The Spread Of Covid-19 In Winslow Apartments

Callie

Hello! My name is Callie and I’m a pure-bred german shepherd currently residing in New York, New York, the city so great they named it twice.  Life has been just great since my human has been staying at home. I don’t even know how this miracle came, but we sure are taking advantage of it! 

How did it happen you ask? Well, one day my human came home really anxious, then he went to the store and bought more food than we could ever eat and even more toilet paper! Ever since then it’s been cold cereal, walks, and NetFlix. A dog’s paradise. 

Sure a few weird things have happened like we haven’t gone to the park in ages, but like any incredibly intelligent dog, I am a proud contributor of a solution to the social problem. You see there are quite a lot of dogs in this apartment complex and it’s an old building, being in New England, so we can bark and howl all that we could possibly wish to through the vents. The best time to do this is at one in the morning because that’s when there aren’t any other noises to drown us out. Even better, Hugie the chinchilla, as yappy as he is, he can slip through grates and carry messages. 

Here he comes now! 

“Hey, Hugie!”

 “Hey Cal (yap!), listen, (yap yap!) something (yap!) we-ird is up with Frederick the third (Yap YIP yap yap)” 

“Like normal weird, or weird-weird?” 

“Neither. (Yip, YAP!) Sick- weird. (Yip yip yip!) He just got back from Wu-Han and he has been coughing like crazy around the clock. (Yap) He’s driving me crazy, how am I supposed to get my twenty hours of beauty sleep? (yappity, yippity, yiap yip yip?) ” 

Here’s something I forgot to tell you about Hugie, he’s crazy vain and even though he’s the only one who can slip through grates to deliver messages, he has very specific hours. Unfortunately, these hours were put off by a “tragic” incident yesterday, all hired help didn’t show up for Hugie’s daily pampering.

“Like he has no consideration for even his own rest and fatigue! (YAP YIP YAP!)” 

“Right, this sounds drastic. Go see Bert, he might know what to do, if he doesn’t, go see Moggers.” 

“Ok, (Yip) Ok (Yap) Ok (Yiap)” 

Bert and Morrigan are both assistants to doctors, but they say that what Bert’s human does and what Mog’s human does are different things, though the rest of us all know that is total rubbish. Like what is the difference between a psychologist and a psychiatrist?

Hugie

Hello inferior-being to myself! I am Sir Hugie the XI of truly royal blood and from London, England. I shall tell the tragic tragic tale that started on a fateful Tuesday morning (yesterday). I admit, at first, everything appeared the same, I was slowly lulled awake by Beethoven's first symphony, pre-programmed into my apartment’s data-base and a refreshing array of painstakingly spherical melon, fresh African grass, and Turkish sultanas. Once I had consumed breakfast I became aware of no human clearing away my dish, and everything went downhill from there. I laboriously clambered into my chinchilla train, a time-saving device that Frederick the third invented, a train that will whisk me to anywhere in the apartment at the brush of a paw. This saves me quite a bit of time from scampering on my beautiful tiny paws, considering that my apartment is an entire floor of the apartment building instead of a pithy fraction consisting of two or three rooms that my subject friends live in. From room to room I searched and there was no trace of humans except for Frederick the third’s pajamas ironed to perfection awaiting his return from Wu-Han. I waited and waited, the monotony weighing upon my soul until I heard the beeping of someone entering the passcode for the apartment. It was Frederick the third! I admit, I flew into an undignified frenzy of yips, yaps, and indigence of all the servants missing today, but when I took a look at Frederick the third’s face I quickly subsided into an anxious state. He was a waxy pale color yet when he absently petted me his fingers were as burning hot as an oven. I couldn’t even get my full beauty rest, for he coughed on and off all night long. So the next morning I went to see my closest subject neighbor Calpurnia. She had a brilliant idea that I’m sure I would’ve come up with if my poor brain had more than nine hours of sleep, I should visit Bert and Morrigan (Mogs). I decide to go see Bert first, after all, we are on better terms than Mogs and I, for he seems truly interested in what he calls “a narcissistic/aristocratic mindset of the British Upper-class” whatever that means. Ah here we are, I slip through Bert’s grate and enter a sensible entrancing apartment draped with pictures of the brain and brilliance. Then I find Bert snoring away. 

“Bert, wake up! (YIP!)”

“What what what?”

Bert is a little odd when he’s groggy. But I tell him about Frederick the third and he is much more awake. Probably since he enjoys giving prescriptions, makes him feel powerful. 

“And how is this affecting you, Hugie?”

“Terribly, do you know that he fed me a frozen dog meal last night? (YAP?!) Do gastrically disturbing that is?!?!? (Yiap!! Yap!! YIP?????) And I was given no explanation of where the human who serves my food or the human who grooms me is!!! (YIPPITY!!! YAPPITY!!! YIAPPITY!!)”

“Oh how terrible…”

Bert is the only one who really listens to my ranting, everyone else just ignores it. 

“I have a prescription for you.”

Big Surprise.

“What about Frederick the third? (Indignant YIP!?)”

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything for him as I think he has a medical condition and so Morrigan will be of more help there. But for you I prescribe a lavender-thyme tonic.”

“Thanks-no thanks. Bye Bert! (Yiap!)”

Frederick the third and I don’t believe in herbal tomfoolery. I scamper over to Morrigan’s, hoping to find her in a good mood since we don’t get along very well. She says I, Sir Hugie the XI am a conceited spoiled prig, and I say she is obnoxxily serious. 

Slipping through Mog’s grate, I find her watching a stomach-churning film about dissection and eating bone-corn. 

“Hello Mogs! (Yip yip yIP)”

*Icy Stare and me remembering suddenly her policy about not slipping through her grate unannounced.

“Sorry, it’s an emergency. (Yiap, yipitty)

“And how can I help?”

I told her about Frederick the third and she visibly grew more and more excited, disarming me quite a bit. 

“This sounds like the new disease! A case in OUR apartment building! Oh boy, this is not good.”

In the end, nothing helpful, except to “Quarantine” whatever that is.

When I went back to Callie, and told her everything but when I reached the bit about quarantine, she freaked out and shoved my back through the grate. Rude. When I was back in my apartment, I hacked Frederick the third’s Laptop 56 and looked up what quarantine ment. Big Help. I’ve already got it.

Callie

And that everyone is how everyone in our apartment got Covid-19. Most of us lived, except dear old Mrs. Fisher.