Marilyn Takes a Stand

DENNIS STREET MEMOIRS – MARILYN TAKES A STAND

By Noel Laflin

12-8-12

 

It was Marilyn’s shrill shrieks and expletives that brought both Tom and me out of a deep slumber that warm Saturday morning way back in the summer of 1978.  I thought it to be a vivid dream at first – until I heard the guttural, loud barking of dogs and our roommate’s defiant screams and curses.  Somewhere in all the commotion a cat’s hissing added to the cacophony as well.

Realizing that is was not a dream after all, we both jumped out of bed, each grabbing a pair of ragged shorts and ran down the long hallway and through the kitchen to the attached garage from whence the noise was coming.

And there stood a sight to behold. 

A very naked tanned blonde woman, with a four-foot plank of wood in hand, was swinging it for all she was worth at two giant black Rottweilers pacing the garage floor.  Behind her and perched atop the dryer was her old cat; the ancient feline’s rear end was arched and backed up against the wall like there was no tomorrow.  She hissed and spat defiantly as her human benefactor and champion stood between her and certain dismemberment.

You see, this was not the first time that the rouge Rottweilers had caused trouble.  They had been roaming the streets for weeks, scaring kids and adults alike, tearing into trashcans, leaving giant stinking piles of Rottweiler excrement on front yards as well as breaking into the our neighbor’s back yard and demolishing their rabbit hutch – not to mention all the bunnies within.  The two strays had somehow evaded the dog catcher’s net all summer. 

But now, they had met their match in the form of the slim and very attractive, five-foot-five , naked-as-a-jaybird and very pissed off twenty-two-year old Mensa grad student from UCI – AKA, Marilyn Mitchell – our beloved landlord and roommate.  She too had been awakened from a pleasant summer morning snooze when the four-legged would-be cat murderers had chased the old feline from the front yard into the open garage, lunging, barking and crashing into the dryer repeatedly.  Unlike Tom and me, Marilyn had not taken the time to dress.  Her motherly instincts had taken precedence over modesty.  Mama bear ferocity had taken over completely when she charged out of her room, grabbed the first weapon at hand – which just happened to be that old two-by-four and jumped into the fray.

“GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!” she screamed, taking another swipe at one of the dogs. 

WHACK!

She made contact with the snout of the closest four-legged-fiend trying to lunge past her and nail the petrified kitty - who was by now -  trying to squirm into a giant box of Tide.

The dog howled in pain and made a short retreat.

By then, Tom and I, who were at least semi-clad, jumped into the fray, screaming and waving our arms in the air.  The two Rots could see that the jig was up.  There would be no feline brunch after all.  They both turned tail and beat it down the driveway and trotted off. 

A sweating, but otherwise visibly calm Lady Godiva-like figure walked out onto the driveway and on to the sidewalk, still holding the two-by-four.  She glanced down the street where the four-legged pair had vanished. 

She waved to the Samoan family across the street, which was digging another giant roasting pit in their front yard.  They were preparing for a large family cookout.  It was a regular occurrence – the tantalizing aroma of a roasting suckling pig would soon fill the neighborhood.  The neighbors shyly returned the wave and resumed the dig.

Marilyn then turned and came back into the garage.  She tossed the two-by-four against a wall, reached up on tippy toe, grabbed the edge of the heavy wooden garage door and gently pulled it shut. She  then went to retrieve her old cat from the box of detergent; only the tail was visible. The cat wouldn’t budge from its refuge, so Marilyn just picked up the entire container, with the frightened feline still within, and carried it off to her bedroom.  She turned, before leaving, and nodded in thanks at Tom and me.  It was ten in the morning - just another interesting start to a typical day on Dennis Street.