“Do you smell that?”
Mary sighed. Here we go again, rolling her eyes as she popped the lid off a new bottle of Tylenol.
“Smell what, hon?”
“Cat piss. Jesus, it’s strong.” Brian said, gagging.
“We don’t have a cat, dear. Never had one.” Mary emptied the bottle of pills onto the comforter, reached in the drawer for a small plastic sandwich bag.
“You sure? I distinctly rem-”
“We had a dog, and some goldfish. Percy died last year. Run over by that psycho next door. Remember? All that commotion, fighting? Police arriving? Taking you to jail for using the baseball bat on his Mini Cooper? Anything ring a bell?” She passed each pill into the small baggie, humming as she did it.
“I was in jail? All I know is that we had a lot of stuff, Christ, a shitload of newspapers, and magazines, boxes of trinkets, and cuddly toys. Where did it all go?”
“Honey, we have this conversation just about every month now. The cats, all that junk? That was your previous life. You were an old lady named Molly Parsons. You were a hoarder, and a cat lover. You had too many cats, and not enough litter boxes. Your house reeked of cat piss, and cat shit, and mold from all those newspaper, and magazines. You fairly reeked yourself because washing was way down on your list of things to do. You were a sad, pathetic, lonely creature, and you died alone. They found you a month later, face down in cat shit.”
“So, that means I’ll never get rid of this smell? Should I just go kill myself now?”
“No, here’s some Vick’s, rub it under your nose, lay back down, and go to sleep. I have to work a double shift tomorrow” Mary jumped out of bed, squatted, and inserted the baggie of Tylenol up her ass.
Brian was flabbergasted. “What in the hell are you doing?”
“I was a mule in a previous life. Now, shut up, and go to sleep!”