He said he didn’t like animals. Never had and never would. All that attention they need and pushing themselves into his own personal space, it just wasn’t what he wanted. That’s how he put it to Emily. Even goldfish, he said, which he’d wanted as a boy, and the tank began to smell and he could never get it clean, and the gold staring fish appeared out of a cloud of green and then disappeared again. Near the end they listed to one side and he thought that wasn’t right, and then one day they were white belly up on top of the water, and the smell was worse than before.
He’d a cat once, too, a beautiful grey and black striped thing with the deepest green eyes and a pink bubblegum tongue. He got it as a kitten, a tiny ball of fur that could sleep in the palm of his hand, and it was from a shop so he thought it’d be ok. Only it wasn’t. It scratched his hands when it got excited or tested its teeth on his fingers and drew blood. That was ok at the start because the harm it could do was small and he even laughed at the neat red stitches across the back of his hand, showed them to friends and laughed. But then it grew up, that cat, and what was once cute was soon mean. And it never learned and so he had to be careful then, and some mornings it attacked his feet hanging out of the bed and the cut bled onto his sheets and there was a trail on his carpet through to the bathroom and then on his towel, and he hung curses on the air against that cat and curses against Emily’s laughing.
Then there was a mouse, only it wasn’t really a pet, and he regretted getting rid of the cat then and getting rid of Emily, too. And the mouse he called Einstein on account of it was too clever to be caught in his snap-spring traps, though it took the chocolate and peanut butter that he baited them with. It chewed holes in his laundered shirts before he got round to ironing them, and crawled across the kitchen worktops in search of the crumbs that he’d spilled, and it gnawed its way through shut doors or through floorboards. He had to get a man in to catch that mouse, and it was discovered that there was a whole family of them and a whole league of little Einsteins to be dealt with.
Yes, so he doesn’t like animals, not unless you count birds in the garden and they cluster in the trees waiting, and he feeds them seeds he gets in specially, and he makes a note in his book of the goldfinch that has visited and the swallows and swifts hanging on the telephone wires and the tits and chaffinches fighting over space and the blackbird with its wings as black as night or coal and the gold nib point of its beak and the bright songs it scribbles and hangs in trailing skeins from tree to tree. And once there was a hedgehog shuffling across the midnight-lawn and he knew not to give it milk and he gave it some of the leftover tinned catfood in a saucer, which was better. And he wrote to Emily about that, but she never did reply.
Oh Lindsay, that’s bloody marvelous. Not only are your descriptions perfect (bubblegum tongue, and the scribbled songs), but also there’s such wonderful irony (they listed to one side and he knew that wasn’t right). Plus, Emily never did reply–I was so glad she didn’t!
And yes, a mean cat, a lousy man, and an Emily. There’s something going on here that may be bigger than both of us….
Oh Judith, did you think him a lousy man… I have a fondness for him and I tried to communicate that in the final paragraph and I so wanted Emily to reply… but then I always want Emily to reply… and she never does and that makes him less of a lousy man. Thanks for commenting. 🙂
I can understand Emily’s take on things, but I am with Lindsay in that he is not alone in his failings and might still deserve forgiveness and love. And here is the thing about fine writing, my dear colleagues: we talk about these characters as though they are folks we know.
Loading...
Good point, Patricia. The fact that these characters come alive for us is a measure of Lindsay’s success….
Loading...
Wow, i did not expect this, to have my Emily and this man so debated. Thanks for your kind comments on the work, Judith and Patricia. It’s so nice coming here to share.
April 11, 2013: He said he didn’t like animals.
http://judithlindenau.wordpress.com/2013/04/12/april-11-2013-he-said-he-didnt-like-animals/
Thanks, Judith. Your use of the cat to illustrate the marriage is spot on. Good to know that you keep finding stories and bits from the prompts!
He said he didn’t like animals. Never had and never would. All that attention they need and pushing themselves into his own personal space, it just wasn’t what he wanted. That’s how he put it to Emily. Even goldfish, he said, which he’d wanted as a boy, and the tank began to smell and he could never get it clean, and the gold staring fish appeared out of a cloud of green and then disappeared again. Near the end they listed to one side and he thought that wasn’t right, and then one day they were white belly up on top of the water, and the smell was worse than before.
He’d a cat once, too, a beautiful grey and black striped thing with the deepest green eyes and a pink bubblegum tongue. He got it as a kitten, a tiny ball of fur that could sleep in the palm of his hand, and it was from a shop so he thought it’d be ok. Only it wasn’t. It scratched his hands when it got excited or tested its teeth on his fingers and drew blood. That was ok at the start because the harm it could do was small and he even laughed at the neat red stitches across the back of his hand, showed them to friends and laughed. But then it grew up, that cat, and what was once cute was soon mean. And it never learned and so he had to be careful then, and some mornings it attacked his feet hanging out of the bed and the cut bled onto his sheets and there was a trail on his carpet through to the bathroom and then on his towel, and he hung curses on the air against that cat and curses against Emily’s laughing.
Then there was a mouse, only it wasn’t really a pet, and he regretted getting rid of the cat then and getting rid of Emily, too. And the mouse he called Einstein on account of it was too clever to be caught in his snap-spring traps, though it took the chocolate and peanut butter that he baited them with. It chewed holes in his laundered shirts before he got round to ironing them, and crawled across the kitchen worktops in search of the crumbs that he’d spilled, and it gnawed its way through shut doors or through floorboards. He had to get a man in to catch that mouse, and it was discovered that there was a whole family of them and a whole league of little Einsteins to be dealt with.
Yes, so he doesn’t like animals, not unless you count birds in the garden and they cluster in the trees waiting, and he feeds them seeds he gets in specially, and he makes a note in his book of the goldfinch that has visited and the swallows and swifts hanging on the telephone wires and the tits and chaffinches fighting over space and the blackbird with its wings as black as night or coal and the gold nib point of its beak and the bright songs it scribbles and hangs in trailing skeins from tree to tree. And once there was a hedgehog shuffling across the midnight-lawn and he knew not to give it milk and he gave it some of the leftover tinned catfood in a saucer, which was better. And he wrote to Emily about that, but she never did reply.
Wonderful and so moving, too. Thanks, as always, dear Lindsay. I so appreciate your taking the time to share these beautiful pieces.
Oh Lindsay, that’s bloody marvelous. Not only are your descriptions perfect (bubblegum tongue, and the scribbled songs), but also there’s such wonderful irony (they listed to one side and he knew that wasn’t right). Plus, Emily never did reply–I was so glad she didn’t!
And yes, a mean cat, a lousy man, and an Emily. There’s something going on here that may be bigger than both of us….
Oh Judith, did you think him a lousy man… I have a fondness for him and I tried to communicate that in the final paragraph and I so wanted Emily to reply… but then I always want Emily to reply… and she never does and that makes him less of a lousy man. Thanks for commenting. 🙂
I’m with Emily…
I can understand Emily’s take on things, but I am with Lindsay in that he is not alone in his failings and might still deserve forgiveness and love. And here is the thing about fine writing, my dear colleagues: we talk about these characters as though they are folks we know.
Good point, Patricia. The fact that these characters come alive for us is a measure of Lindsay’s success….
Wow, i did not expect this, to have my Emily and this man so debated. Thanks for your kind comments on the work, Judith and Patricia. It’s so nice coming here to share.