.

He almost regretted not taking a taxi today because he had to walk several blocks before he saw his new workplace and the company’s sign that read simply, Wentmore and Associates. He had learned during his first interview that Wentmore was the name of the president of the company, a man he had yet to meet. He slid his fingers over his hair checking it for tidiness before he entered the building not wanting to appear unkempt especially today. Rance marched through the office door, striding quickly, hoping to look busy instead of new. Several people glanced at him as he made his way past the maze of cubicles and he gave them what he hoped was a confident smile although his right eye had begun to twitch nervously.

With relief he saw the man who had been introduced to him as his supervisor, Franklyn Justman up ahead. Mr. Justman noticed Rance and smiled. Mr. Felback, he said as he glanced at his watch. I’ve been waiting for you. Mr. Justman shook his hand heartily. Your office is this way, he announced before turning and heading deeper into the heart of the building. Rance followed behind him while massaging his right hand and thinking that he hadn’t met an executive yet who didn’t assert himself with a firm handshake, but his new boss, Mr. Justman, took the firm handshake to another level altogether. He would enjoy shaking a limp and lifeless hand for a change. It would be preferable to having his own hand squashed in some kind of administrative show of strength, Rance decided as he followed the supervisor. Then, he had an amusing thought. What if it were considered a sign of power to shake hands in a limp-wristed manner? He tried to imagine Mr. Justman going to the extreme if that was the case and shaking hands as limply as he possibly could in an effort to impress.

Rance had to stifle a laugh at the ridiculous picture he had created in his mind’s eye. He knew his sense of humor was a little offbeat. According to his friends and family, Rance had always found amusement in the oddest things. With fondness, he remembered his roommate in college staring at him in wonder sometimes when Rance cracked up over remarks and situations his roommate could find no humor in at all.

Suddenly, Mr. Justman stopped in front of one of the office doors, opened it quickly and motioned for Rance to enter. Rance walked into his office for the first time and was pleased with the décor and size of the room with its soft, beige carpet and pale, yellow walls. There was a large desk equipped with a computer and a black, leather swivel chair. A small, very life-like looking tree stood in one corner. On the opposite side of the office, two tall filing cabinets seemed to stand at attention like ancient suits of armor. After describing the duties Rance would be expected to accomplish that day, Mr. Justman started to leave the office but hesitated for a moment and then turned back around to face him. Rance had already seated himself at his desk, eager to begin his work. Did you notice that I am wearing a red tie? Mr. Justman asked with a slight, mysterious smile. Rance looked at the tie Mr. Justman had referred to and noticed that it was indeed red. He wondered why Mr. Justman was asking. Maybe he was being tested in some way, Rance thought—some new, first-day thing they did to all the employees. As Rance was considering the best way to answer the question, his boss saved him from replying by answering it himself.

You might not have noticed the red tie consciously, he informed Rance, but you did notice it. Rance nodded although now he was more confused than ever. Mr. Justman was standing in the doorway smiling at him. He reminded him of some of the male models he had seen in Esquire with their unbelievably thick heads of hair, dark tans, and cleft chins.

Red is a power color, Mr. Justman informed him. When you wear a red tie, you make a statement about yourself and although it may only be through the subconscious, he said as he pointed to his temple, your red tie speaks to others and helps you project a more powerful image. Mr. Justman regarded him with one raised eyebrow, while conveying a look that said he thought he had shared something important and expected him to respond.

Actually, Rance had heard the theory about red ties before, but it had never made much of an impression on him and he had dismissed it quickly. He assumed that if he dressed smart and worked hard the color of his ties would not matter. Besides, in a company such as this one where they never dealt with the public only with each other, what difference could it make? However, he could see Mr. Justman was waiting for some kind of response so he made one.

Wow, all that from just a tie!

As soon as he made the comment Rance knew his words sounded a little over the top, as though he were merely trying to placate Mr. Justman. He saw his supervisor’s countenance darken. Were you being sarcastic, Mr. Felback? his boss asked in a severe manner.

Rance frowned in response to the question as though he had been misunderstood. Not at all, Mr. Justman, he replied with sincerity in his voice. I was just surprised that so much could be accredited to the color of a tie.

Mr. Justman paused for a moment and looked at him. His eyes reminded Rance of the eyes of a fish, blank and unfeeling. Then, Mr. Justman continued as though nothing of consequence had occurred, although a small knot had formed in Rance's stomach. A tie doesn’t even have to be all red. It can have red stripes or a red design of some sort, as long as it is predominantly red, it will have the same effect. Rance nodded as if he were soaking up every last bit of information he could get from Mr. Justman concerning red ties.

