Wifey: Pumpkin balls. That went through green and I can’t delete it. I’m not being clingy. I promise.
Me: I don’t mind clingy, especially when it’s your pussy around my tongue. Or my fingers. Or my cock.
Me: I’ll tell you about my weekend when we talk. Let’s just say it’s been eventful. I’m hoping yours is nothing like mine.
Me: Sweet dreams, Wifey. I’ll call in the morning.
Me: One last thing, that Sunday Protestants comment. Is there a window of time I need to avoid in the morning?
Dad is, what I call, a devout verbal Catholic. That means he claims it, shouts it, and owns it, loudly. Like his Irish heritage, it’shis identity. And like his heritage, he knows nothing of the culture, the lore, or what it means to inhabit its values. He wouldn’t know a hymnal if it smacked him in the head.
And he needs a good smacking.
We weren’t church goers. He told people proudly of his “faith,” while living nothing. So we’re not Sunday anythings. None of us ever have been.
The idea of Lorien in a dress going to church isn’t something my mind can even fathom, aside from what I’ve seen on TV. She’s a funny, brilliant girl who loves me shoved deep inside of her as she shouts about pastries. Deep inside her cunt is the closest I’ll ever get to God or Heaven. I’ll worship at that altar for as long as she allows.
A knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts.
“Li?” Ayla pokes her head through. “The vet’s here. Can we come in?”
“Sure.” An attempt to push myself up to sitting is met by screaming in one shoulder and pain in the opposite hip. Fuck it, I’ll stay where I am until I’m so stiff I can’t move.
A woman somewhere between Ayla’s age and mine follows my sister in. She’s bare-faced and almost stern-looking. She has the no nonsense appearance of many seasoned veterinarians.
Poe takes one look at her and hisses.
I like this cat more and more.
“Liam, this is Candace. She’s Franklin’s vet. Dr. Thistle, this is my brother Liam… and Poe.”
“May I?” the woman asks.
I lift Poe in one hand and offer her to the woman. My cat is most unhappy about leaving me.
The vet lifts the cat to her chest, the whole while getting an earful from the scrawny thing.
She turns the kitten this way and that, does a thorough exam, but what do I know of feline anything, before setting the beast back on my lap. Poe promptly climbs under my beard, rubs herself against my chin, and starts to purr.
“Can you tell me how you found her?” the vet looks suspicious.
How do I put this? “I was traveling and she came to me. I never saw a mom or any other kittens during my time there.”
Her eyes narrow and Ayla makes a face behind her lifting her arms.
“She’s very young—too young to be away from her mother—and is lucky to be alive.”
That’s no lie.
“She’ll need special formula for a couple of weeks. I’d like to see her again in three weeks. At my clinic,” she adds needlessly. “I’ll head to the office and bring the formula back tonight. I’ll write down the instructions. Water and solid foods are a week or two away. The next twenty-four hours are critical. Do you have any questions for me?”
I don’t know. I don’t have a clue about cats.
“We’re not knowledgeable on cats, actually,” Ayla offers. “We’ve always been dog people. Anything we need to know?”
Dr. Thistle turns to my sister and begins a conversation I don’t care to hear. Instead, I let the warmth at my throat and the purring lull me into rest. Tomorrow will come soon enough.
It does. I wake with the sun, not because I wouldn’t rather sleep in, but because I have to piss. Also, my entire body is stiff from sleeping in one position all night. I slide Poe onto the warm spot in the vacant bed much to her frustration. I know because she tells me about it.
