The Pet Store

            (SIMON and FELICIA are having a stand-off in the pet store they work at.)

SIMON:  We’re saving the cats.

FELICIA:  That’s not your call, Simon.

SIMON:  Your face looks like an elbow.

FELICIA:  Inappropriate.  I could get you fired for that.

SIMON:  Who’s going to fire me?  The manager who didn’t show up?

FELICIA:  I can fire you.

SIMON:  You and what elbow-faced army?

FELICIA:  Stop saying I have an elbow face.  I don’t.

SIMON:  That’s a matter of opinion.

FELICIA:  Maybe I have opinions about you.

SIMON:  Maybe you do.  Let’s hear them.

FELICIA:  I’m not going to stoop to your level.

SIMON:  Are you saying I’m short?

FELICIA:  I’m saying you look like a raincloud.

SIMON:  I’m going to rain on your elbow face in a second.

FELICIA:  Look, we can’t just take all the cats out of here.

SIMON:  A comet is coming, Felicia.  We can’t just leave the cats here to die.

FELICIA:  What about the dogs?

SIMON:  I’ve spoken with all of them.  They’ve accepted their fate.

FELICIA:  What?

SIMON:  They’re dogs.  They’re optimists.  Some might say they’re naïve.

FELICIA:  Who would say that?

SIMON:  But the cats understand that death is coming.  When the comet hits, the dogs will still be smiling.  The cats, however, will be terror-stricken.  Leaving them here to face that on their own would just be cruel.

FELICIA:  I disagree with everything you just said.

SIMON:  Of course you do, you’re heartless.

FELICIA:  Simon—

SIMON:  I can’t even hear you over the sound of the demons in your soul laughing.

FELICIA:  Where would we take the cats?

SIMON:  Your house.  It would only be fulfilling your destiny of becoming a crazy cat lady.  I think it’s a swell idea.

FELICIA:  Wow.

SIMON:  You may even want to keep all of them and then—with our cat section sold out—we could finally get that iguana barn.

FELICIA:  That’s actually a thing?  I thought you were making that up.

SIMON:  It’s just a little barn toy you can, like, put iguanas in, but it’s cute.

FELICIA:  I’ll tell you what—if you want to save the cats, save them.  But you’re not taking them to my house.

SIMON:  Well, I can’t bring them to my house.  My mother’s allergic.  She also hates animals.

FELICIA:  How does she feel about her son working at a pet store?

SIMON:  She doesn’t know I have a job.  I tell her I go to the mall everyday and spend my father’s money.

FELICIA:  Doesn’t she notice when you don’t come home with anything?

SIMON:  Usually by the time I come home she’s three martinis away from being the subject of a Stephen Sondheim musical.

FELICIA:  I’m so glad we’ve never gotten to know each other, Simon.

SIMON:  Why would we?  You’ve never liked me.  And you’re awful to the animals.

FELICIA:  I am wonderful to these animals!  I give each of the dogs a kiss on the head before we close each night.

SIMON:  Well, that’s just odd.

FELICIA:  I want them to feel loved.

SIMON:  Fine, I changed the plan.  I’ll take the cats home.  My mother can sneeze herself into a coma for all I care.  You take the dogs, and both of us will agree to look the other way.

FELICIA:  I can’t take the dogs home.

SIMON:  If you love them so much—

FELICIA:  I can’t take them home because I live here.

            (A moment.)

SIMON:  What?

FELICIA:  I mean, above the store.  I live above the store.

SIMON:  There is no above the store.

FELICIA:  The roof.  I live on the roof.

SIMON:  How long—

FELICIA:  About a month.  I got into a fight with my stepdad and he and my mom decided it would be better if I moved out.  So I did.  But I didn’t really have anywhere to go, so I…used a credit card and bought some camping equipment and—

SIMON:  You’ve been camping on the roof of the pet store?

FELICIA:  It’s not that bad.

SIMON:  Is there a tent up there?

FELICIA:  Well, yes, but—

SIMON:  Jesus, Felicia, the parakeets are living better than you are!

FELICIA:  I don’t have a choice!  And that’s why I can’t take the dogs or the cats or whatever home because—I’d just be bringing them up to the roof, and that’s, you know…

SIMON:  Pointless.

FELICIA:  Right.

SIMON:  Wow.

FELICIA:  I know.

SIMON:  Does the manager—

FELICIA:  Of course not.  He doesn’t even know my last name.  He’s barely—

SIMON:  (Simultaneously.)  --Ever here.

FELICIA:  (Simultaneously.)  --Ever here.

SIMON:  Yeah.

FELICIA:  So if I seem like a…Maybe I’m on edge, because, you know, I’m living in a tent.  That…does things to people…I would imagine.  I mean, I don’t really know anybody living in a tent besides me.

SIMON:  Yeah, you’re one-of-a-kind.  But, like, in a really sad way.

FELICIA:  I’m not proud of my ingenuity or anything.  It’s mortifying, but whatever—the world’s ending.  I’ll just…be in a tent when it does.

SIMON:  Yeah, but what if it doesn’t?  There’s a twenty percent chance—

FELICIA:  If somebody told you there was an eighty percent of rain, are you telling me you’d say ‘Screw the umbrella, I might be fine?’

SIMON:  No.

FELICIA:  No, of course not—you bring the umbrella.

SIMON:  But let’s say it doesn’t—are you just going to keep living on the roof?

FELICIA:  …I was thinking of bringing one of the turtles up there with me.

SIMON:  Oh God.  Stop.  Just stop.  Look—get some of the carriers.  We’re saving the cats and the dogs and whatever else we can fit into the van I rented with my dad’s credit card.

FELICIA:  Simon—

SIMON:  And we’re saving you too.

FELICIA:  What?

SIMON:  You’re coming to my house until the comet hits—and if it doesn’t, you can stay in the pool house until, I don’t know—until you can do something else.

FELICIA:  I can’t do that.

SIMON:  Why not?

FELICIA:  Simon, I can’t impose.

SIMON:  Did you not hear the word pool house?  I have a pool house.  An empty pool house.  A house that exists just in case the pool gets lonely.  You’re not imposing on anybody.

FELICIA:  That would be insane.  We don’t even like each other.

SIMON:  What’s insane is somebody living in a tent when somebody else has a pool house and four guest rooms with nobody in them.

            (A moment.)

FELICIA:  What about your mother?

SIMON:  I’ll tell her you’re the new maid.

FELICIA:  What happened to the old maid?

SIMON:  Nothing.  We have eight maids.  She won’t notice one more.  I might even be able to get you on the payroll as long as you’re willing to refill my mom’s drinks whenever she throws an empty glass at you.

FELICIA:  This is…Thank you.

SIMON:  Don’t get all mushy though.  We’re still not friends.  But I guess we can be roommates who tolerate each other.  It’ll prepare me for my Bohemian twenties.

FELICIA:  So…who do we save first?  The dogs or the cats?

SIMON:  Let’s start with the fish.  There’s a man-made pond in my front lawn where we keep them.

FELICIA:  You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?

SIMON:  Almost.  I still don’t know what we’re going to do about the snakes.

            (They look at each other for a moment.  Then—)

SIMON and FELICIA:  Screw ‘em.

            (They shake.)