Timepiece
Chapter 12

Copyright© 2015 by Old Man with a Pen

Timepiece: 12.

The backdoor opened and shut. There was the sound of cans in paper bags on the counters, Wendy, carrying Pyewacket, walked into the room.

"Where have you two been?" I asked Wendy.

Shopping, Pyewacket said. It was wonderful.

"Like, stores and shops and places?" I was still asking Wendy.

"It was so much fun," Wendy said. "Fabric stores are great places to teach a girl color."

She bent down and head butted Pyewacket ... girl bonding. Pyewacket jumped down from Wendy and jumped up onto the couch.

Cats don't jump up ... jump is what humans see. What cats do that we don't see ... is levitate. They float and make vertical to horizontal instantaneous corners. We're not equipped to make the mental transition it takes to see it. And they know we aren't.

"When do you want to go again?" Wendy asked. She walked back to the kitchen.

Pyewacket said, Soon, Wendy. May I have some tuna?

Fabrics ... and ... and ... and ... threads ... and ... and ... and cars and grocery stores, Pyewacket said ... and blinked.

I don't ming telling you ... the blink made it all too real. Pyewacket's eyes were changing the shape of her head ... it was larger and I could see her body ... growing ... longer and slinky ... she was bigger and moved with an erotic grace ... Whoa, shit ... I'd fuck that! What?

David! You're NOT my type. Pyewacket was indignant. Besides, I'm just a kitten.

"David," said Wendy from the kitchen. There was a pause in her mental processing and she covered it by kitchen stuff.

I heard the refrigerator door open. Wendy put away some things. There was clattering and clinking, and drawers sliding out and in. There was humming and water running ... Wendy being domestic.

"I am shocked. She's just a kitten..." she swore " ... David. Come here and work this damn can opener. If you wouldn't leave it in the sink, it wouldn't get rusty."

We trooped into the kitchen ... Wendy was struggling with the can opener.

"Give me that," I immediately broke both wrists trying to turn the damn handle. "OW! Wendy?"

"Don't you Wendy me! You leave the opener in the sink!" she exclaimed. "Can't you see the poor girl is starving?"

Pyewacket's new eyes said, "Starving ... withering away ... no hope ... no tuna ... poor me."

"We can't have that."

I stepped to the kitchen porch door and on to the concrete pad. I slid the top of the tuna can in an oval circular motion on the abrasive concrete. In no time at all, the bent lid edge wore through. I turned the can over, returned to the kitchen, slid the tine of a fork between the wall of the can and loose lid, lifted it off and was preparing to set the can on the floor when Pyewacket objected.

On china, David. You're such a Philistine. Pyewacket said.

I reached for a plate.

Not that one.

"No?"

It's chipped.

Sure enough, the plate rim was chipped. Even I know bacteria hang out in cracked china.

"Sorry."

Thanks, Dave. You're a good human.

I fetched an undamaged one, scooped out the solid white contents on to the plate and...

Add a little water, please. Pyewacket said. Dry food isn't good for my tummy.

Sounded good to me. I added some water from the filtered tap. I looked for approval. She beamed at me.

 
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