the pie

i didn't really need that pie, you know, or so i thought. after that first offensive bite, i was prepared to let it slide off my plate and onto the floor of the red draped ballroom of my employer, mr. haversham. i had worked for years to gain access to my company's inner circle, and i wasn't about to let a rotten pie make me cough and shoot phlegm in the face's of my superiors. as i continued nodding my head and guffawing intermittently, pretending to be engaged in mr. haversham's colorful story about his precious deformed cat, Little Bear, i slowly tipped my plate to my right to check for potential sliding. my eyes bulged so wide that for a second i thought for sure i would be unduly noticed and caught for giving deaf audience. not even an inch did that pie budge--a sure sign of a butterless crust! giving it a slight poke with my fork, a cloud of desiccated flakes blew out and settled like dust on top of the pie and my closest finger. was haversham's chef really vain enough to leave out the butter? at----what's that, why are you laughing?

yes, that's what i said, a butterless crust! the pie was clearly too dry to allow any movement at all, which was worsened by the fact that haversham's cavalier disposition made it very likely that the china was buffed and rebuffed before serving dessert! now back to the story--try not to interrupt this time--i stood there positively frozen while i contemplated what other recourse i had available to me at that moment. as i considered the possibility of slowly oiling the plate with my finger pad, i realized that there had been a lapse in the conversation, and mr. haversham, along with with the rest of the circle, was waiting for my comment. clearing my throat, i closed my eyes and spoke:

Just now I said the prayer for this cat Little Bear and when I finished, I felt a tremor shake my whole body. When it was over, I knew that our Lord had heard my message. I blieve that is a hopeful sign that someday soon little Bear Deformed will be restored to his former self. Amen. 

that seemed to satisfy the crowd, most of all mr. haversham, who blew his nose loudly and gave me an appreciative blow to my pie-holding arm. thank god, not all was lost for me. i've been told before that i'm quick on my feet. now----uh, there you go again, with that laugh! what's it this time?

not quick enough to figure out what to do with that pie you say! touche! well listen to what happened next: just as my chuckle was residing, mr. haversham called to the waitstaff to have Little Bear brought out. background chatter from the party ceased, and momentarily Little Bear was produced on a little red pillow. picture a repulsive gray tabby cat splayed out with mismatched eyes, infirm limbs, and neck goiter the size of an apple. a chorus of greatly forced "oos and awws" filled the room.

"please, over here!" shouted mr. haversham, "i want Little Bear to meet his biggest advocate!"

i braced myself for imminent revulsion when my touch would produce no muscle contraction or expansion in this slack kitty--don't roll your eyes--and while i breathed deeply to counteract the onset of nausea, never in my deepest dreams could i have imagined the turn this situation would take. a gasp erupted, i tuned back in, and immediately saw that the pie on my plate had disappeared. you're laughing, and i'll forgive you this time, because it doesn't take a detective to guess who the culprit was. the room went still while that little cat sat there, gurgling down the remainder of the pie through his clogged pipes. and then the cat was on the ground.

"LITTLE BEARRRRR!" mr. haversham shouted, reaching down save his precious pet. but it was too late--Little Bear was convulsing on the floor. i buried my face in my hands, not able to bring myself to face the destruction of this guileless animal. that pie--how did i lack the courage to stalk off and confront that pompous chef! it was my fault, my fault, my fault....

but suddenly someone is shaking me and telling me to look down, and what i saw, mind you, was a miracle. or perhaps just the product of some very dry pie crust. Little Bear's goiter was shrinking, as if all of the fluids were being drained out of it, and his legs were gaining strength, which i can't quite explain except to say that maybe it had something to do with the vitamins in the fruit filling. but what i do know is that in less than a minute of eating that pie, Little Bear Deformed Legs was a changed cat.

now i see you shaking your head, and that's okay with me. there are some things in this world that are too hard to believe unless you witness them firsthand. but promise me this, my friend, if you are given something and don't know what to do with it, do not immediately start devising ways to get rid of it; hold onto it for a while and see if there is a Little Bear in your life that needs help in the most unlikeliest of times.