Cleaning House

Cleaning House

Pam had seen the powder at the neighbor's across the street, in their messy garage. It was among the greasy car parts and rusting paint cans. They probably didn't even know that it was there.

Pam waited till she saw Kay doing laundry. They had their washer and dryer in the garage. Next to all that junk and the spider webs. That's the way to get your clothes clean, dear.

Pam went over to chat, like any two neighbors. But Kay was a little surprised. Pam must have been standoffish with her before. She couldn't help it. Kay just wasn't a clean woman. The garage smelled awful. There were droppings. They could have probably used that powder and a good cleaning out too.

When Kay went to take a load of laundry inside, Pam grabbed the box and yelled out how she had to run and left with the box hidden under her sweater.



Pam swore that Gong was shedding more all the time. They got the black lab when Chuck's brother died. Pam didn't want him, but she couldn't say no with Bernie so recently dead, and Chuck getting teary eyed and sentimental all of a sudden. So she let him stay hoping it would be temporary, but it wasn't.

Two years now. And he was shedding all over the cream colored upholstery. His age, the vet said. And he was going on the carpet. The vet said he had some kind of infection, but that was no excuse.

Pam was always scrubbing at the stains. She had the carpet man in every month. But they never really came out. There were all these suspicious looking yellow, cloud shapes on the carpet for anyone to see. It was embarrassing to have people over what with the ghosts of old pee stains and the black hairs on the cream furniture.

Pam had always kept the cleanest house. Light beige carpeting throughout. It used to be spotless. People were always taking off their shoes at the door, even without being told. They used to ask, "Is it new?" And say, "You wouldn't even know you had a dog." Now they consoled her, "Oh, well, that's the joy of pet ownership." Or "Can't expect things to be perfect with an old dog around." It was still cleaner than any of their houses. The nerve.

Chuck wouldn't hear of having Gong put down - leaving Pam to go after the dog with a dust buster or the carpet cleaning spray. The carpet would never be right. A new one was out of the question while the dog was still with them. The vet said Gong might last at least a few more years like he was. Well, that just wouldn't do.



Now that he was old, Gong didn't eat like he used to. He used to gobble up his food. Now he picked at it half heartedly. Chuck had spoiled his appetite to boot, feeling sorry for him and feeding him from the table.

On the day Chuck was away visiting his friend in the hospital in Ogden, Pam cooked up a little ground beef for the dog. It was easy on his old teeth. Plus she could mix in anything she liked.

She took the dog into the back yard and fed him. She watched him to make sure he ate all of it. Then she let him off the leash and unlatched the gate. It was chilly, and she pulled her robe closer around her as she waited for the old dog to amble out of the yard so she could close the gate again. He whined to come back in, but she couldn't hear him over the sound of vacuuming.

Later on, Pam went around the neighborhood asking if anyone had seen Gong. She described him for those who didn't know what he looked like, "He's a real sweet dog. A black lab. Old now. I don't know how he could have wandered off. I thought he was too old for that sort of shenanigans."

Gong was found around four o'clock behind the hedge on the empty lot that would never get sold as long as the Harris's were asking so much for it. The dog was nearly dead. That was a little worrying, but it didn't take long for him to finish up and die. Pam had no trouble putting on a good cry.



Things were nice for a while. They had all new carpets and upholstery. And the painters had repainted the whole house. It was so lovely and clean. For a while.

Except Chuck had been a bit of a nuisance ever since he retired - around the house so much. But he had his golf games, and fishing, and visits with old friends. So Pam managed. Then he got this leg condition. He cut back on golf and stayed at home a lot more.

Pam could hardly stand to look at his pale, old legs with the sores. Sometimes the sores bled. The upholstery was all spotted. Chuck's favorite chair was a disgrace. He was polluting the whole house. She could never get a break from him.



Pam remembered well the mess the dog had made among the dry leaves on that empty lot where he died. She made sure Chuck wouldn't be home when it happened. That was the hardest part.

