Posted on Sunday, September 20, 2009
She went far far away and left her cat with Pacino, who also bought her car and promised to forward the cash. A month later, the cat got run over but survived; the car’s fender got seriously bent, but survived. Pacino lost his job, but this is unrelated. The cat recovers quietly in the garden while the hair slowly falls off its blackened tail… I think it might be a Manx cat soon. I want to take it into my house and spoil it but Pacino likes the company. He owes me money, but that’s also unrelated.
She calls me up and panics over the line, which is difficult to deal with when there’s a five second time-delay; I keep interrupting her by mistake. She demands to know why Pacino’s phone doesn’t work and pleads with me to get him to forward some money else she’s out on her ear. She would then be forced to come home and find that her car is worthless and I don’t want to be around if that happens.
I have to go now and think up some harsh words for Pacino, but I’m shit with confrontation. I want to slap him and tell him to stop being a gobshite most of all, but that would only make me feel good because I’m not the one with the problem. I could go and mother him and try to get him to admit that he needs help, but he’s a proud fucker and would take an eternity to crack. I could waft a few hundreds in his face and tell him I’ll go halfway if he can match it, only to have him owe me more money that can’t be repaid. I feel sorry for him. I feel sorry for her. I don’t know what to do next.