I believe I will take a look into my own closet to make sure I have a good power tie, he offered agreeably.

You do that, Mr. Justman said while flashing his perfect smile. And let me know if you need anything. He took one more look around Rance's office as if memorizing its contents before he turned and left.

Rance stood immobile and stared at the doorway until his boss was no longer in sight and then went to his chair, sat down and swiveled around once while happily exhaling a long whew of relief. Then, he viewed his office from the perspective of ownership as he leaned back in his chair. He was pleased but the conversation that had transpired with Mr. Justman had captured the anticipation he had felt earlier and left a feeling of tension in its place. Soon, however, he was sorting through the work before him, becoming so occupied he forgot about the awkward conversation with Mr. Justman, the knot in his stomach and he even forgot it was his first day.

Several more such busy days passed quickly and just as Rance was starting to feel settled in he received a call from the secretary of the president of the company. A meeting was taking place in a few moments in Mr. Wentmore’s office and Rance was expected to attend. He unrolled his sleeves, slipped his suit-jacket on and enthusiastically headed for the office he had not been invited into since he had been working for the company. A conservatively dressed receptionist greeted him somberly and showed him to a large room where twenty or so humorless-looking men were already seated at a long table. Some of the men were having quiet conversations, only glancing in his direction as he pulled out a chair. He saw Mr. Justman and started to greet him but sat down silently when he made eye contact with him and saw him glance back frostily before turning to speak with the man beside him.

Then, Rance’s curiosity concerning the reason for the meeting was soon satisfied when a robust, white-haired gentleman who appeared to be in his fifties entered the room and flipped on the projector’s light. Rance recognized him from pictures he had seen in the foyer of the building as the company’s president, Wallace Wentmore. With scarcely a hello, Mr. Wentmore launched into the reason for the meeting. Quarterly statistics had shown a drastic drop in profit. Pads of paper were then passed out and everyone took notes as the president used the figures projected in the slide show to tell a bleak story. Mr. Wentmore, preoccupied with the mission before him didn’t even seem to notice Rance’s presence except for one quick, steely-eyed glance in his direction. Rance listened studiously as the minutes slipped away.

After the presentation, Mr. Wentmore sat down at the head of the table and began to reflect on the reasons for the downfall in profits. Rance looked at the other men seated around him to gage their reactions. That’s when he became aware that every single man at the table (except for him) was wearing some kind of red tie, even Mr. Wentmore!

He was amazed! Rance turned his attention back to Mr. Wentmore but he could not forget the picture now engraved in his mind's eye and would occasionally look around to confirm it was really true. Sure enough, although the men wore ties with different patterns, they were all definitely red. Rance could not concentrate on the subject of the meeting now because he was trying to understand why twenty or so men would all be wearing the same color of tie. Was it like this every day? If so, how had he not noticed it before? No one in the office had customers to face, Rance thought. The people in this building only consorted with one another as they did their jobs so why wear the red ties? Who were they trying to impress?

He looked at the men’s serious faces and then again at their red ties. Then, the humorous thought came to him that they were all trying to appear powerful to each other and he had to stifle a chuckle. However, each time he looked up, the men’s diligent expressions coupled with the appearance of the red ties would cause him to become more amused. The more he tried not to entertain the ridiculousness of the situation in his mind, the more the urge to laugh formed inside of him. His amusement increased to the point that he felt as if the stifled laughter were about to roll out of him the way popcorn rolls out of the large popping machines in movie theaters. Then, a small burst of unquenchable sound escaped from him and Rance put his hand to his mouth and cleared his throat in an attempt to disguise the muffled laugh.

Suddenly, Mr. Wentmore’s voice boomed out, Mr. Felback, is there some reason you find these figures amusing? Rance sat up straighter, alarmed to have been singled out unexpectedly. No, sir, he croaked. The humor of the situation left him immediately and he cleared his throat self-consciously as all eyes stayed on him. He smiled nervously. Mr. Wentmore gave him a grim look over the rim of his glasses before continuing and Rance made sure to find no humor in any of the dour statistics. But he would not, could not, look at their ties again. The rest of the meeting was uneventful, ending with some directions from Mr. Wentmore for the main office managers about cutting corners in the new quarter.

After the meeting, Rance headed towards the men’s room. He saw Mr. Justman who once again was barely civil to him and Rance began to wonder if his work had not pleased him in some way. He had excused his superior’s aloofness at the meeting as having to do with the poor profit margins of the last quarter but now he wasn’t so sure. Then, he had a thought. What if he is upset with me because I haven’t been wearing a red tie? The thought seemed absurd to him so he brushed it aside, but it remained in the back of his mind all day. He almost regretted not having gone out and bought one. Actually, the only reason