By Anne Sullivan
“Can’t you wave a wand and make it all go away?” Sylvia asked me, exasperation covering her face as the contents of my spare chair, serving as a hold-all, slid down upon her head when she made the mistake of wagging her tail.
“How I wish I could,” I said, picking up a half-read magazines from last August and totally forgotten books, some over-due at the library by weeks.
“Why can’t you?” Sylvia demanded. “Other people have houses that aren’t overflowing with stuff and junk.”
“How would you know, Miss Smarty?” I wasn’t in any mood for back talk from her, wanting only to finish reading the latest Mary Higgins Clark. “If I recollect correctly, you’ve never been in anyone else’s home.”
“I’ve seen people’s houses on TV. They’re all neat and clean with furniture nicely arranged. A place for everything and everything in its place. Not a speck of dust anywhere.”
“Those people must not have dogs,” I countered.
“Oh, but they do. Their dogs are beautifully and lovingly combed. They have gorgeous expensive beds to sleep in. They’re allowed to sleep on the sofa and chairs, too. And they have home-cooked meals three times a day.”
”We don’t have home-cooked meals here,” I snarled. “Home-cooked meals are not served to dogs who don’t bathe. I might point out that you have your own house on the porch. And do you keep that clean? No!”
“You don’t let me use the vacuum cleaner,” Sylvia grumbled.
“You’d break it, that’s why. And what’s the use of vacuuming when every time you go for a walk or run, you bring fresh dirt into your house and my house.”
“At least the dirt is fresh.”
“And so are you, young lady. Both houses would be cleaner if you would deign to take a bath, at least once a year.”
Sylvia tried another tack. “Gordo has three beds and he’s only been here a few years.”
“Gordo inherited all his beds from RingWorm,” I said. “And RingWorm never had any beds at all until people began feeling sorry for her.”
“I inherited my house from Daisy and then Sandy. It’s third-hand with no drains and quite old.”
“And very well-built, I might add. Plus you have a new bed inside my house and another new bed on the porch outside your house. Both those beds were purchased especially for you, Sylvia.”
“I suppose that took a lot of money. Money that you begrudge spending on me.” Sylvia’s face was the picture of sullenness.
“I’ll have you know that I don’t begrudge you anything even when you’re rude to me like now. It just so happens that your salary for the column in the paper eventually paid for your beds.”
“So maybe I could save up enough for my own vacuum cleaner,” Sylvia said truculently.
“Maybe. But you won’t save up any money if you don’t get to work and finish this column and get it off to the paper before the deadline,”
“Rats,” exclaimed Sylvia as she headed to the computer room which once upon a time was the library. “While I’m working on it, maybe you could take down the Christmas tree before it becomes a permanent piece of furniture in the living room.”
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