shoes, cat and little thefts

march, friday 19th

When i decided to dedicate myself to my lifelong dream, i didn't expect it to be so hard to achieve, not that i have nothing to write about, i do, but i find it quiet difficult to organize myself around the schedule miss C seems to have for me. Maybe i should have told her what i am doing every day, or more to the point, what i wish to do...
Few days after my arrival she came into the little room where i was still sleeping, one morning.
"what do you eat for breakfast?" she said from the doorway.
Why does she always attack me when i'm not fully in control of my mental capacities?
I Decided to take the safest route:"Don't care..."
Not wise.
"I like fresh croissants with my coffee" she said.
I heard the door close again, guessed she left after seeing how sleepy i was. But a gnawing feeling was preventing me from going back into Morpheus' arms peacefully. Why did she feel that my knowing what she eats in the morning was precious and valuable informations enough to wake me up. With that thought in my head my eyes opened themselves on their own volition to see a 5 euros bill laying next to my pillow.
Dang, dang and DANG!!!! So now i have to go fetch her breakfast?! really?!
There's some food for thoughts: how was she able to manage her everyday life when i wasn't around?
Then and there the artist's life as i imagined it stopped. No more sleeping around untill 2pm, and no more staying up all night trying to find my inspiration under the starry sky. Ok, true, there's no stars to see in the parisian sky, but as i said, it was the life i imagined. Maybe, the waking up early stuff was a good thing. I started to realized that in order to succeed i should take my endeavor seriously, like a 9 to 5 job and that i should take care of my health while i was at it, something my bohemian life wouldn't allow me to do.
So there's my morning schedule:
6:45 wake up
7:00 walk ( because i physically can't run, even to save my life, i perform a brisk one)
Having no sport clothing i slip into the baggiest pair of pants i own, a tank top and put a scarf around my neck (march is more than chilly in Paris). I don't look the part but who cares? Certainly not me.
8:00 buy miss C's breakfast on the way back.
After two days of trying to talk out of breath to the baker's wife, the good lady got mercy on me and saved me from making a fool of myself every morning by handing me the croissants directly once i step into the bakery, other costumers being there or not. Bless her goodness.
My afternoon schedule is not fixed yet. Not that i stay available to every suggestions, but every day brings a new assignment. Usually it's about going to the dry cleaner or something like that, picking up stuff and running her ladyship errands. I must say that i can't complain. Not that i'm too grateful towards her for taking me in to do so. But because doing so would stop me from having my daily pleasure and revenge. the fact is that i did act in bad faith when i said the little room was piled up with junk. It's filled with miss C's 'babies: shoes. Brand shoes, designers shoes, unaffordable-for-me shoes. High-heels babies, flat babies, flip-flop babies, boots babies, open-toes babies, all kind of babies turning the room where i sleep into a shoes paradise. But if junk means shoes for some people, so maybe for some people i didn't sound so hypocritical after all. Every day whenever i have to go to run some errand for her graciousness i put one of those ridiculously expensive babies on. It feels great. I perversely pick the most mismatched to my outfit so people can see them perfectly and from afar. Those errands are so far from being a chore that really i cannot complain about them.
That was until yesterday.
Yesterday, she called from her office and something didn't sound right. Ok, there's always something off when i talk to her, so let me rephrase that. There was something in her voice, but i couldn't put a pin on it. On the phone she asked me to go someplace (she just gave me the address and refuse to tell me whose place it was). There, i was to pick up somebody named Manolo (I couldn't bring myself to ask her who it was), even though i was dying to do so. But she did sound dreadfully serious and concern so i went there without delay. I took the subway and sat in a daze. Yes, i was curious but not only because of the mystery around that Manolo person, but because she sounded sad...
Was i discovering another side of Miss C, a human one?
Was she really able to feel and show real concern and compassion toward another fellow human?
As it turned out Manolo was not a person but a cat. Yes, a cat. More surprisingly, her cat. Hers and her ex's cat. The address she gave me led me to the 8th arrondissement of Paris into her ex's apartment. I didn't get the chance to meet the guy. But, judging by his place he seemed well-off. I met his cleaning lady, though. She's the one who told me about the relationship between Miss C and the owner of the apartment. The nice lady also told all there was to know about Manolo and his passed away companion Melissa. She gave me his belongings and sent me on my way saying that she still had much to do before the mysterious-rich ex comes back. I thought about staying in the area a little while before heading back home hoping to steal a glance of that rich-but-never-heard-of ex, but Manolo was weighing as heavy as an overweight texan and i also had to carry his stuffs back with me.
My first hours alone with Manolo, was the worst that i had in the apartment yet. The pet was spoiled! An overweight spoiled long haired cat! In less than three hours he peed on the living-room carpet, pooed behind the sofa, scratched (on purpose, im sure!) one of the same sofa's cushion and valiantly tried to steal a piece of the chicken i just got out of the oven. How am I suppose to live with that thing! Someone was playing a prank on me and I wasn't laughing! I finally found a solution to have peace and order back by locking him out on the balcony.
Am i wrong the hold grudge against an obese cat? He's no more a thief than I am and, just like me, he too is trying to find new landmarks in his new surrounding. Looking closer we may be quiet a pair: the shoes thief and the cat! sounds funny, doesn't it?