Willy was pondering this choice of happiness when she felt something rub against her leg. She looked over at Allistair and whispered, “Now is not the time to play footsy.”
“Huh?” Allistair asked.
The rubbing continued. This time up higher on Willy’s leg.
“Seriously, Allistair? Trying to cop a feel in church? Even I wouldn’t sink that low,” Willy hissed.
“Huh?” Allistair said again.
Willy felt something wet and warm against the inside of her leg. It felt like a tongue. She looked down and saw a white furry tail sticking out from under her habit. What the fuck? Willy thought. She lifted her outer skirt and saw a big cat-sized lump in her nun pants and the white tail sticking out of her right pant leg. Fur rubbed her inner thigh.
Willy jumped to her feet and screamed, “There’s a cat in my pants!”
Mother Superior stopped talking mid-sentence. The nuns’ heads swiveled in Willy’s direction. The cat wiggled and advanced a few more inches up her leg. It was now very close to Sissy. Way too close for comfort.
Willy jumped up and down in an effort to dislodge the predator from her pants. “There’s a motherfucking cat in my motherfucking nun pants!” she screamed. She lifted her outer habit up under her armpits and began to dance and hop, shaking her right leg. But the more she shook, the higher the cat climbed.
“It’s after Sissy!” Willy yelled. She leapt up onto the pew.
Allistair grabbed Willy’s arm and tried to pull her to the floor. “Willy! You’re making a scene!” As Willy River-danced on the church pew, Allistair turned to the crowd of nuns and said, “You’ll have to forgive her. It’s not her fault. She ran out of her meds and… She’ll exhaust herself soon.”
“Like hell I will!” Willy yelled. Still holding her habit up, she ran down the length of her pew, skipping over nun’s laps, and she jumped into the air like an Olympic hurdler, landing on the pew in front of her. “It’s attacking Sissy! Its claws are in Sissy!”
Willy grabbed the furry lump in her crotch and tugged. When that didn’t work, she pulled down her pants. Sure enough, the white cat was plastered over her crotch, its legs wrapped around her legs, hanging on for dear life. “Somebody get this cat off my pussy!”
A few nuns tittered. Others giggled. A couple outright guffawed. One screamed and covered her face. Mother Superior, red-faced and angry, put two fingers in her mouth and whistled shrilly. “Sit down! Everybody, sit down!” she bellowed.
The nuns followed her orders and everyone sat except Willy. Willy hopped off the pew, held her habit over her head and ran to Mother Superior, yelling, “Help! Call an exorcist! This cat is possessed!”
That was when Sister Helena stood and pulled her water pistol out of the folds of her habit. She took careful aim at the pussy—the feline pussy, not the other one—and fired. It took several shots before the cat was soaked and loosened his grip, falling to the floor. Sister Helena fired one more time for good measure, hitting the white cat squarely in the face. The cat screeched and high-tailed it to the giant wooden crucifix in the apse. Standing on his back legs he stretched up as high as he could reach and used Jesus as a scratching post.
That left Willy standing in front of the church next to Mother Superior. Willy was naked from the waist down without even a cat to cover her privates.
Nobody moved a muscle. Not even Mother Superior. It was like everybody was in shock. Or catatonic as Sister Peaches would joke.
Willy grabbed the water pistol out of Sister Helena’s hand, opened her mouth and pulled the trigger. She swallowed then coughed then sputtered. “That’s not vodka! What the fuck was in that?”
“Holy water,” Sister Helena said.
“It tastes like ass,” Willy said. And that reminded her—her ass was on display. She pulled up her nun pants.
Mother Superior quaked with anger. She said through gritted teeth, “Four hundred.”
“Four hundred?” Willy said.
“Four hundred meters.”
Willy grinned. Allistair saw the gleam in Willy’s eye and surmised what it meant. She stood and yelled, “No, Willy, don’t do it!” But she was too late. Willy had already aimed the water pistol at Mother Superior.
Mother Superior said, “Sister Wanda –“
And that was the opening Willy had been waiting for. She fired.
