It’s never a dull moment at Alligators In The Sewer. Our humble workplace is just over a thousand square feet of rented space in the back half of a (somewhat) renovated warehouse building that we share with a company that recycles old car batteries. Not the most accommodating place; one could say it’s cozy (read: cramped).  But it suffices for our day-to-day publishing operations and the rent is practically a steal. Cable Internet is pretty reliable in this neighborhood, and there are lots of pubs, liquor stores, check cashing establishments and pawn shops nearby for our convenience. The heating in HQ is so-so, plumbing decent, and air-conditioning is provided by a single window unit that seems to run on an intermittent basis. We all work in cubicles, except Norm, who has the only office with a door. And so it goes.

One hot afternoon this past summer when the A/C unit decided to take another day off, we opened all the windows and propped open the door for some air. In came Maynard, one of the local weirdos from around the neighborhood who simply wandered in without warning. “Got anything I can do ya’ for, for a couple bucks…anything I can fix?,” inquired the scruffy, impromptu visitor. Maynard’s not terribly sharp. In fact it would be fitting to say that Maynard probably rode the short bus throughout the 7 or 8 years he spent in school. But he seemed like a nice kid: relatively harmless, not too far up on the creepiness meter, and to the best of our knowledge, no criminal record. We have no idea where Maynard lives, and we probably don’t want to know.

We took a shine to him right away, and he’s now Maynard the Phone Boy. He answers the telephone, runs to get coffee and doughnuts (we let him keep the change, as we don’t pay him otherwise), and he makes sure there’s always a fresh roll of paper in the bathroom. He even picks up the place once in a while. Maynard is affable and so we keep him around. What’s not to like?

Norm wasn’t so sure about the guy in the beginning. Now he just walks by  Maynard without saying a word and occasionally throws things at him. Norm throws stuff at us too. If Norm likes you, he’ll hurl stuff at you–a sort of tacit approval.

Just don’t let Nigel, our lawyer, throw stuff. You won’t like the smell of what comes your way.

The other day we propped open the door to enjoy the nice fall weather, and in creeps our favorite stray cat, which we have dubbed Bug. “Bug” because that damn cat can crawl under or in between just about anything, and because he likes to munch on the various spiders and roaches that scurry across the newsroom floor. Maynard had been feeding Bug out by the porch from time to time, which explains Bug’s new propensity for coming inside. Winter will be here before long, and Bug is gunning for some new indoor digs. Bug doesn’t piss or crap on anything in here, so we keep him around. Just like Maynard.

But Norm is no fan of Bug. And vice-versa. The first time they met, Bug was perched atop the file cabinet and started hissing when Norm walked by. That cat looked pretty formidable with his back arched,  tail puffed up like a bottle brush, ears pulled back, and showing his teeth. “That cat’s not terribly enamored with you, Norm!” taunted Gordy, one of the staff writers. “You been throwing shit at him again?”

“Get that fuckin’ thing outta here before I make him into a desk accessory,” was Norm’s only reply.

We’ll see how long Bug gets to hang around AITS headquarters. A few of the staffers have started a pool to guess when Bug will turn up as a product of the local taxidermist. Good thing that cat’s adept at hiding. With Norm on the warpath he’ll need those skills around here.