Doug Hunter, thirty year veteran of marital conflict, agreed with
the maxim, 'Make Love, Not War'. At the moment, however, he feared an
unavoidable battle with one of the residents might be just around the
corner.
As President of the Gulf Coast Estates Association, it was his duty
to see that Condominium rules were observed, and he was on his way to
get this matter about Trouble, the cat in Laura Anderson's charge, cleared
up once and for all.
Just a few days ago, he'd left a message on her answering machine informing
her that the complaints against Trouble were mounting and something
had to be done to remedy the situation. His warning had obviously gone
unheeded because for the past three mornings his phone had started ringing
before eight o'clock.
First, it was Mrs. Beatman complaining that Trouble was in her herb
garden again, followed by Mr. Hick's yelling because the cat was waiting
to pounce on the birds he fed every morning. The latest call was from
Diana Gideon warning him that if she lost one more pair of panty hose
to "that damn cat" she would dispose of all the animal's nine
lives at once.
He looked down at the black cat sleeping peacefully in the laundry
basket he carried, the red leather collar buried in the dense black
fur, the gold name tag inscribed with one word: Trouble, hidden under
the cat's fluffy neck. Her owner had aptly named her, he muttered under
his breath.
He quickened his pace. The closer he got to Laura Anderson's condo,
the faster his heart beat. When he finally reached her door he sucked
in a deep breath, set the basket down at his feet, and rang the doorbell.
The moment she opened the door, he knew it was going to be harder to
confront Laura Anderson than he'd imagined.