OK, not sleeping tonight ... at least, not with the lights off.

When I pick him up, I'm as careful as I can be, because his bones are right there under his skin. He's the Velveteen Cat, his fur rubbed off in places, so thin he's a walking skeletal model of a creature. We call him the Lich Cat, say that he actually died two years ago but he hasn't bothered to stop moving.

He purrs as I settle him in my arms, and he slithers to his favorite spot on my left shoulder. I've worn scarves heavier than him. He drapes his front legs over my shoulder and settles his fragile head down with a long, happy sigh.

Aw...

Edited because he had both front legs. He had all his bits, except his boy bits, they were just very thin and old. I miss my Koogie.

So many already! Awesome.

~
You thought love would be a weight. Something that would fill you up inside, bleeding into every empty space, filling in the cracks life had made as it broke off pieces of you every day. Love would be a kind of security blanket for the soul, you thought.

That was before. Before you met him, before he held you, before you fell asleep with the bony heat of his knee pressed into your thigh. Love wasn’t heavy at all. Love made you light, a balloon floating above the streets, but always tethered by his hand, holding tight to the string.

My mother told me once that my first word was “light”. Not mama, not sissy, certainly not dada. Light. I wonder what I meant. I suppose I was asking for the light to be turned on in my bedroom. That’s something a little child would say. But I don’t remember ever being afraid of the dark. Maybe I was asking for the light to be turned off. The dark was safe, after all. Nothing bad ever happened to me in the dark.

The ropes are wet with my sweat but they cut and abrade, they don't give a bit around my wrists. The old kitchen chair creaks beneath me, but repeated testing shifts of weight have proved it solid. The filthy handkerchief knotted at the back of my head cuts into the meat of my cheeks, keeps my teeth from meeting and dries up every bit of spit . My mouth feels like the Sahara and tastes like the bottom of a litterbox. My eyes burn with salt as he counts the bills in the bag. He turns to me.

"It's light."

I keep on walking, not sure of where I am, surprised to be anywhere. I always assumed that after the end there was nothing, no place to be, no me to be anywhere. I think about my life, my choices. Some of them I'm proud of. Some were mistakes, but honest ones. But some, I did wrong thing - knowingly. I wince at those. Judgment? Or just a natural train of thought? I keep on walking, walking into the light, hoping that when I get where I'm going, it won't turn out to be cast by any type of flame.

Also, dream last night included a superhero who was a giant desert tortoise taking on supervillain that was a giant intelligent lettuce. Not sure it would make a good story, but the image was striking. Guess it could be used as satire of how superheroes sometimes end up with villains specifically tailored to be taken down by their superpower.

a superhero who was a giant desert tortoise taking on supervillain that was a giant intelligent lettuce.

BWAHAHAHA! That is SO much better than my dream!