Absence Makes the Heart Grow fonder

The Advertisement

Growing up, I believed that journalism was my dream job. I believed that I would become a journalist and I would be famous for my deep pieces on what's wrong with the world, and that I would fix everything and be rich and everyone would love me.
Well, I'm grown up now, in my thirties, and my job is just monotonous and dreadful and boring. Staying up late to find something to write about, anything to write about, and when I do write an article it's not like anyone actually cares for it. My next door neighbours don't even know who I am! Thank god I come from a rich family.

"Bye Francis," said the last coworker I had left as she put on her jacket and walked out. For whatever reason it was my job to find all the news to write about, so there I was, hunched over my desk trying to find something, anything! Pretty much all lights were out except for mine, even the cleaner had gone home.

One long shift later and I was finally going home. I'm not sure what time it was, but it was one of those times that felt like a dream. No one was out in the usually busy streets of Boston except for drunk people, and the sky was a sort of greyish blueish blackish colour. When I turned the corner into the street that my apartment sat on, I noticed something I hadn't seen before. It was a note, an advertisement of sorts, stapled to a telephone pole, and it read like so:

SINGLE DAD, LOOKING FOR HELP!
DAUGHTER OBSESSED WITH GARFIELD,
IF YOU HAVE A GINGER CAT, PLEASE LET ME BORROW IT FOR A LASAGNA DINNER TIME!
I DO NOT WANT TO ADOPT, THE CAT WILL BE RETURNED ASAP,
I WILL PAY,
THE CAT WILL NOT EAT THE LASAGNA!

Along with some contact details. I ripped it off the pole and burst out laughing - I'm not sure if it was actually funny or if I was just so tired I became delirious, but the idea of an exhausted father trying anything to make his daughter happy made me smile. And lucky for this father, I had a big fat ginger cat sitting at home.

His name was Bacchus - an homage to my Hampden days - but he could certainly pass for a Garfield. Not only that but he was a sweet kitty, he didn't bite and he got on well with everyone. Even people who hate cats have said they love him, like Henry (although he hates every type of animal) so I figured he'd be fine around a little girl.
When I got into my apartment, I went into the kitchen and put the advert down before pouring a glass of water. Then I went straight to my room and collapsed onto my bed, not even bothered to undress. The call could wait until tomorrow.

Well, I was glad that I decided to wait until the morning, because the call certainly woke me up.

My alarm went off at the same time as usual. As I smacked my hand around my bedside table, searching for the button to turn it off, I noticed that at some point in the night I had undressed, and I shivered as soon as I became aware of how cold it was. After turning my alarm off, I got up and put on my robe, went into the kitchen, started making tea, and noticed the piece of paper I had ripped down the night before, which I had actually almost forgotten about.
I picked it up and wandered over to the phone as the kettle boiled, punched in the contact details, and held it to my ear. It rang for a long long time before I heard a little girls voice on the other end, "Hello!" She exclaimed, then I heard a man's voice frantically mumbling and then a little bit of a struggle before I heard his voice.
"Hello, sorry, this is the Papen household, Richard speaking, how can I help?" Gasping, I slammed the phone down. Papen? Richard Papen? I hadn't heard that name in a long time.

Frantically I punched the numbers back in and held the phone to my ear - this time he answered straight away, "Hello?" He said, "I think there was a little problem." He still sounded the same as he did in college,
"Oh, my apologies," I said, but nothing else. He sounded hesitant and I wondered if he recognised my voice,
"Well, um, is there something I can help you with..?" He asked, breaking our silence,
"Right, yes, um...Well I...I saw your advert. You know, for the cat thing."
"Oh! Oh thank god," he said, laughing and sighing in relief, and I found myself laughing along, "no, that's fantastic. You have no idea how hard I've been searching, my daughter is crazy about Garfield." We both laughed again,
"Well, I think my cat would be perfect for it, um, he's pretty fat...and ginger," I said,
"That's kind of ironic, no?" He said,
"What do you mean?" I asked confused,
"Uh, nothing, sorry. What's your name?"
"Francis...Abernathy."
"Wait...Francis Abernathy?"