I still believe Danny Abernathy ate my cat.
About six months prior to the disappearance of Andrew, Danny was doing well. He had a nice job, a wonderful girlfriend, and an apartment to die for. Everything seemed to be going great for him. Then Danny discovered meth and started staying up for days in a row. Eventually he was fired from his job. Flash forward three amphetamine-filled months and Danny had lost his girlfriend, his apartment, and he had wasted away to a shell of himself. It was insane to see such a good friend lose so much so quickly, so I offered to let him live in my tiny, one room house until he could clean himself up and get a new job. He declined the offer to live in my house, but decided that he was not above living in my tent, camped out in my front yard.
Yes, I said tent. And let me also tell you, it was November in Oklahoma. November was cold there, that flimsy tent didn't offer much shelter. Still, Danny scrounged some blankets, and was never without a heavy coat and fingerless gloves. He picked pecans from the tree in the back yard and sold them at the local market for money. He gathered the neighbor's beer cans to cash in at the recycling plant. He snuck into my house to take showers, and when he left he would leave the door unlocked and dirty, grime-filled soap in the shower. When I would tell him to lock the door if he went into the house or to buy his own soap, he would claim he wasn't in there. He constantly annoyed me because he was always talking about how he was an Eagle Scout and therefore, he was able to survive outside.
He also complained incessantly about my cute little Andrew The Cat. Andrew was a tiny, gray fur-ball who loved to play. He also loved to squeeze out the broken window of the house and haunt Danny's/my tent. He would stalk through the fallen leaves and pounce on the tent when he saw Danny's shadow move. I thought it was adorable and funny, but Danny did not. When Danny started to gripe about Andrew or the lack of pecans, I reminded him that perhaps he should stop doing drugs, get a job, and move out of the tent. By the time January rolled around, Danny and I hated each other, and we were no longer on speaking terms.
The last time I saw Andrew, Danny was yelling at him and I was laughing. I should have picked him up and put him in the house, but I thought it was more fun to let him torment Danny.
When I came home from work that day, there were policemen outside of my house. I thought that Danny had screwed up and bought drugs from the wrong person, but no. Danny had dug a pit in the ground and started a fire. He was cooking a small animal on the open fire when the police arrived. Danny claimed that he had made a sling shot and killed a squirrel that was climbing a tree.
That evening, after the police had left, I climbed into the tent and threw all of Danny's things onto the lawn. I remember I was screaming that he had to find his own place, and that he was banned from picking pecans from the tree. I was sobbing like a rage-filled mad woman when I nailed the broken window shut so Danny couldn't sneak into my house anymore.
Despite my tears and anger, I never saw Andrew again, and a few days later Danny disappeared too. A friend told me he had moved to Arizona or New Mexico to look for aliens. It's possible. I still miss Andrew, but if I ever see Danny again I hope to be armed with my own sling shot. I may not be an Eagle Scout, but I have good aim.
