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Grace (A Short Story)
by Kalikala Smith M. Grande was anything but what his name suggests. The man was a mouse. I passed by his office one morning and noticed his size. Mousey. M. Grande is my boss, manager, superitendant, head-honcho. He reeks of cologne. The man soaks in it for hours. Everything he touches has that distinct odor. It was very hard to be near him for more than five minutes at a time. We hired someone from the carpet cleaers to spary all the floors with disinfectant once every week. It helped with the stench.
I work for a company that deals with nothing. We are the cheap middle man that gets all the money if you're ordering anything over the internet. We are scammers of the highest degree. Our distinct odor goes around the world. I love my job.
Grace doesn't eat spinach. I forgot again. Grace doesn't eat much of anything. She sits and whines at you with these big eyes you can't resist. When you give her anything, she'll chew it, spit it out, and walk away. It's discouraging. I wish she'd expand her diet. Grace is eight years old. She should be able to eat a little more than just Kibbles n' Bits. I love her anyway. She's all I have. I bought her off the internet.
Grace and I went for a walk. She wanted to go down the street and I wanted to go up. We debated for a bit. She pulled on her leash and whined. I tugged and told her that if she didn't go my way, she wouldn't be able to watch TV that night. She stopped pulling and we started going up the street. Now once Grace starts walking, there's almost nothing that will stop her. She loves it. You'd think that I never let her out of the apartment. Every bench, pole, sidewalk crack has to be thoroughly examined.
It was getting dark and Grace was going to miss her favorite show if we didn't hurry back. Grace stopped. Her nose twitched. She barked. I smelt cologne. Grace doesn't like M. Grande. He was riding a motorized scooter. It was one of those ones that ou see the elderly scoot around in. You sit down and press a button and you're off. You can find them on the internet.
"Good evenin' to ya," M. Grande bellowed. For such a small body, he sure has a big voice.
"Hi."
"See you got yer doggie with ya."
"Yup."
"Can I pet him?"
"Her."
"Oh... of course... I kin never tell with these types." Grace is a standard poodle. You can tell.
"Well, I don't think she likes you much."
"Why do you say that?"
"She's chewing on your shoe." M. Grande is slow for a small person. It took a while for him to get out of his scooter. Grace had a good hold of his show by then.
"You should train that dog of yours."
"She is trained." I told Grace to put down the shoe. She knew already that there wouldn't be TV tonight. 01/30/2001 Author's Note: I wrote this a couple years ago. It's kinda silly, but heck... so am I.
Posted on 04/07/2003
Copyright © 2024 Kalikala Smith
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