BOZO

BOZO

Ron Merritt carefully backed his Porsche into the dark garage while scanning the nearby neighbors’ houses to ascertain that he hadn’t been seen by anyone who might blab about his presence at Angie Jacobs’ house. After all, Angie lived only a block from his own home, thus the chances of discovery by nosy do-gooders were better than average. He had just left his wife at home with the lie that he had to work this Saturday. The Collins account, Betty, you know, remember? Inwardly, he congratulated himself for his undeniable brilliance. Thank goodness for the Collins’ insistence that the schedule for completion of their project be given more attention. A great cover story, an excuse that could be backed up with real numbers.

 But Ron was a bit uneasy. His conscience hurt him. After all, an affair with Bob Jacobs’ wife was certainly not honorable. The two of them, Bob and Angie, were friends to both he and his wife. They even played Bridge together. But Ron pushed from his mind his concern for his dishonorable affair as he exited his Porsche and again surveyed the street in both directions. Angie was a beautiful girl, and boy, when they were under the covers together… wow!

An hour later Ron yawned and threw aside the covers. As usual, his conscience now again began bothering him. I’ve got to quit this, he thought to himself. If I get caught… well, it won’t be pretty. And Angie’s husband was an avid deer hunter, quite a good shot, and known to sometimes display a fiery temper. Ron shuddered with something akin to fear. “I’ve got to get out of here,” he said as he jumped from bed and grabbed the clothes he had an hour before hastily thrown across a chair.

Angie smiled and returned the yawn. “No worry,” she answered, “Bob won’t be back for hours. You know, hunting season, and murdering deer. He loves to shoot deer. Get back in bed, honey.”

Ron was too antsy to obey. “No. Gotta go!”

“MEOW!”

The two of them jumped at the loud, unmistakable “MEOW.” 

“What the…,” Ron began. 

“A cat!” Angie cried. “That’s crazy. I don’t have a cat. What’s a cat doing around here anyway?”

“Outside,” Ron managed, “It’s outside.”

He took two steps and stood before the open bedroom window. There, standing atop a lounge chair, meowing and even growling at times as it methodically curled its long tail, was a huge black cat. It stared straight at Ron. “My god!” he whispered under his breath. “My god!”

“What? What is it?” Angie asked as she joined him at the window. 

“It’s Bozo,” he said. “Betty’s cat. Bozo.”

“Bozo? Are you sure? How do you know it’s Betty’s cat?”

“I’d know that cat anywhere. Look at the size of him! He must weigh twenty-five pounds!”

“Well, what’s he doing here?”

Ron shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s Betty’s cat, I’m sure of it. I don’t fool with it. It’s hers, and I don’t even like it. And that cat don’t like me, either. Betty claims it’s really smart. A genius. A cat genius.” He scoffed, and even smiled at the absurdity of it all.

“Do you think it followed you over here?”

Ron shrugged.

Now Angie whistled softly as she examined Bozo more closely. “Look at that collar! What is that? Is it diamonds? It’s so big, it must weigh a lot.”

“No, no,” Ron shook his head. “It’s some kind of flea collar, I think. Betty’s always blowing money on crap for that cat. She got that collar the other day. Damn cat.”

If Ron hadn’t been antsy before, he certainly was now. The sight of Bozo reminded him of Betty at home, and of him… in Angie’s bedroom! “I gotta go!”

He was hightailing it out the side door when he felt a familiar presence against his leg. Bozo. Before he could act to prevent it, Bozo was inside the Jacob’s house. “Angie,” he called, rather softly to avoid alerting neighbors, “the damn cat got inside. Help me catch it.”

Together they chased the big cat from living room to bedroom to bathroom and back again. Though Ron had clothed himself, Angie had not. So Bozo got a real eyeful. Finally, Ron cornered the feline and hugged him to his chest. The scratches he received were hardly noticed, so intent upon escaping Angie’s house was he.

