Myst and Bruwyn got along great.
They slept together.
They groomed each other.
They went outside and hunted together.
Now, it’s Tinny and Myst.
They don’t sleep together.
They don’t groom each other. Their ears are filthy.
And we only let Myst go outside to hunt.
She whines at the back door to be let out. So, we do.
Then she stares through the glass to be let in.
We open the door, but she runs off again.
She keeps doing this over and over.
It’s not right to wish that Bruwyn was alive, and not Myst.
But I do.
One thought on “Choices”
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I like that one a lot, and it’s serious, which is a nice change of pace. (Not that funny is bad – I really liked “Kosher Maggots,” particularly the line about the extinction of the kosher lobster. Funny is good.)
If you don’t mind a personal anecdote… My in-laws have always had a cat, and the last few have been shelter cats. One was clearly feral, and never warmed up to anyone but my father-in-law, who fed him. Meanest cat ever. Clawed pretty much everyone. They had a special file on him at the vet’s. We kept hoping he’d die, but the mean thing lived on and on, finally giving up the ghost at a ripe old age. They waited a discrete amount of time and got the next one. He was stand-offish, but occasionally liked to play – my shoelaces were a big favorite – and didn’t mind a pet every once in a while. Sadly, he had kidney problems and a stroke took him at five or six. So yeah, cats are not like children: you get to have favorites. (Naturally, my in-laws were equally broken up by both deaths. Go figure.)