Negotiating Karma (P.2)

My perception of reality, similar to a slow fade-out and fade-in of a scene disappearing and a new one appearing on a screen, like the black and white films of the early '40s (minus the corny soundtrack) something was manifesting into view. My perceptions were fading and were shifting to black. I felt like a piece of dust spinning on the edges of a massive, twisting tornado, heading downward, out of control, towards the eye of the storm. When out of the ether, I heard,

“George, George! Get a grip on yourself. Think! USE YOUR THOUGHTS, GEORGE.”

Like falling out of nothing, I found myself sitting on my desk chair, facing a framed photograph of my wife and me, taken professionally on our wedding day, so many years ago.

Jasper had moved from the window sill and was now sitting on the desk directly in front of me.

“George, I believe you need to hang around a little longer. You may need to rectify a few problems before taking the final leap. And for goodness sake, you're not in this dimension anymore...well”, he paused for a moment, “you're kind of half in this one and a little in the other one. What I'm trying to tell you is you're in control now. You just need to use your thoughts with intention.”

I peered at the old cat, and said, “I really don't have a damn idea about what you're talking about.”

Jasper sat silent for a few moments, and I could see the kitty-wheels turning in his head. He jumped back on the window sill and began cleaning in his left paw. I knew not to ask him anything and bother him because I understood that a cat cleaning themselves is the time they are deep in thought, deciding something, meditating on a problem. I remained quiet and waited.

“George, we have become good friends this lifetime during our short time together. I'm going to be what you humans call “Brutally honest.” You have been living in your own little world, and have missed the important things in your life. Why I believe you are still here, sort of, is you need to reconcile something, something to do with Christine.”

“ Over the years, I've given Christine everything she ever wanted, and more...”

“Stop right there, George. Christine has been doing stuff, bad stuff, right under your nose for months.” he said.

“Like what, Jasper?”

“Okay, this is the hard part. I will give you my right paw, and I want you to grip it tightly, but not too hard. Got me.”

“Okay,” I said.

Jasper lifted his right paw, and once touching it, the entire environment changed. I now stood at the bottom of the stairs in my home in Malibu. Jasper sat on the stairs a few feet above me. I loved this home. Christine wanted to live in southern California's upper crust with the pop stars, film actors, and the rich. A beautiful home over-looking the pacific ocean. We built the house from the ground up according to Christine's specifications. She hired an architect that cost me a small fortune. After two years, we finally moved in, and I thought she was happy. Now Jasper, my cat of 14 years, is telling me a different story.

“Follow me, George,” Jasper ordered.

I followed him up the stairs into my wife's expansive bedroom. The room had a fantastic view of the beach and sea. The problem is the room was solely hers and hers alone. She claimed to need more space, and sex could be arranged between us in any room in the house. (So she said at the time.) I went along with the idea because she did amass clothing and shoes that would rival Denmark's princess. Christine's closet is as large as the living room below, taking up most of the entire second floor.

“What are we doing here, Jasper?” I asked.

I opened the doors of her closet to see a vast space devoid of any clothing. Instead is a make-shift apartment, with a single bed, nightstand, flat-screen television, and a clothes rack full of men's clothing. The room/closet was a pigsty: dirty dishes sprawled across the floor, including fast-food wrappers and empty bottles of Chivas Regal. It then dawned on me why I kept running out of scotch. I would buy a case, and most of it would be gone in less than a month. I kept telling myself that I couldn't have drunk so much and vowed to slow down. Now I get it. This is my scotch!

Jasper sauntered into the space between my legs, and looking up, said, “The tenant's name is Raul Gorgonzola. Your wife met him at a Tapas bar in downtown LA. They started the affair over a year ago, but 3 months ago, Raul ran into some financial difficulties. Christine decided to move him to your home and keep it a secret. Raul has been an 'unknown' tenant of yours for just over 3 months.”

“You mean Christine's lover has been screwing her in my house right under my nose?”

Jasper walked out of the closet, settling himself on Christine's king-size canopy bed. I followed him and couldn't really find anything to think or say at that moment.

Jasper's ears pricked-up. The front door of the house just opened and slammed shut. I heard someone bounding up the stairs, three steps at a time, to see a handsome, young man of around 25 years of age enter the room with an arm full of grocery bags. At first, he appeared startled because the closet door was opened. He shook his head and entered his make-shift apartment, closing the door behind him.

Of course the man didn't see me because I was dead, or half dead.  I was furious with Christine for pulling off such a covert betrayal. Her live-in lover, staying in my house, and me, without the slightest clue. The anger turned in-ward for being such a fool. This was certainly a difficult reality to face, but now I was actually facing it from a different reality. I had to die to discover such an absurd situation and the ultimate betrayal.

“I know what you're thinking, George.” Jasper said.

“I thought Christine was having an affair with Goldstein, not this Raul character...”

“Think about it, George?” he asked.

I thought about it for a second. “Is she playing them both?” I asked.

Jasper ignored that thought and began vigorously cleaning his paws.