“Callie!”

            The clock read 7:58. Mr. Shafer could not accuse me of being late. So, what was it this time? Instead of running to his office and standing at attention in his doorway as he would have preferred, I took time to stow my purse and hollered over my shoulder.

           “Yes, sir?”

            A voice that sounded like a dump truck losing its load of gravel bellowed from the depths of his lair, “Is this the font I told you to use?”

            Not that again. He had spent half the previous day debating over which font to use for his presentation to the accounting staff. Why would a room full of numbers people even care?

            “Yes, sir.”

            “I don’t like it. What’s it called?”

            “Poornut.”

            “What kind of name is that?”

            He didn’t expect an answer having long ago decided my opinion was of no concern.

            “It looks weird.”

            I wanted to say, “No shit.” Instead, spineless me remained silent.

            “Get in here. And bring me a cup of coffee.”

            He could have gotten off his fat butt to get his own coffee but hefting his massive bulk out of his chair took effort.

            I looked at the empty coffee pot. As much java as that man drank, I could have saved myself time by attaching an intravenous drip to his arm, assuming the caffeine could work its way through his plaque-encrusted veins.

            “Callie!”

******

            I woke the following morning in my usual glass-half-empty mood. I hated my boss, hated my job, and hated myself for not having the guts to quit. I stepped out of the house to find Kitty yawning luxuriantly on my porch railing. Kitty had first appeared two days earlier, shortly after I hung the bird feeder. His large yellow eyes followed every move of the unsuspecting feathered diners, though he never made a move in their direction. His lack of motivation probably due to never having missed a meal. The orange tabby easily weighed in at twenty pounds.

            “Must be nice not to have a care in the world.”

            Kitty licked at a paw and then let it drop alongside the railing.

            I tentatively reached out a hand for him to smell, something I learned to do with dogs. Instead of giving me a sniff, Kitty rubbed his head against my hand.

            “You’re a friendly one.”

            He let me scratch behind his ears and when I ran my fingers down his back, his long, sinewy tail lifted into the air like Loch Ness Monster rising from the depths. 

            “They say cats help lower blood pressure and relieve stress.”

            I stroked some more.

            “I think you might be defective. Nothing’s happening.”

            Kitty made his concern for my well-being known by letting out a theatrical yawn. I glanced at my phone.

            “Uh, shit!”

******

            “Callie! You’re late.”

            I already knew that.

           Mr. Shafer appeared in the doorway. “Did you finish that report I gave you?”

            I could have said, “You mean the one you gave me at 4:55 yesterday afternoon?” Instead, I murmured, “I’ll get right to it.” Sir hung in the air unspoken.

            The report was Shafer Junior’s fifteen-page research paper, titled Salamanders and Their Contribution to the Planet, complete with footnotes. Couldn’t he use Chat GPT like everyone else?

            I fished the report out of the IN box, which sat on my Communist Era, gray metal desk, scooted up to my computer in a non-ergonomic chair that dated back to the Inquisition and stared into a computer that glared back. The only sunshine in my workday came at 8:45 every morning when Tad Walker passed by in his athletic-cut dress shirt and one size-too-small slacks. He worked in sales and therefore, had absolutely no reason to make contact with the administrative assistant to a second-tiered Vice President, who hadn’t been promoted in five years—Mr. Shafer, not me. Lucky me got promoted last year to this hell hole. I finished the report between phone calls, making coffee, and tending to the work I actually got paid to do.

            As I reached for a folder, I noticed a streak of orange and white hair on the sleeve of my jacket. I brushed at it and the hair landed on the research paper.

            “Damn, cat.”

            I put the report into the folder and took three deep breaths before heading into the war zone. Though Mr. Shafer’s door was open, I knew not to walk in without knocking. I knocked and waited. He sat with his nose inches from the monitor and pecked at the keyboard. I knocked again.

            “What?”

            “Your report.” I emphasized, “Your”.

            Mr. Shafer gave me his, Don’t get smart with me, look. He tossed it on top of a pile of other paperwork without examination.

