In what has surely only been a matter of time, my landlord saw Mary walking Willy this morning. This is a meeting we could have done without. From upstairs, I watched in awe as he drove by them and the apartment, looking for a parking spot. Doing the only thing that could be done, Mary quickly started walking in the opposite direction, mouthing to me and pointing from the sidewalk. We can only hope that he didn’t recognize Mary for some reason, or that he will chose to disregard what he saw.
Although I’ve never asked, I’m confident that no pets permitted in my building. Mary and I moved in together last December, which was in part a strategic move to address several mutual and immediate financial complications. Concerned that her littlest family member might jeopardize the application of her and her daughter, we simply decided to not tempt fate by bringing Willy up. Being the quietest dog I’ve even seen, Mary and I have helped Willy remain low-key by keeping one set of blinds down in our living room, and by secreting him away when the landlord visits.
Mary and Willy’s walk got extended from the usual five minutes to an uncomfortable forty minutes. She hadn’t taken her coat with her when she left, and it was cold and foggy again this morning. They’d apparently spent their time at the end of the block, peeking around the corner to see if the landlord’s SUV was gone. They’d finally just made a break for it, and my loving girlfriend was near tears when they finally got back inside.
I don’t know if it was nervous frustration about the situation or just my usual twisted and inappropriate sense of humor, but I couldn’t help but laugh.