Her aim was true and Mother Superior got a mouthful of holy water. She gagged and spit. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and glared at Willy.
Willy beat her to the punch, “I know, I know. Five hundred meters.” She marched down the aisle and out of the church.
The Importance Of Being Ernest
“You missed a spot,” the big white cat said.
Willy dunked her scrub brush into a bucket of warm, soapy water. She was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the corridor when she thought she heard the cat talking to her—only it wasn’t out loud. The cat’s voice was in her head.
She wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand and stared at the cat.
“You have some soap bubbles in your hair,” the cat said.
Willy looked over both shoulders. Nobody was around. She decided the cat was only her imagination. Maybe she shouldn’t have eaten those poppy seed bagels. They were making her hallucinate. She went back to scrubbing.
“I really am talking to you, you know,” the cat said.
Willy shook her head.
“It’s not your imagination,” the cat said. He sat down and licked his privates. “You know why I lick my balls?”
Willy glanced at the cat then looked away.
“Because I can,” the cat said.
Willy snickered, despite herself.
“I thought you’d appreciate that joke,” the cat said.
“I’m making you up,” Willy said. “You can’t be real.”
“Listen, Willy,” the cat said. “Just because you’ve never seen a telepathic cat doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. There are people who communicate with the dead, who bend spoons with their mind, who lift cars off people who have been run over, who raise the dead even. Haven’t you ever read The Secret? It’s about manifesting things with your thoughts. If you can believe in all that is it so hard to believe in a cat who communicates telepathically?”
“How’d you know my real name?” Willy said.
“I know all about you,” the cat said. “I’m inside your head. And it’s dark in here. Damp and moldy. Not to mention stinky.”
“Haha, you’re so funny,” Willy said. She threw her scrub brush into the bucket and sat back on her heels. She met the cat’s unblinking gaze. “What do you want from me?”
“Some catnip would be nice.”
“Do you talk to everyone?” Willy asked.
“Nope,” the cat said. “Just you.”
“You’re full of shit,” Willy said.
“Better get back to scrubbing. Someone’s coming.”
Willy grabbed her brush and scrubbed. After a moment, she heard footsteps approaching. Soon, two black shoes stopped in front of her.
“I see you met Ernest,” a voice said.
Willy looked up and smiled when she saw it was Sister Helena. “Who’s Ernest?”
“The cat,” Sister Helena said, pointing at the white cat who sat nearby cleaning his paws. “Hundreds of cats around this joint, but he’s the one who causes the most trouble,” she added.
Willy glared at Ernest the cat. “Oh yeah? What kind of trouble?”
“Anytime something happens around here youse can bet Ernest is in the thick of it,” she said, cocking a thumb in Ernest’s direction.
“Ernest is kind of a weird name for a cat,” Willy said.
Ernest’s voice boomed inside Willy’s head, “Yeah and Willy is completely normal.”
Willy looked at Sister Helena. She obviously hadn’t heard Ernest’s voice. “I told you she can’t hear me. Only you can,” Ernest said.
Sister Helena said, “He’s named
after Ernest Hemingway. He comes from a long line of polydactyl cats that lived with the writer. He was brought here after one of the hurricanes rendered him homeless. I think he misses Florida and that makes him cranky.”
“Polydactyl? What the fuck is that, some kind of dinosaur?”
“That means he has five toes.”
Willy studied Ernest’s feet. “So he does. That’s fucking freaky looking.”
Ernest hissed.
“Sorry about getting your vodka pistol confiscated. I’ll get you another one if I ever get out of this place,” Willy said.
“No worries,” Sister Helena said. “I have more. So, I got a work assignment with your girlfriend, Sister Alice. We’re weeding the herb field.”
“Sounds better than scrubbing floors.”
“Mother Superior sent me to tell youse that as soon as you’re done here you’re on litter patrol. You and Sister Peaches.”
“Litter patrol?”
“Yeah, youse got it for disrupting Mother Superior’s sermon and Sister Peaches got it for laughing.”
