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Authors: Roy S. Rikman
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massage parlor by gingerly squeezing through a crack in the large metal door that served as an entrance. Greg was hunched on the ground behind a desk at the other end of the small office apparently trying to repair an antique lamp whose parts were strewn all over the floor. He was a small man with round glasses and greasy black painted-on hair. He wore a purple T-shirt and a pair of stained shorts. Jude cleared his throat causing Greg to look up. Standing up and dusting himself off, Greg hazarded a greeting.
“Oh…hello. You must be uh…uh…uh…”
“Jude,” said Jude.
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I forgot you were coming. I don’t get many consultations…now…I mean…these days.”
Greg walked over and extended his hand. It was soaking. His hair seemed to have gotten greasier during his trip across the room. Greg looked nervous, much more nervous than a person in the pet hospitality industry should have looked in Jude’s estimation.
“Why don’t we sit down?” said Greg who motioned into the office and then quickly realized that there were no chairs to sit on.
“Well perhaps we’ll stand if it’s alright. Do you think this will take long?” asked Greg.
“Well, I don’t know how long you normally take for this sort of thing…” Jude said, suddenly realizing that he had not actually brought a cat for Greg to massage. He tried to think quickly.
“About my cat…”
“A cat! Where?” said Greg, his eyes darting about the floor and sweat beads forming on his forehead.
“Well actually, I didn’t bring the cat this time because…”
“Oh good, good…I mean…not good…not good per se. It’s just that, well, I like to get a sense for my clients’ owners before I decide to take them on. I’m very busy as you can see,” Greg again motioned to his filthy office with no chairs. “And, of course, I wouldn’t want your cat to make the trip for nothing.”
“Yes, that’s very thoughtful of you.”
It occurred to Jude that this man was some kind of artist. He had a gift for making other people feel uncomfortable with him. Jude did not own a cat and furthermore, he hated cats. Yet he had the overwhelming sense that he would never let a cat of his, if he had one, anywhere near Greg. Obviously, if Jude’s aim was to be the least appealing cat massage therapist in the Greater Boston area, he would have to work much harder. Suddenly, he had a tremendous desire to leave, but he needed a way to end the charade.
“I just remembered that I have to run to another engagement,” said Jude looking at his watch. “Perhaps you could show me where you massage the cats and then I’ll go.”
Greg seemed relieved at the prospect of a speedy end to their meeting. He gestured to his office one more time.
“I’m sorry. This is really bad timing. My massage table is actually at the shop.”
“At the shop?”
“Yes, it uh… it had a bad leg.”
Jude had had enough.
“Alright Greg, well, we’ll be in touch,” said Jude as he squeezed his way out of the office.
Ten minutes later and two blocks away in an equally decrepit building on the edge of the waterfront, all fifty other cat massage therapists listed in the Boston area phonebook were gathered around a small, make-shift wooden stage in an awed hush. Greg of Greg’s cat massage parlor walked in and stood quietly in the corner looking nervous. He had been summoned moments after Jude had left his office. Every person in the room had adorned himself in the same purple cloak and Greg was relieved when an older member of the gathering handed one such cloak to him. The fifty-one cat massage therapists who now stood in silence awaiting their leader knew something that would have been of great interest to Jude. For the agenda of today’s meeting included no discussion of cats or of cat massage technique. In fact, the truth was that not one of the cloaked individuals standing in the
“Oh…hello. You must be uh…uh…uh…”
“Jude,” said Jude.
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I forgot you were coming. I don’t get many consultations…now…I mean…these days.”
Greg walked over and extended his hand. It was soaking. His hair seemed to have gotten greasier during his trip across the room. Greg looked nervous, much more nervous than a person in the pet hospitality industry should have looked in Jude’s estimation.
“Why don’t we sit down?” said Greg who motioned into the office and then quickly realized that there were no chairs to sit on.
“Well perhaps we’ll stand if it’s alright. Do you think this will take long?” asked Greg.
“Well, I don’t know how long you normally take for this sort of thing…” Jude said, suddenly realizing that he had not actually brought a cat for Greg to massage. He tried to think quickly.
“About my cat…”
“A cat! Where?” said Greg, his eyes darting about the floor and sweat beads forming on his forehead.
“Well actually, I didn’t bring the cat this time because…”
“Oh good, good…I mean…not good…not good per se. It’s just that, well, I like to get a sense for my clients’ owners before I decide to take them on. I’m very busy as you can see,” Greg again motioned to his filthy office with no chairs. “And, of course, I wouldn’t want your cat to make the trip for nothing.”
“Yes, that’s very thoughtful of you.”
It occurred to Jude that this man was some kind of artist. He had a gift for making other people feel uncomfortable with him. Jude did not own a cat and furthermore, he hated cats. Yet he had the overwhelming sense that he would never let a cat of his, if he had one, anywhere near Greg. Obviously, if Jude’s aim was to be the least appealing cat massage therapist in the Greater Boston area, he would have to work much harder. Suddenly, he had a tremendous desire to leave, but he needed a way to end the charade.
“I just remembered that I have to run to another engagement,” said Jude looking at his watch. “Perhaps you could show me where you massage the cats and then I’ll go.”
Greg seemed relieved at the prospect of a speedy end to their meeting. He gestured to his office one more time.
“I’m sorry. This is really bad timing. My massage table is actually at the shop.”
“At the shop?”
“Yes, it uh… it had a bad leg.”
Jude had had enough.
“Alright Greg, well, we’ll be in touch,” said Jude as he squeezed his way out of the office.
Ten minutes later and two blocks away in an equally decrepit building on the edge of the waterfront, all fifty other cat massage therapists listed in the Boston area phonebook were gathered around a small, make-shift wooden stage in an awed hush. Greg of Greg’s cat massage parlor walked in and stood quietly in the corner looking nervous. He had been summoned moments after Jude had left his office. Every person in the room had adorned himself in the same purple cloak and Greg was relieved when an older member of the gathering handed one such cloak to him. The fifty-one cat massage therapists who now stood in silence awaiting their leader knew something that would have been of great interest to Jude. For the agenda of today’s meeting included no discussion of cats or of cat massage technique. In fact, the truth was that not one of the cloaked individuals standing in the
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