Ashes in small velvet bags, lined up on a shelf.
Some candles. Other trinkets. Favorite toys.
Their last collars.
It used to be that I could walk past that shelf without reaching up, smiling, and saying “I miss you.”
From tears… to a smile… now I just walk past, barely notice as I’m vacuuming.
Dusting makes me lift each object, each treasure, wipe the dust from underneath.
This was her collar, stars and moons.
This was his catnip rainbow.
This was the candle she burnt her whiskers on.
Spray a cloth, wipe. Reflect and remember.
Thank goodness for the dust.
Category: My stories
Dividing Things Up
Breaking up is hard to do.
Dividing up the furniture, all the stuff.
It used to be you could just sort out the book and record collections, but Amazon and iTunes make that a pain in the ass.
And then there’s the friends.
How do you divide up the friends?
Doctor Odd suggested cloning them, but that’s a hassle, too.
Who gets the clone? Who gets the original?
So he’s experimenting with quantum universes. A universe exactly the same.
But without you. And you’ll go to one without me.
Which solves the book and record collection issues, too, I guess.
A thing of the past
I saw the thing along the roadside among the rocks and litter.
It was a thing of the past, forgotten and neglected, and left by the roadside, in the rear-view mirror, and in the dust.
People don’t bother with things of the past anymore. They’re obsessed always seeking the next big thing.
But sometimes, a sense of nostalgia slows them down, and they stop.
They look for a bit, looking it over.
Sometimes they pick it up and call it an antique. Or a relic.
Or they leave it.
By the roadside.
In the rear-view mirror.
And in the dust.
Cheeta-ing Death
One of the chimpanzees that played Tarzan’s companion in the movies died recently at the age of 80.
I’m just as shocked as you, because all the other chimpanzees died young.
The first was found drowned in a hot tub after an all-night cocaine party.
Another tried to rob a bank and was gunned down by the cops.
The one we all thought would break the curse became a preacher, then hung himself in a hotel room after getting caught molesting innocent young altar chimps.
I guess the last one lived his life clean.
For a goddamned monkey, that is.
Coming Out Day
On National Coming Out Day, the Closet Squad dons fabulous uniforms, just the right balance of denim and leather, no cheap vinyl here, girls, and they march for the closets.
And lock themselves in them.
Knock all you want. Not coming out. And you can’t make them.
It’s not a problem with them. It’s your problem. You just don’t understand, you just don’t know, you just don’t realize how hard it is for them in there, but it would be harder to face the discrimination… the harassment…
Do I smell cheesecake? Oh, can you just slip some under the door?
The Numbers
Our country is in trouble.
Budget problems, and politicians unwilling to face them.
They form committees… supercommittes, but nothing happens.
That’s when we sent in a team of chefs.
The chefs took one look, grabbed the books, and threw out the cooks trying to cook them.
After washing the fudge off of the numbers, they brought in masseuses to massage the numbers to get them to relax.
The ugliest of the numbers were sent to a beauty salon to make as nice as they could.
Finally, the numbers were released…
And they ran for the hills as our country collapsed.
Red Velvet Cupcake
In the center of the cupcake shop, bathed by a gentle light, sat a glass pedestal.
There, in the light, a cupcake.
A red velvet chocolate cupcake.
The greatest… ever!
I approached it, guessed at its weight, filled a small giftbag with mini-cupcakes about the same weight as the red velvet cupcake, swapped the bag for it.
I waited.
Nothing.
Walking to the door, I expected a low rumble and blow darts and a spiked pit…
Oh, and a gigantic boulder to chase me.
Instead, the store owner hit a switch and locked the door.
“You gonna pay for that?”
The King Of Trashland
Out by the dump, there’s a team of those Green Energy scientists laying down tarps, hooking up pipes to a Methane collection system to generate energy for the town.
However, after getting bitten by rats and dogs a few too many times, the scientists have gone a bit funny in the head, and they’ve arranged the pipes and trash into a massive fort, topped by flamethrower turrets.
Anyone carting stuff out to the dump now has to pay The King Of Trashland a tribute, like a bag full of Big Macs, or sneakers.
I knew we should have gone solar.
Fluffyboy
My cat has a boyfriend.
He’s a fluffy grey and brown seal-point.
And he’s friendly. He rubbed against my leg and let me pet him.
I said “Hi, Fluffyboy.”
And he looked up and meowed.
“Is that your name? Fluffy?”
No reaction.
“Boy?”
He meowed again.
I met his owner, and yes, his name is Boy.
And my cat goes to visit him at their place now and then.
Now, when the back door is open, Boy will come visit, have some kibble, use a litterbox, and meow once.
Myst follows him outside, and they go play in the dirt.
Greeters
Most Wal-Mart greeters are extremely old people dressed in a bright company shirt who wave a hand and smile and welcome you to Wal-Mart.
It’s a job that could be done with a sign or a robot, but the old people turn out to be cheaper.
Especially if you only hire them for a few weeks as a “greeter contractor” so you don’t have to pay them health benefits.
Sure, it’s rather scummy, using them up and tossing them aside, but in Wal-Mart’s defense, it does get boring seeing the same old old person there at the door, greeting me.