Old world blues

On Friday we ran into an old acquaintance of mine.

An...an ex.

We dated for a while in high school,

when we were young

and innocent,

and thought we could rule the world.

He didn't stick around long enough for a proper reunion.

He saw me - like this -

and he asked me how my cats were doing.

He knows I almost always have a cat or two around.

I told him they had...passed on.

Francis looked so genuinely sad when I said that.

He promised to get me a new cat.

He rushed away before I could say another word,

and an hour later he was back,

with a little kitten.

Its coat was patchy -

not that it was missing any part of it,

but there were splotches of brown,

black,

gray,

white,

and he has the deepest sea-green forest-green green-green eyes.

Which fits, I think.

Considering the - the other two had red ones.

I don't know how he found out

but Francis confronted me some time later

with eight words:

Did that Cheshire bastard do this to you?

I couldn't say no.

It's not in my nature to lie.

I bit my lip,

and nodded my head

almost imperceptibly.

He nodded more vigorously.

Ran off,

hopped in a car

and drove away.

Last night I had a dream.

Cheshire was there.

Francis was there.

Cheshire was laughing.

Francis was dead.

I'm so sorry, Francis.

I'm naming the cat Frankenstein.

After its latest, greatest owne-

no. Not owner.

You can't own an animal, any more than you could own a human.

And what are humans but animals, anyway?

I'm naming the cat Frankenstein,

after its latest

greatest

caretaker.

So much better than I'll ever be.

The scales are tipping so far in the wrong direction...

We need balance.