            “Maybe you should put it in your briefcase, so you don’t forget it.”

            It would somehow be my fault if he had to come back to the office.

            “What makes you think I’ll forget it?”

            I lowered my eyes. “Just trying to be helpful.”

            I noticed more cat hair on my sleeve and brushed at it.

            “What are you doing?”

            I dropped my arm. “Nothing, sir.” 

            “Then get out.” He grabbed the file and shoved it into his briefcase. “And close the door behind you.”

******

            Lunch with my friend Maggie was always the same. I whined. She counseled.

            “I can barely make my mortgage and there aren’t any jobs out there that’ll pay what I’m making now.” I washed down three aspirins with Maalox.

            “You don’t know that.” She sipped her iced tea.

            I stared at my own tea and longed for the days of three-martini lunches.

            Maggie said, “You could sell the house.”

            My entire body deflated at the thought.

            “Oh yeah, and listen to my mother’s ‘I told you, you had no business buying a house.’ Maybe she was right. People like me don’t own houses.”

            We both knew this had nothing to do with my mother and everything to do with my insecurities. Buying the house made me feel like a grownup. I wasn’t prepared for the adult responsibilities that came with it. I wished I was more like Maggie. Things always came easy for her.  

            Late from lunch, I prepared for a tongue-slashing, but Mr. Shafer was also late. I used the time to imagine myself dressed as Cat Woman and Mr. Shafer cowering naked in a corner while I beat him with a whip. You worthless pansy! What did I tell you about coming in late? My stiletto boot was just about to take out his head when the real Mr. Shafer walked in rubbing his eyes. His pasty face looked puffy like he’d been stung by bees.

            “Are you okay?” I asked as if I cared.

            “My allergies are acting up.” He went into his office and slammed the door.

            I sat stunned. He’d returned without a single crack about my worthless existence.

            Mr. Shafer sneezed and wheezed until about three o’clock when he emerged from his office.

            “Wow, you look bad.”

            He grunted.

            “I heard there’s another mutant virus making the rounds.”

            I tried to contain my excitement at the possibilities.  

            “It’s my allergies.” He felt his forehead. “I’m going home.” He paused at the door. “You own a cat?”

            “I don’t have any pets.”

            As I said the words, I remembered Kitty. But Kitty was not my cat. I had no idea who he belonged to.

            Mr. Shafer shook his head. “I never get this bad, except around cats.” He blew his nose. “I’ve emailed some reports for you to complete. See if you can do them without screwing up. Tell everyone I’ll call them back tomorrow.”

            I watched him step into the elevator and waited until the doors slide shut before I jumped up and danced a jig around my desk. “I’m free. Free at last!”

            “Having a good day?”

            Tad Walker watched with a big smile from the doorway. I felt myself turn ten shades of purple. He walked off before I found my nerve to speak. My good mood evaporated.

            “Why am I such a pussy? How hard can it be to say, ‘Hi’?”

            And as if Tab Walker couldn’t make me feel bad enough about myself, Mr. Shafer’s email added salt.

            MY FIFTH-GRADE SON CAN PUT TOGETHER TWO SENTENCES BETTER THAN THIS.

            “Really!? I’ve read the sentences your son puts together.”

            Admittedly, his school reports weren’t half bad. I swiped at more cat hair on my desk.

            “Jeez, how much hair can one cat have?”

            An idea began to form.

            “Cat. Pussycat. Kitty.” I gripped the sides of my desk feeling a little light-headed. “No, I could never do that. Could I?”

******

            At six the next morning, I ran through my house in search of the perfect cat hair container. I thought about using a lint roller, but how to get the hair off the sticky tape? My plastic containers were all too big. The answer lay on the kitchen table with a stack of overdue bills. With the hair in an envelope, should Mr. Shafer walk in, I could say I was checking his desk for outgoing mail. As I got ready for work, my mind raced. What if I got caught? I’d get fired for sure. I stopped mid-mascara stroke. Could I get arrested? Assault by cat?

