Sparky and Oswald

"I have something to tell ya," I says, and patted my human's arm.

"Aw, Charlie, what's wrong? Tell me everything." She rubbed the back of my head.

"Oh, God, it's terrible!" I threw myself into her lap. "I can't even begin to tell ya what a terrible, miserable, awful creature I am."

"You're a good kitty, Charlie." Her hands went to work on my belly.

"No, no, I'm not, I'm not." I stretched and coughed. Whatever got stuck in my throat - either my fur or part of my human's lucky rabbit foot - wouldn't come up just yet. "I did something awful, a long time ago. I can't take it anymore! My face is going gray just at the thought of it!" A clump of whiskers fell out of my cheek, as if to prove my point.

"Poor Charlie. Maybe we should take you to the vet," she says, and studied the clump.

"I don't need a vet," I says, licked a paw, and rubbed it against the spot my whiskers had been in. "I gotta get this off my chest, or they're not gonna let me in. They won't let me into Heaven if I keep going like this."

My human says nothing, but her hands continued to massage my back.

"It was 1963, and we was in Dallas. Sparky - that dog I told ya about - says he could get us some grilled chicken if we followed him and did what he says."

"I can't believe this year's almost over," she murmured.

"Don't interrupt me, just listen! Anyway, we was in Dallas and Sparky was leading us to the restaurant he'd been braggin' about all weekend. All a sudden, he takes a sharp right onto Houston. I ask him, 'What the hell're ya doin'?' and he says he's taking a shortcut. 'Okay,' I says, and keep following him. As we're running down the street, I see a limo comin' - you know, one of them convertibles - and he's heading right toward it. I think he's just being a dumb dog - you know how they can be, always chasing around cars and stuff - so I keep following him, but we're keeping in pace with the car. He ain't even barking. I remember my hair standing on end, it was so strange how quiet he was keepin'.

"We take a sharp left onto Elm, and keep following the damn car. I start feeling kind of nervous, so I says, 'Sparky, can we eat now?' He ignores me, though, and I see the Triple Underpass up ahead. 'No way we stole that design from London,' I tell him, but he doesn't even crack a doggy grin. I'm starting to think he's got the rabies or something, so I slow down a bit to see if he's foaming at the mouth. All a sudden, Sparky runs out in front of the car.

"'No!' I yell at him, and I close my eyes for a second, 'cause I swear he's about to be road kill. And then I hear gunshots. I open up my eyes and yell, 'Sparky! They're shootin' at ya!' But I can't see him. He's gone. As I stand there and watch, President Kennedy gets a bullet in the head!'

I stopped and pretended to lick my shoulder, then peeked up at my human. She stared ahead at the television screen, her eyes wide.

"I'm telling ya, Sparky was the accomplice to that Oswald guy! I shoulda gone to the cops and told 'em what I knew!"

Finally, she looked down at me. "Oh, Charlie. You're what... seven? Eight?"

I stood and shook out my fur. "No! I'm - "

"Yeah, it's seriously time to get you to the vet."