I awoke not because I needed a sip of water—despite the pulverizing heat—but because there was a familiar smell in the house. I got out of Boo-Boo's bed and went toward the kitchen and, sure enough, it was a cigarette. But this time it was something else too; something otherworldly and pleasant.
"Skippy!" he said when I came in. He had the same cigarette dangling out of the side of his mouth but there was something else about him...about that smell.
"Hello Cosmo," I said to the big, ghostly goof. "Are you high?"
"Opium. It's grrrrrrrrrrr-eat!"
"So now you're hooked on opium?"
"'Hooked' suggests there are negative consequences and it's not like I'm going to get fired from my job of dead thing." I snerfed a laugh and took a sip of water. "So how are things here, Skip? For instance, is Boo-Boo still eating with both hands?"
"Yes. Last night he was actually eating while he was feeding me. Never seen that before; holding the sandwich in his mouth while he stirred my food, then taking a bite, chewing, and holding it in his mouth."
"Yes, well, look out," Cosmo said. "He's got a cholesterol problem and the only reason he's not morbidly obese is he burns off all the grease in sheer worry. By the way—the peeing in the bed: nice touch. But you're going to have to understand the power structure here."
"How so?"
"Well, for one thing it's all in Skeeter's hands. Boo will never punish you harshly, even for peeing in the place where he sleeps. But you might end up sleeping in the kitchen by Skeet's orders—"
"—that's happened—"
"—permanently."
"Never!" I squeaked and then wondered why I became such a pussy when I was around the huge dalmatian—ghost form or not.
"Just don't push it."
"You never peed in the bed?" I asked, lying down because I was getting a bit of a contact buzz from the opium.
"Well, once. By accident. I was having a nice snooze when the doorbell rang and a computer repairman arrived. I don't know if it was the toolbox or the clanging about but it literally scared the piss out of me. Boo saw it start and began to chase me all over the house, including onto the sofa, and armchair, and into the bed. I was pissing like a fireman's hose the entire chase."
"Jesus! Skeeter must have punished you hard!"
"No, he was busy laughing his arse off." He snorted a drugged laugh and sighed, "Good times." There was a long, lazy silence and then he said, as if suddenly remembering, "I thought you were finished with the cat!"
"Cleo? I am."
"Yeah, well, what was that little game I saw you playing with her the other day during a walk with Skeeter—sort of like hide 'n' seek except you were clearly more interested in playing hide the salami."
"She was just teasing me and Skeeter encourages that kind of silliness. He says it amuses the neighbours and endears me to them as a precaution against the next time I bug out on one of their dogs."
"You see! Skeeter thinks of everything. Control. Power." Again there was a long silence and then, suddenly, he was snoring. I toddled back to the bed and cuddled up to Boo. Cosmo was right about the power in this place; somehow I would have to wrest it away.
Then, off in the night, far, far away, came a joyous—if drug-enduced—moon-howl. "Good night Skippyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!" I snuggled closer to Boo.
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