"Pig!"
an excerpt from book two
Like everyone else who grew up in Saskatchewan, I too have a sex story that involves a pig.
I’m living with three housemates in a three-storey 1920s classic house in the Cathedral Village area of Regina. From the second-floor balcony we can see the nearby majestic twin spires of the Cathedral on 13th Avenue.Its address is 2043 Cameron Street and is forever dubbed, ‘The Cameron House.’
This old wooden house is spacious: a twelve-foot ceiling throughout the main floor of living room, dining room, and fireplace den; polished dark-brown wood furnishings highlight two large columns in the living room and an elaborate staircase; south-facing stained-glass windows bring colours into the dining room; with three bedrooms and the tiny bathroom on the second floor and my third-floor loft the biggest bedroom of all.
Also living in the house are several cats, ever increasing in number by births in the front closet and once creating a strange result: several scrawny kittens and a huge one so fat his feet can barely touch the floor.
I name this one, Pig, and he turns out to be a large, wonderful, friendly cat. His only problem is his voice: being part-Siamese he is extremely vocal, with a loud, low-pitched voice with a wide range of emotions. The big guy is constantly roaming the house talking, purring, chatting, screaming. His loud presence is cute most of the time, except when we’re trying to sleep or study.
Sharon, one of my housemates, and I are in the fireplace room, engrossed in a movie playing on my VCR and my mom’s old black and white television set. A few times during the movie, I shush Pig and shove him out of the room. That cat is really starting to annoy me. I turn up the volume and sit closer to the TV to not miss a word.
The yelping starts again and I snap, angrily running out of the room to see where he is. The noise is coming from upstairs so I storm to the bottom of the staircase and yell up: “Pig! Pig!!! Peeee-ig!!!”
The sounds instantly stop.
Sharon is suddenly beside me, grabbing my arm, whispering, “That’s not Pig. It’s [name of one of our other housemate]’s new girlfriend.”
Unbeknownst to me, they had entered the front door and gone straight up to his second-floor bedroom.
I was never ever able to look her in the eyes after that.
I’m living with three housemates in a three-storey 1920s classic house in the Cathedral Village area of Regina. From the second-floor balcony we can see the nearby majestic twin spires of the Cathedral on 13th Avenue.Its address is 2043 Cameron Street and is forever dubbed, ‘The Cameron House.’
This old wooden house is spacious: a twelve-foot ceiling throughout the main floor of living room, dining room, and fireplace den; polished dark-brown wood furnishings highlight two large columns in the living room and an elaborate staircase; south-facing stained-glass windows bring colours into the dining room; with three bedrooms and the tiny bathroom on the second floor and my third-floor loft the biggest bedroom of all.
Also living in the house are several cats, ever increasing in number by births in the front closet and once creating a strange result: several scrawny kittens and a huge one so fat his feet can barely touch the floor.
I name this one, Pig, and he turns out to be a large, wonderful, friendly cat. His only problem is his voice: being part-Siamese he is extremely vocal, with a loud, low-pitched voice with a wide range of emotions. The big guy is constantly roaming the house talking, purring, chatting, screaming. His loud presence is cute most of the time, except when we’re trying to sleep or study.
Sharon, one of my housemates, and I are in the fireplace room, engrossed in a movie playing on my VCR and my mom’s old black and white television set. A few times during the movie, I shush Pig and shove him out of the room. That cat is really starting to annoy me. I turn up the volume and sit closer to the TV to not miss a word.
The yelping starts again and I snap, angrily running out of the room to see where he is. The noise is coming from upstairs so I storm to the bottom of the staircase and yell up: “Pig! Pig!!! Peeee-ig!!!”
The sounds instantly stop.
Sharon is suddenly beside me, grabbing my arm, whispering, “That’s not Pig. It’s [name of one of our other housemate]’s new girlfriend.”
Unbeknownst to me, they had entered the front door and gone straight up to his second-floor bedroom.
I was never ever able to look her in the eyes after that.
