Living with the Shame

I made a major faux pas today. This one I may never live down. To my credit, though, if Rassmussen would only deign to clean up after himself, it would never have occurred.

You see, Saturday is laundry day. Rassmussen is not big into doing his laundry, and eventually, I can't stand the stench of his disregard.

I used a snow shovel to scoop up his dirty things and deposit them straight from the floor into the wash. At the time, it sounded like the most sanitary of solutions. Little did I think about the consequences of my actions beyond hygiene.

But then, the washer finished running, and I opened the lid. Fluff and stuff clung to the garments like moss to a tree. Piece by piece, I removed his pants, the happy face boxers I bought him for his birthday, an assortment of vests and shirts modified to fit around his wings. I pulled out three socks stuck to the side of the tank because isn't it always the way that one sock is lost? And then I found the horrific remains.

Rassmussen's teddy bear—the same bear that had accompanied him since his time as a Rough Rider with Teddy Roosevelt—was a flattened being. A large gash from stomach to neck released the poor thing's innards into the laundry. I suspect its antique stitching succumbed to the detergent and disintegrated.

How do I dare tell Rassmussen?

I recognize gargoyles as guardians against evil. However, I worry Rassmussen will deem me evil for killing his teddy. I've seen what he can do to a steak with bare claws and teeth as sharp as knives. I can only imagine how I would fair, should he seek vengeance.

So I prepared his favorite meal to serve in front of Big Bang Theory reruns. I wore a turtleneck under a vest under a jacket, covered with my heaviest winter coat. The six-foot grape-colored wool scarf that my mother knitted me provided an extra layer of protection because I must confess my crime before Rassmussen discovers it for himself. And most importantly, I want to live through the confession.

I did okay through the first half of the admission. You know the part where I blame him for not picking up after himself? I suspect it was because he didn't hear me over the crunching of the glazed carrots. Yes, yes, I admit it. The carrots were a wee bit undercooked, but in my defense, I thought the crisp veggies would be good for his teeth. You know, to sharpen them and help clean his teeth since I know he runs his toothbrush under the tap to make it appear he brushed his teeth more than he actually brushes them. Worse than a kid, that one.

But I digress.

When I finally reached the point of the teddy's demise, I caught him mid-chew. I knew I was in trouble when the steak he favored above all else fell from his mouth rather than down his throat.

"You did what to my beloved Felix? Like he was a common toy? Woman! Do you have no respect for the property of others?"

Rassmussen seemed to grow in front of me. His skin transmuted into the granite texture he usually took on just before dawn when his breathing night ended and his statute day began. The teeth glistened. Drool left a slimy string from chin to the tabletop where his claws cratered into the wood.

"Why I ought to—"

He drew back as if to backhand me. I cringed, falling back to a defensive position with my eyes closed, and my arms up to protect my face, but the blow never came. Instead, Rassmussen collapsed into a fit of laughter.

"Woman! You should see your face. You'd think I was some kind of killing monster out for blood."

"But Rassmussen. I killed your teddy." Tears were hot on my face.

"Do you think I would leave such a treasure within your reach? You can't even keep a houseplant alive without help. The doppelganger you found in the laundry was a thrift store find I gut-ripped myself to put a little excitement in your life. You should thank me for thinking about you!"