Something About the Animal by Cathy Stonehouse

Author:Cathy Stonehouse
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Biblioasis
Published: 2011-09-05T00:00:00+00:00

The Stockholm Syndrome

ONE TUESDAY, Susan locked the dog in the basement. She thought it was time she did something for herself. She went down twice a day with his leash or some dog treats, only to disappear and not come back. In this way and others she teased him horribly and then she left him down there for a week. The dog, Mortimer, a lab-collie mix, was alternately terrified, almost hysterical, and catatonic. She would hear him howling, leaping at the stairwell then suddenly all would go quiet. She would fear he was dead. She would pace about upstairs, put on loud music, anything to get him to react. But as soon as he started up again, she would curse him. Stupid dog! Stupid fucking Mortimer! Why had her parents left her here alone with him? How long, exactly, until he starved?

Susan loved dogs. She loved every one of God’s creatures. She was a cheerleader as well as a Christian plus on the Honour Roll at school. Yet after Tuesday she also knew she was evil. Or else why would she be mean, why would she be doing this. Perhaps this meant she no longer had to wear braces, could rip them out of her mouth and simply roar. There were girls at school who snorted cocaine, others who already had babies, and all because of low self-esteem. Personally, Susan hated her kneecaps, which weren’t really kneecaps at all but folds of flesh that hung down and touched each other and made her walk funny. She also hated her hair, the colour of weak tea and so oily it often appeared sodden, flakes of dandruff kebabbed along its shafts.

She did not hate her boyfriend, Michael. She craved him. But she knew he did not respect her the way he should. For example, he criticized her clothing and whenever she reached for a pretzel grabbed her hand. That’s enough. You’ve had too many already. They had sex standing up in his parents’ kitchen while his parents were out in their car making love also. All four felt closer to God that way. But despite the fact that his parents were both athletes, Michael fucked with little finesse. Yet after they had finished, he and Susan prayed together and this she found intensely moving. The linoleum was sticky and cold. Michael’s pink acne ran right down his neck and across his back. As they knelt together, Susan had to restrain herself from picking at it, from pressing each little volcano between her fingers, for fear something horrible might erupt.

On the fourth day of his captivity, Mortimer escaped. He barreled up the stairs, knocking her over, made straight for the plastic bin of dog food and gorged himself until he threw up. Whenever she came near he whined, as if he could see the devil on her shoulder, grinning and twirling its blood-red, horned batons. While Mortimer leapt about begging for exercise Susan attempted to achieve enlightenment. She sat on the wobbly IKEA

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