“It’s possible that you might just be the most stupid human ever.”
Fat, lazily flopped in front of the open patio door, stares with absolute impatience as she watches my movements.
I sidestep twice to the right and pause. Then sidestep to the left and pause. And back to the right.
“Believe me, Fat. I would much rather sit down.”
“So sit.” Fat tries to elongate her body even more so body heat can’t build up in her armpits. “It’s not a leather couch; you won’t stick to it.”
I pile my frizzy hair on top of my head with my hands and expose the top of my sweaty back as I shuffle back again. “The fan, Fat. If I don’t stay in front of the cool air, I’ll die.” I shoot a glance to the window – it’s lethal for such a beautiful-looking day. I groan and look down at the feline. “I’m melting.” The words croak out of my mouth.
“I guess that answers the question as to whether or not you are a good witch or a bad witch.”
“Huh?” My arm swipes across my moist hairline. To my knowledge, I’m not either of those things; I’m just a girl sweating to death in her apartment.
“Nothing.” Fat’s voice becomes a mutter, “Can’t even get a Wizard of Oz reference. Stupid human.”
“What’s that?”
Fat abandons any idea to repeat herself and gets back to her original criticism. “Christ, Boss. I can’t believe I need to say this, but one of those buttons above the display screen will actually stop the fan from swinging side-to-side.” Fat waves a paw delicately in front of her face in an oh-good-gracious-this-heat-is-too-much kind of way. “On another note, I appreciate how considerate you’ve been with putting ice cubes in my water and leaving frozen water bottles tucked into my bed.”
I’m not too busy fiddling with the buttons to hear her appreciation. I’m sure my face brightens like neon at the acknowledgement.
“I can be thoughtful sometimes…”
“It’s not an all the time thing though. Almost makes me appreciate your tenderness because it’s rare to bear witness to it.”
It doesn’t occur to me to be offended by her statement.
Fat’s head droops to connect with the floor. “You going to go to the gym today?”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I throw a victory fist into the air when I finally figure out which button makes the fan do what I want. “Nope. Too hot for that.”
“You’ll be writing then?”
I flop on the couch and fold my shirt up so my sweaty stomach exposes itself to the humidity. “Too hot for that too. Productivity ceases when the weather becomes sweltering. That’s got to be a law somewhere.”
“I fell asleep for a while on the balcony.” Her green eyes narrow with accusation, “You did go to work today, right?”
“Pfffft,” I dismiss her question with a don’t-be-preposterous expression. “Obviously. They have air conditioning there. I’m looking to see if we can move in to an empty cubicle over the summer. It might be cramped, but it would be worth it.”
“Well at least your productive in some respect.”
“Oh!” My exclamation jostles the good doctor unexpectedly. “And I ate three-quarters of a watermelon this afternoon.” I beam and look at Fat’s unamused expression. “In one sitting,” I prompt as though she’s not recognizing the triumph.
“That’s not productive.”
“It’s impressive though, right?”
I hear dull thudding sounds, and lean over the couch to see Fat hitting her forehead against the carpet.
“We need to move to a cooler climate. An increase in temperature leads to a decrease in your I.Q.” Thud, thud. “Stupid human.”
Sessions with Fat 