“You mean I have to pick up litter? That’s no big deal.”
Sister Helena raised one eyebrow. “Yeah, well, don’t forget to wear your hazmat suit.” She gave Ernest a wide berth and strode off down the hallway before Willy could ask any more questions.
“You’re sure a popular guy around here,” Willy said.
“As you would say, who gives a fuck?”
“So you should probably get on your way too. I’ve got a lot of floor ahead of me and you’re sitting on it.”
Ernest glared at her.
Willy glared back. “I can stare as long as you can.”
Ernest laughed. “First one who blinks is the loser.”
They stared. Neither blinked.
“So tell me,” Willy said, “Why me? Why do you talk to me?”
“Because you can hear me,” Ernest replied.
Another twenty seconds crawled by with neither one blinking. Willy felt like her eyes were going to pop out of her head. “Why’d you crawl up my pants in church?” she asked.
“Because I could.”
Willy blinked. “Oh, shit…”
“Aha!” Ernest said. “I win.”
“Big fucking deal.” Willy picked up her brush and smeared the bubbles in big circles on the stone floor.
With a swish of his tail, Ernest glided down the hallway. When he was about twenty feet away, he stopped and pissed on the floor. After making a giant puddle, he looked back over his shoulder at Willy and said, “You missed a spot.”
Willy threw the scrub brush at him, but he was long gone.
Suiting Up
Sister Helena hadn’t been kidding about the hazmat suit. Willy felt like an astronaut headed into deep space. She had on a helmet with a breathing apparatus that made each breath sound like she was a serial killer in a horror movie. A big rain slicker and hip boots made up the rest of the outfit. Sister Peaches had on the same ensemble. She handed Willy a cat litter scooper. When Sister Helena had said “litter,” she didn’t mean garbage; it was shit Willy would be picking up.
“I feel ridiculous,” Willy said. Her voice sounded deep inside the helmet. “Luke, I am your father,” she intoned.
Sister Peaches didn’t laugh. “So this is what happens to bad nuns, huh?” Willy said. “We have to clean up cat shit?”
Achoo!
“Bless you,” Willy said. “Hey, what’s that?” Willy pointed to Sister Peaches’ rear end.
“My tail,” Sister Peaches said.
“Your what?”
“You have one, too.”
Willy craned her neck and looked over her shoulder at her own butt. Sure enough, a long hairy thing was dangling just below her butt. “What the fuck?”
“The cats are less intimidated if we wear tails. They think we’re one of them and don’t attack. As much,” Sister Peaches said.
“You mean we’re going to be fucking attacked? We’re cleaning up their shit and we’re going to be attacked? What kind of fucking insanity is that?”
Sister Peaches gasped and gurgled.
“What’s that noise you’re making?” Willy asked.
Sister Peaches turned her back to Willy.
“Are you fucking crying?” Willy asked.
Sister Peaches shook her head. Willy grabbed Sister Peaches by the shoulder and turned her back around. “You are crying.”
Sister Peaches nodded and gurgled.
“Why the fuck are you crying?”
Sister Peaches sobbed louder.
“You really need to get a grip,” Willy said. “You’re way too emotional. First, you’re all laughing and giggling and all nun humor, then you’re sobbing and slobbering and sneezing. You’re a fucking mess.”
Sister Peaches sobbed louder.
“You know what I’m going to do for you?” Willy asked.
Sister Peaches shook her head and managed to breathe, “Whaaaat?”
“I’m going to teach you to get in touch with the little Peach that lives inside you.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Sister Peaches sobbed.
“You have an angry peach pit living inside you, but you’ve stuffed it so far down that the only way it can come out is in giggles or tears. But, hey, you’re in luck, Sister. Because I’m, like, the guru of anger. I can tap into fury in a split second. I’ll teach you how and then you’ll never cry easily again.”
“Really? You’d do that for me?”
“Sure. What’re sisters for?” Willy waggled her eyebrows. “See what I did there? Sisters, get it?”
