We’re almost out the door when Mona remembers she forgot to put the cat out.
“He’ll be okay—he knows his way around the place,” I say.
“No, no. If we leave him inside, he’ll get anxious. Claustrophobic. Dr. Jacoby says that’s why he gets so crazy sometimes.”
“I thought it was because he belonged to your sister, the one who married the Mormon.”
“Don’t go there, Elvin. Don’t get me started on your family’s religion.”
“My family didn’t practice.”
“My point exactly. Would it kill you to show a little compassion?”
“To your sister?”
“To the cat. Besides, he’s liable to claw your chair and leave a cookie in your shoe, if you know what I mean. He knows how you feel about him. Cats know these things.”
I stand in the doorway not knowing what to say.
The door is three feet away.
Beyond that the driveway, the Tesla fully charged, the open road, the Sunday drive to Gravity Hill...a day without an argument. We’d almost made it.
I put down my coat, my hat, my keys.
“Here kitty,” I say, “here boy.”
—Published previously in Third Wednesday; appears here with
Bio: Guy Biederman