Dean approached me where I sat in the living room with Oreo curled up in my lap. He had that same strange look on his face that he had when he screwed up the water-based engine he made for my car.
I sigh, and turn off my phone.
"What do you need?"
"About 20 pineapples."
"And why do you need me to go get 20 pineapples from the store for you?"
His lip curled and he rocked back and forth on his heels.
"You remember that serum I gave Oreo that took away his bad breath?"
I nodded. His breath has been nothing but minty fresh for the past couple years. I suspected Dean had drank some too, but eventually I found out his breath smells like that because he eats about $300 worth of Altoids a month.
"Well... the, uhh... Big Dental called me yesterday."
In spite of all the insane shit he's put me through over the years, I raise my eyebrow.
"Big Dental?"
"All of the dental corporations. Colgate, Crest, Oral-B, etc... Costco's brand partner for toothpaste wasn't there, though."
"Okay. What did they say?"
"We need to destroy Oreo within two days, as that serum threatens their entire industry."
I held on tight to my cat.
"Absolutely not!"
"I know, babe, I'm not that dumb. They said that if I didn't comply, they would, 'immolate the threat.'"
"How are you gonna use pineapples to stop them? Pineapple cannon? Sliced Shurikens?"
"No, and no. Pineapple builds up a carbon layer when exposed to open flame, making them damn near fireproof."
"Oh. Well, how far are you?"
"I'm drawing up the designs, about halfway done. We'll have one day to plan and one day to build."
He tossed me the keys to his car, and I stood up.
"What store? What brand?"
"Costco would probably be safest."
I give him a kiss and walk to the front door.
"Love you babe, drive safe!"
"I love you too, but don't tell me what to do!" I call over my shoulder, closing the door behind me.
Day One came with the dawn. Dean worked all night, drawing up various designs and making prototypes out of orange peels to see how Oreo would like them. He's a good cat, and took it pretty well. He only scratched me a couple times.
As Dean wrapped up the latest one, he gave me a small kiss on my wrist.
"I'm sorry all this happened."
"It's alright, you couldn't have known the toothpaste illuminati would've tried to burn our cat to a crisp. Just keep working hard. We'll get through this."
He took my words to heart. Soon, he hit on a design that the cat liked and pretty much completely covered it. We started prototyping a little early, and Dean had me put in a call to Big Dental. A cheery receptionist took my call.
"Hello there, you've reached the Big Dental Toothpaste Union. What did you need?"
"I have some inquiries about... uhm... our cat."
"And are you the original recipient of the notice of immolation?"
"Uh.. no, I'm calling on behalf of my husband, Dean."
She paused briefly, and was a bit more serious the next time she spoke.
"What's your name, ma'am?"
"Sean. Sean Colderoy."
"I see. Let me transfer you."
A click and a pause, then another voice comes through.
"Hello there, Ms. Colderoy."
Not a good start.
"Uhm, Mr. Colderoy. And I was just inquiring on the time you would be burning our cat to a crisp."
"Ah, you... haven't destroyed it?"
"Uh... not yet. We're trying to get as much time as we can with him. Plus I feel like it'd be better to have you guys there to supervise and... cremate?"
"Ah. I see. Well your immolator will be there at... 3:00 PM tommorow. His name is Mark."
I wrote it down on the pad of sticky notes Dean keeps on his desk.
"That's great, thank you so much! Have a great day!"
"That's...? Er, you too, Sir."
They hung up first. What shitty customer service.
I walked the note to Dean, who was trying to wrangle the cat on his own.
"Shit, 3:00 PM? I thought we'd have till like, midnight! It's already 4:00, we don't even have a full day!"
"I know, babe, you get some sleep and-"
"Absolutely not. I can pull another all-nighter, I've done 3 days in a row before, it's alright."
"But-" I started, but he shut me down with a single look.
"That's final, Sean. Now, hold him for me, will ya?"
Day Two began at midnight, at least for me. Oreo was still fast asleep and I was using steel thread to sew together pineapples. Dean was fast asleep in the corner; he'd told me to wake him up but he truly needed the rest.
The designs were straightforward, and the final prototype was finished. I set an alarm for 4:00 AM, and laid my head down next to Oreo.
I slept right through the alarm, and was woken by Dean at noon with a ham sandwich.
