“Tabby”

The cold night air wafts into my room when I pull up the window. I just want to hear the rain pattering on the sill and the aluminum siding on the building across on the other side of the yard. My room is hot and stuffy from the portable heater that only has on or off settings.

All or nothing.

It’s been a warm winter. Too warm. I expect this kind of shit from LA. But the east coast is supposed to be freezing temperatures and snow for months at a time. Where was the white Christmas I was promised? (Wouldn’t have mattered since I was in LA for Christmas.)

A trashcan lid bangs on the ground as a cat prances down from the roof. It’s wet from the rain. It licks its paw and rubs the back of its neck. Might as well use all this water for a good cleaning. I’ve seen this cat around the neighborhood. Orange and white, real mangy looking. I see it going through the trash all the time, looking for a rat to chase. I’ve dropped pretzels on the ground for it, but it just ignores them and slowly follows me. It stays at the bottom of the stoop as I walk up the stairs to my shitty, post-divorce Brooklyn hotel. Maybe the cat knows and feels sorry for me. I feel sorry for it. We both know there’s nothing we can do for each other. So we go our separate ways and enjoy the rain in our own separate ways.

See you tomorrow, tabby.

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