Myst has never been alone until now.
She was born into a big litter at a friend’s trailer park.
We were going to take her and her brother, but old Nardo already had his paws full with Bruwyn. Another new kitten was pushing it, so two probably would have killed him.
When Nardo died, she still had Bruwyn, and they cleaned each others ears every day. And they went out hunting and playing in the grass.
Now that Bruwyn is gone, Myst is all alone. She really needs a kitten-friend.
Because I’m sick of cleaning her ears. They taste disgusting.
Category: My stories
Laundry Helper
Whenever my wife does laundry, she stacks the folded clean clothes on the bed.
And then, Nardo the orange cat would jump on the bed and roll around on the clean clothes.
Orange cat hair all over everything.
He taught Bruwyn to roll around on the clean laundry, and both of them would shed all over the clothes.
When Nardo was gone, Bruwyn had the laundry duty all to himself.
Now that Bruwyn’s gone, there’s no more laundry assistants.
Myst prefers to roll around in the dirt outside.
Maybe if I tossed all the clean clothes into the dirt…
Nah.
The Canyon
I don’t travel much anymore.
Instead, I like use Google Maps to look at famous places a lot.
People link photos to those sites, and I imagine walking through the streets of Berlin… riding a camel past the Pyramids… leaning on the rail of a paddlewheel boat on the Mississippi…
The Grand Canyon’s walls are a smeary blur in Google Maps.
The satellite photos don’t do it justice. And the tourists can’t quite cover all its greatness.
I want to go there and see it for myself.
And for the first time since I broke my neck, I feel self-pity.
Drive In
There aren’t many drive-in movie theaters left. The days of bringing in a bottle of scotch, sneaking your date in the trunk, and steaming up the windows are almost a thing of the past.
There’s an abandoned drive-in theater just outside of town. Watching a movie on a laptop computer’s not the same as the big projection screen, but nobody’s really going to be watching the movie.
I park the car, open the trunk, and look at my date.
She screams. The duct tape wrapped over her mouth and nose must have come loose.
I hate it when they struggle.
Apology
I check my mail.
She asks me to accept her apology again.
What apology?
I don’t accept apologies that aren’t genuine. And I don’t accept them when the person won’t admit that they made a mistake.
“I’m sorry that you feel hurt by this” is how they usually start things off.
That’s not an apology. That’s an attempt to blame you for catching them doing you wrong.
Don’t accept that bullshit. Tell them no. And don’t trust or forgive them until they get their shit straight, and they set things right.
And never, ever apologize for demanding a real apology.
Kit Cat
I was watching a candy bar commercial on TV and there was a website address.
I looked up the site, and it asked what country I’m in.
America.
And it showed me the candy bar commercial.
I reloaded the page, but this time, I told it I was in England.
Same graphics, but this time they listed different flavors.
Mint… Orange… Caramel…
“Why don’t we have those?” I said.
“Can’t you just buy caramel at the store for dipping?” said my roommate.
“They think we’re simple,” I grumbled. “Stupid. Ignorant.”
We sat in silence as the TV blared more nonsense.
The Loss Of Hope
Bruwyn didn’t come home Monday night.
We made posters, and we sent his photo to all the shelters and the city pound.
LOST CAT
DOMESTIC SHORTHAIR
BLACK MALE
CHECKERED COLLAR
ANSWERS TO “BOO”
And my phone number.
A neighbor just called me.
He’d finally seen the poster, and he recognized the collar.
He’d seen him by the side of the road.
Dead.
He’d gone back there to get him, but the city had picked up his body.
Closure, they call it.
But even though I know that Bruwyn is dead, I still look in the bushes and around every corner.
Pro Bowl
Unlike the All-Star Game in baseball, the Pro Bowl in Football is a joke.
The players don’t want to play hard, because they might get injured or injure someone.
Some don’t even show up, or they fly out to Hawaii for the vacation, but they sick out for the game.
The commissioner got pissed off and demanded they put on a show worth watching.
So, the players clown it up and have some fun.
Defensive players try an offensive play here and there.
Players switch sides to play with old college buddies or former teammates.
But it’s still fucking boring.
Rainbow
When I asked a developer how his software works, he said that it runs on the magical rainbow particles that are farted out by the unicorns in the basement.
“All software companies have them,” he said. “But we have to keep it a secret. So, we write a bunch of sloppy code and confusing documentation to hide the unicorns behind.”
I laughed, but the developer hushed me up quickly. “Don’t laugh so loud!” He hissed. “You’ll piss off the unicorns!”
“Unicorns!” I said incredulously. “In the basement!”
I opened the basement door, and…
Magical rainbow particles really fucking burn, man.
Ball Game
I used to really enjoy watching basketball.
Michael Jordan was amazing, and the NBA’s marketing hype was in full swing.
When he took two years off, the Rockets picked up a pair of trophies. But if Jordan hadn’t have walked away, there’s no way he’d have let the Bulls lose to Hakeem and Clyde.
These days, I have no idea who the players are. But then, does it really matter?
Not giving a damn about the players or the teams means that I can just enjoy the game for the game and the spectacle.
And not buy any overpriced crap.