Sister Peaches giggled.
The Herb Garden
While Willy was poop scooping, Allistair was in the herb garden with Sister Helena. Allistair was excited. She loved working outdoors in the sunshine. The smell of plants and dirt and sun and photoplasma or whatever it was called made her nose happy.
“Can you eat these herbs?” Allistair asked, leaning on her hoe. She was looking at a particularly big plant. It stood over her head. If she wasn’t mistaken it was oregano. And a few rows over was lavender, and next to that was thyme.
“Sure,” Sister Helena replied. “Lots of people do. They add it to brownies or cookies. It’s pretty good in spaghetti sauce, too.”
Allistair plucked a big handful of leaves and stuck them in her wimple out of sight. She liked the smell of the herbs. She was going to add some lavender and maybe some of the lemongrass to make a sachet for her underwear drawer. She grabbed a few more handfuls and stuffed more of the leaves on the other side of her wimple. Surely, nobody would notice a few missing oregano leaves.
Willy’s Delight
Willy stared out the second story window of the east cat room. She couldn’t believe her eyes. “What is that field of stuff out there?” she asked Sister Peaches. It looked like dope. The nuns weren’t growing marijuana. Or were they?
Sister Peaches removed her biohazard gloves and stood next to Willy. “Those are the hemp fields. And over there are the drying rooms and next door is the storage barn,” Sister Peaches said. “Plus there are a few other plants mixed in like lavender, thyme, basil, cilantro, and lemongrass.”
“Hemp? You mean to tell me this is a pot farm?” Willy asked.
“We don’t call it a pot farm. It’s a Hemp-Producing Organic Zone.”
“Do the nuns smoke it?”
“Don’t be silly,” Sister Peaches said with a giggle. “We sell it.”
“Who do you sell it to?” Willy asked.
“Well, we have three distributors in Seattle. And we grow some commercial but we mostly specialize in the exotic stuff.”
“So the shit must be really good,” Willy said, staring wistfully out at the fields of marijuana plants. She wasn’t usually a big toker, but she wasn’t usually trapped in a convent with no entertainment either.
“I would assume so.”
“C’mon,” Willy said, “I bet your sisters are getting high all the time.”
“Let’s go on a field trip,” Willy said, rubbing her palms together.
“But what about litter patrol?”
“The shit will be here when we get back,” Willy said. She stripped off her hazmat suit and turned to Sister Peaches. “You coming or what?”
“Well, I don’t suppose I can let you wander around by yourself. You might get lost,” Sister Peaches said with a giggle.
Higher Ground
Willy and Sister Peaches cut through the pot fields and entered the storage shed. Willy was amazed. There were bales of dried pot. Literally. Bales. It was like an old barn except instead of bales of hay there were bales of pot. Willy stood in the middle of a dope smoker’s wet dream.
“Holy mother fucker,” Willy exclaimed under her breath.
“Pretty impressive, huh? Our cannabis was written up in the Seattle Times. The location was not revealed for obvious reasons. But it rates very high on the THC scale. Want a tour?”
“Yeah, sure,” Willy said with her mouth still hanging half open.
Sister Peaches walked around the barn, pointing out different bales of pot like a tour guide at Universal Studios. “Over here is where we have the Sativas. We grow Train-wreck, Blue Cheese, and Amnesia Haze. Sativas are meant for super highs and can cause hallucinations. Here are the Indicas, which have more of a body buzz and help with pain. There’s White Rhino, Endless Sky, Pandora’s Box and the good old G-13 which is a hold-over from the state sanctioned medical marijuana days. In those days the government just used letters and numerals for the different strains. I like the new names.” She touched a bud of Pandora’s Box. “I mean, look at the emerald green of this and it’s got an almost honeyed smell to it.” She leaned down to sniff.
Willy did the same. “Holy shit, just smelling it’s enough to get you high.” She plucked off a bud.
“What’re you doing?” Sister Peaches asked.
“I’m going to smoke it,” Willy said.
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