I was sitting in my corner Duncan doughnuts having the morning’s first diet Pepsi when police officer Gideon Poole arrived for our week day morning coffee clutch. He’s the espresso man, not me. Gideon is a big fella; about six feet tall and about 285 lbs.  We first met about four months ago during the Peace riots in Chicago. I pushed a knuckle head to the ground just as he was getting ready to whack Gideon in the back of the riot helmet with a Louisville slugger. Ever since then this officer has allowed me the privileged of purchasing his morning coffee and doughnuts.

“Morning GIDI!” I say.  “Hey Finny!”  Gideon says in his gravely voice.

I always have a triple espresso with heavy cream; two apple fritters and a plain long john for my friend. After all, it was Gideon who initated me into the fraternal Order of A-Holes; sponsored me into the Knights of A-Holes; and helped me achieve the coveted position of third degree A-Hole Knight.  I flash the secret A-Hole hail and farewell sign. Gideon flashes it back, then sits down and begins eating with great vigor.

“GIDI,” I say, “I got a sick cat.”

Without missing a beat, Gideon reaches into his bulletproof jacket, hands me a business card and grunts. A grunt from this man means one of three things: He’s got indigestion; goodbye; or he’s got your back covered.

I slap my $20.00 down on the table for the waiter’s tip (WINK, WINK) and take off into the mean streets of the North Side.

Twenty minutes later I walk into the offices of my favorite politician’s office in Chicago: the Honorable Clayton Cesspoole, Alderman of the 241^st Ward.  A Ward in Chicago is most like a titled land in the English Peerage system. Instead of calling the occupant of the Ward your Lordship, Baron, Count, Earl, Viscount or Duke; you call the occupant Alderman. However, like the English Peerage system, the holder of the title gets to sit in the House of Lords; collect income from the people who occupy his or her Ward; and pay a financial tribute to those in his political party who allowed him to have the title and land, oops, I mean Ward.

The Alderman sees me right away.

“Good Morning, Mr. F.” Alderman Cesspoole says. “Good morning your Honor.” I reply.

“I understand you’ve got a sick kitty. I believe his name is Fluff Daddy.”

News travels fast in Chicago. It was just this morning that I found out about Fluff daddy’s illness.

“Yes. Sir,” I say, “He’s a sad sight.”

The Alderman winks at me; reaches into his jacket, pulls out a business card and grunts. A grunt from this man means one of three things; He’s ready for a visit with the secretary; goodbye; or he’s got your back covered.

I suddenly remember. “Oh by the way, Your Honor, I’ve forgotten to pay my….. Uh….street cleaning assessment.” (Wink, Wink). “No problem,” the Alderman says “One of the girls in the office can swipe your Visa card on the way out.”

An hour later, I walk into the Ravenswood Square Veterinary Clinic with my cat in his travel carrier. The receptionist behind the desk says” Hello Mr. F, that must be Fluffdaddy you’ve got with you.”

Moments after we arrive Fluffdaddy is whisked off into an emergency examination by the vet, Mrs. Olga Cesspoole, Clayton’s wife. I sign the emergency authorization paperwork and am escorted into the waiting room. Evidently the examination is quite invasive and is usually disturbing for the owners to watch.

The Ravenswood Square Vet clinic is a miracle of modern Veterinary Science. It’s got nothing but the best. The girls in the front office run down to the corner Starbucks and bring me back a Venti Latte with a double shot of whip. Nice girls.

Suddenly Dr. Cesspoole runs out into the waiting room. She speaks with a very thick polish accent. “Kitty very sick.”  I reel in shock. She continues “Kitty need specialist right away. We send to kitty internal medicine specialist. We call emergency cat ambulance.”   The vet runs out of the room.

The Officer Manager steps forward to comfort me. “I know how troubling this must be for you.” She seems like an angel at that moment. My lips must be quivering. “We need to swipe your Visa card to cover the $200.00 for the examination and the $600.00 for the emergency blood work.”  I hand her my card. “Oh,” She continues, “We also need to swipe for the ambulance.” I nod yes.

In Lickity split time, the ambulance arrived and we’re off to the Cesspoole Ravenswood Feline Medical Specialty Clinic. We had the CT scan, The MRI, The Cat Scan (no pun intended), a Doppler assessment and an emergency consultation with the feline surgeon.  Things were looking pretty grim. It was decided that surgery was needed; however the surgeon was performing quadruple bypass surgery on a Persian champion and couldn’t operate on our Fluff thing until the next day.  We decided that fluffy should go home with me, just incase the unthinkable happened before the surgery. If our kitty was going to go, he would go while in the arms of those who love him.

I had the Cesspoole Feline Medical Specialty Clinic Office Manager swipe my Visa for the $5,941.32 in emergency examination procedures.

That night, as Wendy and I were pampering Fluffdaddy before his big surgery, Alderman Cesspoole and his wife Dr. Cesspoole called to express their prayers and support. We were touched.

The next morning, I’m sitting with my friend Gidi at the Duncan doughnuts. He seems to already know the whole story, but listens to me anyway. “I tell you Gidi, I love that cat, but he’s costing us our entire savings-the money we’ve been putting aside for the baby we want to adopt.” 

Gidi seems disturbed. He reaches into his sock and pulls out a .38 detective special and puts it on the table. He says: “I think you should get the baby.”

Startled, I ask “What do you mean?”

He says “ Finny, It’s a FREAKING cat. Besides, a bullet is less then fifteen cents.”

I sit in stunned silence. He continues. “Take the piece, do what you gotta do and bring it back tomorrow.”  “But what about Cesspoole?” I ask. “He’s a piece of crap. You take the piece Finny.”

What could I do? I took the piece.

I made my way home and found my wife asleep next to our beloved Fluffdaddy. He was in bad shape. I felt horrible. I gingerly picked up my Norwegian Forrest Cat and gave him a gentle hug. Suddenly Fluffdaddy made the most horrific sound, convulsed violently and threw up the largest hairball looking mass I’ve ever seen. Then, fluffy got up, trotted over to his feeding bowl and began to vigorously feed. Fluffdaddy was back from the grave.

Wendy woke up and saw the enormous hairy mass in the floor. “What’s that?” she asked. “It looks like its got bones in with that hair.” She looked over at Fluffy eating at his food bowl. “What’s going on?”

I advanced on the hairball and began to examine it. There were indeed bone in it. And, the color of fur was orange, not black like Fluff’s.

I was startled. “It looks like the fur from the missing Guinea pig.”

John