            I finished my makeup and checked the porch. No Kitty. Relief went through me. It was a stupid idea. But that didn’t stop me because I ran back into the house to retrieve an old toothbrush that I used to scrub grout in the shower. There should be enough hair stuck to the porch railing. Before going back outside, I changed out of my black slacks. Beige was less likely to show stray hairs.

            Outside, there sat Kitty.

            “Hi there, you big allergen depository, and my hope for a peaceful future.”

            He rolled his head from side to side as I scratched his ears. My fingers came away covered in staticky fur. It took some doing to get it off my hand and into the envelope. I gave Kitty a few more strokes before reminding myself that I had to get to the office before Mr. Shafer.

******

            The lobby security guard checked his watch.

            “You’re early.”

            I chanted to the wavey image of myself in the chrome doors of the elevator, “Breathe, I can do this, breathe, I can do this, breathe.” The doors whooshed open. I stepped out.

            “Oh, my God! What are you doing here so early?”

            My heart took a moment to restart.

            Maggie smiled at me with a cup of coffee in one hand and a bagel in the other.      “Don’t tell me old saggy breeches gave you another last-minute book report for his kid.”

            She referred to Mr. Shafer as old saggy breeches because he did not have a butt and the seat of his pants looked like two deflated balloons.

            “I have an extra bagel if you want it.” Maggie tilted her head. “Are you okay? You look flushed.”

            “No. Yes. I mean, no, I don’t need the bagel.”

            Two people, so far, noticed my early arrival. The detective in my head asked, “Did you notice any unusual behavior prior to the incident in question?”  

            Maggie was my friend and the office gossip. A horny one at that. She’d sell my soul if the detective were good-looking enough.

            “Uh, kind of yes on the report.” I kept walking. “Can I catch you later?”

            “Anything I can help with?”

            “No thanks.”

            I gave her a wave without looking back. She was sure to question me like a KGB agent during lunch, so I would have to come up with a convincing story for my behavior.

            I stepped into my office, flicked on the computer, and unlocked my desk. Habit directed me toward the coffee pot.

            “What are you doing? Forget the coffee.”

            The envelope weighed heavy in my hand as I pulled it from my purse. It was a standard, white envelope with no identifiable markings. But what about fingerprints?

            “Stop worrying. It isn’t like I’m trying to kill the guy.”    

            After checking the hallway, I slipped into Mr. Shafer’s sanctum. It felt strange being in there alone. I sprinkled some hair on the carpet around his desk. It had only taken a few strands to get him all teary-eyed the day before. Just to be sure, I hide a few more under his phone, his mouse pad, and a couple more in his top drawer. Then scurried out, flopped in my chair, shoved the envelope back into my purse, and waited. And waited.

            Mr. Shafer dragged in an hour late, looking like he hadn’t slept in a week. I almost felt sorry for him until I heard, “Where the hell is my coffee?” He stood with empty coffee pot in hand.

            “Sorry, sir. I got busy and forgot.”

            He stared at me through bloodshot eyes, “Like hell. You just walked in, didn’t you?”

            Referring to his own tardiness, I said, “This way the coffee will be fresh instead of an hour old.”

            His fingers tightened around the handle of the pot.

            Maybe it was the courage that comes with already having crossed the line that made me ask, “Have you considered buying a Keurig?”

            His eyebrows popped up as if I had flicked his nose. He might have swung the coffee pot at my head if he hadn’t been overcome with a sneezing fit. The pot was dropped on the floor and his door slammed in his wake. I imagined suffocating him with a pillow made of cat hair.

            The sneezing and wheezing continued for about an hour before I heard him gasp my name. I tried to pretend not to hear but my curiosity got the better of me. I stepped into the darkened office to find Mr. Shafer leaning back in his chair, with tie pulled down, collar unbuttoned, and face turning blue.

            “Mr. Shafer! Are you all right?” My brain said, “Call for help!” but my body wouldn’t move. I had taken a CPR class in high school but forgot what to do if the victim is conscious.