"Why didn't you wake me up!?"
"It works, and you needed the rest. Now eat; you're gonna need the energy so we can put the cat into iron man mode."
Oreo was, as it turns out, much more inclined to be a little bastard. Dean and I wrestled him into his pineapple suit, and I was sucking a bite on my hand when we were done.
"You'd think he'd be grateful," I quipped.
"He doesn't know what's coming. Time check?"
"2:25."
"We made good time. This has to be the quickest of my spur-of-the-moment projects so far."
"You gonna grab the shotgun?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Make sure you grab the slugs; the Dragon's Breath ain't gonna do shit."
3:00 PM
There was a knock on the door at 3:00 pm, sharp. Dylan took point. He brought out his best falsetto, and called, "Whooooo is it?"
"It's Mark. Your immolator. You all ready?" called the voice from the other side.
Dylan threw open the door, the sawed-off shotgun still in hand.
Despite Dylan bodyblocking me, I could still see the immolator through the door frame. He was close to 6 feet tall, but built like a '60s refrigeratior- those tanks on his back probably had about as much hazardous liquids in them. His mask was opaque, two filters poking out from the metal mouthpiece. The suit itself was bright and reflective, made to repel heat and insulate the wearer. There was a flamethrower holstered on the right tank, and a fire extinguisher on his left.
Now with a southern accent, Dylan asked, "You got a warrant?"
"Yep." Mark produced a packet, and handed it over. I read a bit over Dylan's shoulder. I think I saw a signature from Obama and someone named "Mr. Colgate."
"Well, shit, I didn't really expect that."
"They never do."
"I will warn you that this thing only allows you to use one pair of tanks on the cat, and that's your only shot. Otherwise it turns into arson."
"It's a cat. I think I'll do fine."
Dylan pulls me aside and makes way for Mark to stomp into the house.
"Nice place you've got here." Mark looks at me and nods. "Don't you worry, we'll reimburse you the value of whatever gets burned, stained, absorbs the smell... basically damaged in any way. Including the cat of course."
"Good, I don't think our homeowner's insurance would cover this."
"It'd be under fire, I think."
The man replied in a cheery voice, "No, you'd need arson coverage. And besides, that's the cat you're thinking of." He looked to each of us before shaking his head. "Oof, tough crowd. I get it, though, I've got a cat of my own."
"Then why are you doing this!?" I shout. I'm pissed now. This man had absolutely no empathy whatsoever.
"I've gotta feed the cat somehow. And I'll have you know our department donates half our funding to animal shelters worldwide!"
Oreo waltzed in the room and sat down, looking up at Mark through a helmet of his own.
"That's Oreo?"
"Yep."
"Okay then," Mark says before pulling his flamethrower off his back. Before I can interject, he hits Oreo with a massive burst. After a couple seconds, he releases the trigger before using his fire extinguisher on the mass of flame. There was Oreo, thoroughly blackened but sitting just fine.
"How much fuel did you have in each tank?" Dylan smirks.
"How the hell did you do that?"
"Do it again, Mark, it's just a cat."
Mark abides, hitting the cat again. A solid thirty seconds goes by before the flamethrower runs out of fuel. The immolator pulls out a phone and takes off a glove before saying he needs to call someone. Dean lets him into the office, and we quickly glue ourselves to the door. His voice is muffled, but we can make some things out.
"...Mark. The cat... it's flameproof or something... armour... know the contract inside and out..."
Suddenly, Mark starts yelling, "That's bullshit! It's not my fault! ...How was I supposed to know fucking pineapples are fireproof!"
He falls back into silence; we can't hear anything else. We move back as the loud clomps of Mark's boots signal the end of his call.
He looks pissed when he sees us. "I don't know if you were listening, but I don't really care. Your little stunt just got my pay docked for the next month. And the execs said you can keep your damn cat. Hope you're happy."
I almost feel bad for him before I remember he tried to incinerate our pet. Dylan walks him to the door as I begin to take Oreo's firesuit off.
"Good job, Oreo. You did very well! That's such a good boy! Yesyouare!"
My husband walks back into the room, beaming.
"So, how about I take some of that serum too?"
"Yeah, go fuck yourself."
We both went to bed early that night. It'd been a long couple days.