The phone rang four times before I could grope the handset out of the cradle. Groggy and hoarse, a muffled “Lo?” was as much as I could offer, my head still on the pillow. “Is Kitty there?” I heard the door of a phone booth screech a few inches and thud shut. I needed to hear his voice again. Immediately. “Who did you want?” “Kitty. I don’t know her last name. We met at the Hi-Lo the other night.” “Hmmm. The Hi-Lo, huh? She gave you my number?” “914-232-5646?” He was off by one. Close. So close. The acoustics of the phone booth were intimate. His voice was like melted butter and dark syrup swirled together. Salty, sweet, smoothly overwhelming. “No. No kitty here. Just me.” I yawned. If I could purr, I would have. “So, what number is this?” “And why would I give you my number if you weren’t looking for me in the first place? I snuggled deeper into the warmth of my nest. “Hmmn?” “Solid point, but can I have some slack 'cause I’m glad I got...
So read the stained, hand-lettered sign on the front door. Ace sat with his back to the room and appeared to be reading a small prayer book. Actually, he was tearing out the pages one by one and eating them, chewing slowly, and looking up at the ceiling of his cage as if he was memorizing the text. Billy, the Winsock’s owner and bartender, said he only ate one or two pages a day—it was not as if he was hungry. Billy fed Ace every time he fed himself. In fact, he fed Ace first like he was worried about being poisoned; a fair concern because he treated the cook like dirt. It bothered Bea to see Ace locked up like that. It was obvious that he was constantly pissed off, unlike most captive monkeys, who sank into apathy after a while. If anyone but Billy approached the cage, Ace screamed and flung himself around inside. If you put your hands anywhere near his reach or grasp, there would be blood. He once bit off and ate a drunk’s ...
After the crying came the scolding. After a hearty meal and a wash, she wanted to go back out. "Nonsense", the experts say. Colin and I agreed that we would respect this new facet of her personality and be sure she's never out after dark. Prudent. I like nothing better than hanging out in the front yard, the three of them lolling on the warm concrete or the tall grass. Free as cats. Camilla came to us damaged goods only three years ago . I've been fairly sure that the head injury she sustained as a kitten and her broken wrist last year, affected her range of skills as a cat. Silly me. I've had a lot of cats in my life. Characters all, each with deep personalities. She's the only one who has undertaken adventure on her own. Unless something chased her. In which case, bravo on getting away, and good on ya for putting your wayfinding skills to work. Something about the smug way she strolled into my bedroom after seven days AWOL to go face down in the food bo...
Oh what a feeling!
ReplyDeleteThese meaty phrases perfectly describe the punchiness that follows an awesome writing session!
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