There’s a pen in the back corner of the park I live in where humans take their dog children to do their business, and there is a dumpster not too far from the pen. I was taking my spotty fur child out the other night, and as we approached the pen, six (yes, six) cats suddenly scrambled out from under the dumpster and ran for it. We stopped, surprised, and then one remaining cat, the seventh cat, the fearless cat, the leader cat, the kingpin cat, you might say, suddenly appeared at the top of the dumpster. It stared down at us in the night, eyes gleaming and its thick fur looking especially gray in the moonlight, and then jumped onto the ground in front of the dumpster, picked up a piece of toast (yes, there was a piece of toast on the ground in front of the dumpster), and strutted off after the other cat minions. My dog didn’t move and neither did I, not a stirring, not a sound, because when you’re in the presence of the dumpster-cat mafia and their toast god, all you can do is stand in silence and witness.
let’s not wait for decades to pass | rater T | catarina loss/dot rollins | “Neither of them say anything as their eyes settle on each other and Cat watches Dot, the faint blush, the slightly unfocused eyes, and while she knows a lot of that is due to the wine, Cat can’t help but hope it isn’t just that.”
Cat is dragging her feet, the weight of her night shift becoming heavier with each step, as she makes her way to her apartment. She turns the last corner in the hallway and stops, freezes at the sight in front of her door. Messy lines of blood paint the door, leading to the woman slumped against it, her clothes torn and burned. Cat snaps out of her shock and then her body starts moving on its own, decades of work kicking in as her mind tries to process what is happening.
The first thing she does is check as she crunches down beside the woman is the woman’s wrist, and while it’s covered in blood, she finds a faint pulse, and then she finally looks at the woman’s face.