He considered driving Bozo home in his Porsche, but he knew that that might necessitate some tricky questioning. He was mad at the animal anyway. Once outside, he practically hurled the big cat away from him and onto the lawn. More scratches. “You’re on your own, Bozo,” he taunted as he wiped blood with his handkerchief, “and if you don’t find your way back home, that’s just tough. Damn cat.” Bozo scampered away.

 Ron put in an hour at work, just to be able to confirm that he honestly had been at work. He didn’t think he had been seen when he exited Angie’s house, but who knows? I gotta quit this stuff, he said to himself as he left the office and headed home.

Bozo was waiting in the garage when Ron pulled his Porsche inside. Ron could have sworn the cat was smiling at him as he opened the car door and got out. Damn cat, he thought.

Betty was her usual sweet self. She had his supper ready for him. They had a lively conversation as they sat around the dining table. Thank god, Ron thought as they talked. Got away with it again! But I’ve gotta quit that stuff!

Ron avoided the Jacobs, especially Angie, for the next couple of days. Things were getting back to “normal,” or so he thought. His bravado had him thinking now about another little trip over to see Angie. Deer season wasn’t over, and Bob would for sure be out murdering the little animals. Deer hunters, he thought with glee. They’re idiots. They don’t know what their wives are up to while they’re freezing their tails off out in the woods. He giggled under his breath. When the hunters are away, the wives will play…

He was surprised the following Monday to get a call from his lawyer, Mark Valwood. Valwood asked him to come by the next morning, that he had something important to talk over with him.

Valwood was shaking his head when Ron entered his office. He wasn’t smiling, either. “Ron,” he began as Ron sat before him, “are you nuts? Can’t you keep that thing in your pants?”

“Wha…,” Ron answered, “What do you mean?”

“Did you know your wife is filing for divorce? And the way I see it, she’s going to clean you out, I’m afraid.”

“Wha…,” Ron began. “What? Why would she want a divorce? She doesn’t have any grounds for divorce.”

Valwood shook his head in amazement. “You really are nuts, pal. Don’t you know she’s got you where she wants you? You’re dead. Like I said, she is going to clean you out. You’ll be lucky to be able to afford smokes after she gets through with you. And you might as well give her the keys to the Porsche.”

Ron was bewildered. “How?” he began, the facts of life now becoming more clear to him. “How did she find out…”

Valwood shoved his open laptop across his desk. “You obviously haven’t seen this,” he sighed as he punched a few keys.

And there was Ron. First, he stared from the Jacob’s bedroom window. He had a shirt on, but that was it. Next, a video followed, one that to Ron seemed to go on forever. First there was Angie scrambling about with her arms open wide, completely without the benefit of clothes. Then came Ron, bare from waist down. He, too, was attempting to wrap his arms about…”

“That damn cat!” Ron screamed.

“Yep,” Valwood agreed. “You didn’t know the cat was wearing a video camera?”

“I thought it was a flea collar.”

“That was no flea collar, pal.”

Ron had aged some fifteen years in a matter of minutes. “How?” he asked mournfully. “How did she get the cat to go over…”

“Valwood chuckled. “She said the cat was a genius.”

A stooped and beaten and disheartened (and broke) Ron Merritt slowly rose from his chair and turned to leave. Before he reached the door Valwood called from behind. “By the way, Ron. Do you know the gal’s husband? I think his name is Bob.”

“Yes,” Ron answered, his blood pressure suddenly beginning to rise. “I know him.”

“Well, I got a call from your wife. The guy was over at your house. He was looking for you.”

The hair rose on Ron’s neck. He made his way to his Porsche and sat for several minutes pondering his odds. The car roared as he disregarded the speed limits and guided it toward and onto the interstate highway. In a moment he was pulled over, explaining to the highway patrolman how he needed to leave town in a hurry. "I'm gonna go to California," he informed the cop. Then he lowered his head and softly muttered, “Damn cat! Damn Bozo!” The traffic cop was baffled.