Feline.
Wednesday January 14, 2009
The pop star was on my couch again when I get back from the vet. She was wearing a pair of knee-high rainbow socks. She said hello to Oscar and diddled her fingers on the rug when I let him out of the cat carrier. He sniffed them suspiciously. I asked her if she’d like maybe some coffee or tea. No, she said, your reception’s better up here. But the television was off.
She yawned and stretched on the couch, kicking her rainbow socks. Sunlight gleamed from her naked back. She smiled that megawatt smile. It’s okay, she said. Everybody does it.
They do? I said.
Sure, she said. Go ahead.
So I went to sit on the floor by the couch but she said what about your pants? and we both laughed and I took them off. I sat down and she rested her chin on my shoulder and watched. She murmured something I couldn’t catch. All I could think about was the smell of her hair warmed by the sun. Now that I think about it, she might have been playing with herself, maybe. It’s hard to tell because she was lying on her stomach. Oscar sat in the doorway to the kitchen and watched me the whole time. He’s always liked moving hands.
He scampered out of the way when I stood up and went to get some paper towels. She ran her fingers along the rug again where I’d been sitting. I’ve always liked leopard-print, she said.