Finally Chuck worked himself up for a fishing trip. All by himself. Pam made him lunch. She mixed the powder into the mayonnaise.

"I'll eat what I catch," he had protested. Like he had ever caught anything worth eating. Just ugly, dirty, little fish that smelled up the house.

Pam made him his favorite to make sure he couldn't resist - salami, honey ham, swiss cheese, lettuce, slivered onion, and lots of mayonnaise of course.

"Do you think this salami is still good?" She made him sniff it. He could hardly smell anything any more. He used to smoke before she made him quit after he retired, for his health. And so he wouldn't stink up the house and stain everything with the dirty, yellow cigarette smoke. So of course he said the salami smelled fine. It would reassure him later to have something to blame for the funny taste. Though he was nearly as bad as the dog used to be - gulping down his food before he knew what he was eating.

As she had a cup of coffee and watched the morning show, Pam figured Chuck would eat his sandwich as soon as he got bored. Went fishing, went missing. Then the body was found eaten by the little, dirty, smelly fish.



The house was quiet for a little while, until she started calling Chuck's friends to ask if they had seen him. It was the police next. Then people were in and out all the time. Now they were all in her living room and her dining room. It was after the memorial.

"They'd been searching the lake the whole time. What made him go up to the river to fish with his legs being so bad?" Pam asked no one in particular. It took them so long to find him - the river dragging him downstream - she had to have him cremated.

"He told me he was going to the lake, but he must have changed his mind. Poor Chuck," she told them with a sad shake of her head. Everyone made sounds of commiseration.

Dotty said Pam should get a pet so as not to be too lonely. A cat, because they are so clean. Dotty was delusional. She had a fat, yellow kitty to keep her company and rub against her furniture and leave hair everywhere. Pam didn't answer her idiotic suggestion. Pam had been daydreaming - she could finally get that maid Fran had. The maid wouldn't work for anyone who had kids or pets of any kind. And Pam had done her one better.

But Pam was distracted from her daydream. All these people in her house. They were trampling the brand new carpet. Of course it was Pam who had insisted they come over to her place, and she had made all the food herself.

"It helps me to keep busy," she said while she looked sad and brave. But her eye went to the dark path from the front door. All those feet, the shoes still on, from the filthy street - where people spit and neighborhood dogs do their business - to her new light beige carpet.

Tom didn't even wipe his feet when he came in. Dotty had dropped something on the rug. Now she was peering around guiltily. Look at her wiping at the spot with her napkin. That won't do any good, dear. She was just spreading it. Barb wasn't using a coaster. Steve was sitting back crushing her sofa cushions. Crumbs down his shirt that would land on her carpet as soon as he stood up. They were never coming over again. Pam was making sure of that.

Some in every dish, because of people like Nancy who was lactose intolerant, and wouldn't touch cheese or anything made with cheese, and weren't we all grateful for that. She had to push food on some people like Bob who talked so much he'd forget to take a bite till she stared him down. Barb, who was skinny as a stick, and wouldn't touch a thing and didn't use a coaster to boot. Who can refuse a crab puff from a grieving widow? And Pam stood there till Barb ate at least half.

Then she had to get them outside before it all started, like with the dog. Pam called them all out into the back yard. She had the hose ready and her yellow, rubber gloves right on the birdfeeder. She was planning to have the back yard paved anyway, so much cleaner. So she might as well spill Chuck's ashes all over. She sure as heck wasn't keeping that urn full of dirty ashes in her house. And it was a good way to get everyone out into the back yard.

It was awful. They were having seizures, convulsing, their eyes bugging out. She saw Barb take out her cell phone. "I'll do it, dear" and Pam took it away from her and pretended to call 911 loud enough for everyone to hear. But soon they didn't care. They were all down flopping like fish making a terrible mess, red mixed in with the nice lunch she had made them. She saw more cell phones. She took them away before they could dial those three little numbers with their slimy, trembling fingers. She had to use all her strength to pry Bob's shiny, new, little cell phone from his grip. Then it was quiet and all she had to do was clean up.




The end