Penelope's End

Penelope's end

When I first started out in business I screwed up my first half dozen jobs, barely escaping with the
check. I was a few dollars away from totally broke or worse, a regular job, when I got my break. A
friend turned me on to an older lady with some big bucks. A relative of both the Duponts and the
Woods of Wawa, we're talking a coupla hundred million.  Mrs. Sands was stinkin rich but you
certainly wouldn't know it from the crappy little home she lived in, just off Baltimore Pike, in Wawa.
Her husband, according to her, in our initial conversation, was an alcoholic architect who had
screwed up badly and left her with a modernistic split level with severe moisture and mildew
problems. The paint actually WAS peeling off the walls. I was there to see what I could do.

Spent about a week, scraping, patching the lower level bedrooms, bleaching off the mildew,
sanding and all that. Mrs Sands was almost blind but like every blind person I have worked
for since, extremely particular about the color. At the time I didn't know there were so many
shades of pink. Finally, after numerous false starts and about 4 coats of paint, I got it to stick
on the walls. No guarantees on this one, I doubted that it would still be on the wall by next week
and was eager to get the check and flee. Mrs. Sands, unlike most rich people, didn't have
a problem paying, but I had to write out the check myself and guide her hand to the signature line.
Done. Time to go.

I loaded my stuff in to my work vehicle, a '66 tourquise Rambler Classic, with a roof rack and
wipers that ran on some sort of vacuum from the carburetor and fired it up. It went about 2 feet
before the squealing started. Looking out the side window I saw Penelope limping off into
the bushes. I had run over the cat. I got out to see what I could do, but what could I do, take it to
the emergency room, CPR? The damn thing was still alive, but barely. Jesus. After a few minutes
Penelope stopped twitching and I gave it a nudge with my boot and got no response. Dead, thank
God. But now what?I considered my options. Certainly, Mrs.Sands hadn't seen anything and
I doubted she heard much either. I could just drive away? Simplest solution. But she or the
gardener might find the cat and figure things out. I'd have to cash the check quick. I could throw
Penelope in the trunk and just drive away. Create a mystery, but I could probably get away with
that. Or I could fling it out onto Baltimore Pike and the blame would fall elsewhere. But I already
knew what I had to do. Reluctantly, I went back inside, still clutching the check, and told Mrs.
Sands the bad news.

"I'm sorry, I don't know how to tell you this, but I've got some bad news for you. I just ran over
Penelope and she crawled into the bushes and I think she's dead"

"What?"

"I'm sorry, I accidentally ran over Penelope and she crawled into the bushes"

"What?"

"I ran over the cat. It's dead"

"Oh thank God, that damn thing's been peeing all over the house for months. I just couldn't bring
myself to put her down"

My luck had held, I left quickly in the Rambler, heading for the bank to cash the check.