            Mr. Shafer’s lips moved. I inched closer. His words were barely audible, “Call 911, you stupid bitch.”

            That snapped me out of panic mode. Would anyone notice if I headed to the supply room for a few minutes?

            He must have read my mind. “Pleaseeee.”

******

            The paramedics checked blood pressure and administered an IV, while I stood to the side and played the concerned secretary with murmurs of, “He didn’t look well when he came in,” and “Will he be okay?” None of it sounded sincere.

            I should have told them about the cat hair, but how could I? Besides, it felt pretty good. It was the first time in my life that I took control of a situation.

            I escorted the paramedics to the elevators and continued my role as loyal employee for the gathering crowd. Once the doors closed, Maggie grabbed my arm and pulled me back towards my office.

            She asked, “Did you get a load of that paramedic’s ass?”

            “The one with the dark hair?”

            “The blond. Not that I would turn down either one.”

            I was in total agreement and desperately wanted to take credit for bringing joy into our humdrum day but knew better.

            Maggie settled herself on top of my desk. “Did you give them your number?”

            My chest and neck got seriously warm. “No. They were busy saving Mr. Shafer. Remember?”

            Maggie didn’t buy it. “You’re so full of shit. Admit it. You didn’t have the nerve.”

            I nodded.

            She stood up and stepped into Mr. Shafer’s office. I pushed past her. “You better not come in here. You know how picky the old man is.”

            I wasn’t sure if Maggie’s eyes were as good as her ears. If she spied the hair, she might put two and two together. Not that I had told her about Kitty, but Maggie wasn’t stupid.

            “What do you care? Besides, he’s not my boss.”

            “No, but he’s still mine and will kill me if he finds out.”

            “So, don’t tell him.”

            She stepped around me and plopped into his executive leather chair.           “Someday I’m going to have one of these. Then I’ll hire myself a male assistant with a tight ass and big hands.” She spun around reciting, “Big hands, big feet, big treat.”

            “That’s enough. I still have work to do, even if saggy breeches isn’t here.” I stopped the chair and rolled it with Maggie to the door. “Don’t you have any work to do?”

            “The hound’s on a Zoom call all morning.” She referred to her boss, Ms. Hicks, as the hound dog because of her sagging jowls. It occurred to me that Maggie gave everyone a nickname. What was mine?

            Maggie glanced at her phone, “Oh, cool.” She waggled the phone. “This guy puts your paramedics to shame.”

            Before I could say, “They’re not my paramedics”, she was off. I waited to make sure she wouldn’t turn back, then hurried to Mr. Shaffer’s lair. The place had the lingering odor of stale coffee.

            From the doorway, I scanned the office’s light beige carpet. Kitty’s yellow and white strands blended well. That evening, I stayed late to make sure the cleaning lady gave Mr. Shafer’s office an extra good vacuuming. After she left, I used disinfecting wipes to clean his desk, top and bottom, along with his chair and credenza.

            The next morning, I took my time getting to the office, knowing Mr. Shafer was in no shape to make it in to work. I detoured by Maggie’s desk. She was always early and usually had extra bagels. Her desk sat empty.

            “Callie?” It was Linda, Maggie’s office mate.

            “Hi, Linda. Do you know where Maggie is?”

             Linda looked confused. “You haven’t heard?”

            Oh shit. Was Mr. Shafer worse off than I planned? Why would Linda know that? I kept my voice neutral. “About Mr. Shafer?”

            “No.” Linda’s eyes teared up. “Maggie had an asthma attack on the way home. The doctors think it was brought on by an allergic reaction.”

            Maggie had had asthma attacks before, but they always passed after using her inhaler. “Is she in the hospital?”

            Linda grabbed a handful of tissues. “I’m sorry, Callie. I thought someone would have called you.” She wiped at her nose. “Maggie died.”

            My knees gave out and I crumpled into the nearest chair.

            Linda went on. “I don’t understand how this could have happened. The only thing Maggie was allergic to was cats.”