Cinnamon Mitchell Rossi
As I relax and read a book by the fire, my cat is sleeping
sound asleep on her favorite chair, a sudden scream of wolves were howling the
nightly moonsong routine as
they howl every night at nine-o-clock. My cat, Cinnamon, immediately jumps up in
a fright and runs under the new couch. The wolves usually stop around eleven
and Cinnamon comes out from under the couch and goes back to her chair.
I bought her a new cat toy to play with as she bites her teeth in deep. My friends
Ryan and Maddie come over for a nice cup of tea. Ryan likes to play with fire;
he keeps saying
“When can I
lite up the fire place?”
I mention NO every time but he still doesn’t shut up.
Maddie sits there drinking beer now instead of tea. Now Ryan
is trying to find the lighter in the kitchen.
“Screw this” he yells and throws his tea cup across the room.
He will never find the lighter because it is hidden in my wall safe.
“Sit the hell down you
piece of crap and have some manners,” Maddie says.
I mentioned that yesterday
when I was at the mall. The mall was in
music spirit as it played famous songs. Ryan interrupts me if he can
lite the fire now.
“Yes you can the wood is already in the fireplace ready to
go, so just crumple up a few sheets of paper and liter up,” I said.
Maddie and I are not facing the fireplace in the living room
as we trust Ryan would be responsible for lighting it safely.
Within seconds there was a nice warm heat in the house, then
it was starting to get too warm. I turned around discovering my wall was on fire.
“You son of a gun!” I yelled. We ran outside in a hurry calling
911, completely forgetting three week old cinnamon.
“Chute
my cinnamon,” I yelled.
I ran back in not seeing a thing, the fire had destroyed the
living room and the kitchen. I knew cinnamon wouldn’t be under the couch. So I
thought there must be one area where she could be: By the side door where I let
her out to play. I walked over and there she was cuddled up in the corner
scared, I grabbed her and turned around realizing the front door was no longer
an option. I couldn’t go out the side door; it was blocked with fire wood.
I jumped out the bathroom window realizing Ryan forgot to
flush the toilet. Cinnamon and I landed face first in the garden for a soft
landing. The fire department arrived and began spraying the house.
We all stayed in city dump as all our money was burned.
“How many papers did you put in the fire place?” I asked Ryan.
“47.9 sheets of the Western,” he replied.
“What the hell is wrong with you? You burned my house down;
you forgot to flush the toilet.”
Ryan had one word to say and one word only.
“Oops!”
