Saturday, April 16, 2011


It was dinner time and the 'Meow' from behind the door was ear-piercingly annoying even though she couldn't be arsed getting out of her chair. She left the mangy grey cat, called 'Snow', sitting on an old box behind the front door and fiddled tirelessly, muselessly, with a letter that she'd folded into a badly formed paper aeroplane. The "Dear Jo" letter had been written in response to a phrase in a stupid fortune cookie, devoured the the night before with beef and black beans and a small bowl of special fried rice.

It was from her ex-lover, long, lithe, beautiful and all she could think about was that bikini'd body lounging on a lawn chair beside the pool last summer. She'd prayed that the relationship would hold up, "I have a friend in Jesus" kept running through her head but as an agnostic she held out little hope of reconciliation. The love of her life, the woman who's body she'd caressed, bore a scar, many scars; those indicative of one who punctures their skin with a hypodermic needle.  Her mood had turned black after imbibing on Afghan brown and her lovely body began to wilt. The once blissful and carnal affection they held for each other developed into a bitterness that rivalled WW2 but she stood by her friend, love is love after all.

The cat, still 'mewing' relentlessly outside the back door brings her back to the present as she remembers she has only dog food in the pantry.  She leaves the folded letter at the computer desk and dons her now barely worn yet greying tennis shoes, she'll have to walk up to the store and sate the cat's constant complaints.  Alone with her thoughts during the walk, she knows she should let it be, let sleeping dogs lie but the memory of her lover is imprinted and won't fade as it should.  She tries to distract herself from the tender sex they enjoyed by imagining something more kinky involving Pinocchio's nose and wild imaginings enter her head from the whining cat to fellatio she'd once performed with adeptness, before she admitted she was gay.   She brings herself to an abrupt halt at the curb with the realisation that her mental meanderings had been accomplished whilst picking her nose, she collects and focuses on the task at hand.

The small corner shop is covered in newsprint and buckets of sweet paper roses garnish the stone step as she wanders inside. A fat man, sitting astride a three legged stool as if the store were his kingdom, the chair his throne, deigned to glance at her. His eyes penetrating her as sharply as the teeth of a shark, he clearly notices her short hair and manly garb and has branded her a 'leso' before she even opens her mouth.  She's used to those looks, those stares as if she's being branded a pariah, a dropout but there's nothing like the look of a like-minded soul, one who knows where her head's at.  He mind meanders again as she lifts the bag of cat food and dreams of an Elfin life with an Elfin wife and an acceptance of all things different.

Tempted to bite back at the shark as she hands over $10, she pulls in her metaphorical retractable claws and retreats to the sanctity of home and the loneliness of life with a moaning cat.

Most that she's met since have been well meaning, but ships in the night, ghosts in the dark and never hung around long enough to really find out who she is.  If only like the Emperor's New Clothes they could see beyond her boyish demeanor and the woman desperately trying to break out. 

Such a person came into her life after she made that call for a refrigerator repair man. Imagine her surprise when the tradesman turned out to be a woman.  She knew they were right for each other when the manky cat in the corner coughed up hairballs and her new friend remained unfazed, "Hah, don't you hate how they do that," she'd said.  "Do you like the theatre," she'd asked with a sly smile and a twinkle in her eye, "Sure, Shakespeare particularly." she'd answered.  Unlike her previous lover with the cold lips of a dead woman, her new friend's were full and begging to be kissed. This was her beginning, each dog has it's day, and love finds a way.

Written for Tenth Daughter of Memory "A Cat Can Look at a King"


  1. This is a bit of a departure from your usual fare. Good for you.

  2. Well, I reckon I did but hit the wrong button. I said something complimentary about a story about a beginning. (sorry) -J

  3. pretty little snippet...i have never fantasized about a refridgerator repair man. yech