Кладбище домашних животных

22

           Don’tletitbeChurch,hewishedfervently,asheturneditsheadgentlyonitsneckwithglovedfingers.Letitbesomeoneelse’scat,letJudbewrong.

           ButofcourseitwasChurch.Hewasinnowaymangledordisfigured;hehadnotbeenrunoverbyoneofthebigtankersorsemisthatcruisedRoute15(justwhatwasthatOrincotruckdoingoutonThanksgiving?hewonderedrandomly).Church’seyeswerehalf-open,asglazedasgreenmarbles.Asmallflowofbloodhadcomefromhismouth,whichwasalsoopen.Notagreatdealofblood;justenoughtostainthewhitebibonhischest.

           "Yours,Louis?"

           "Mine,"heagreedandsighed.

           HewasawareforthefirsttimethathehadlovedChurchmaybenotasferventlyasElliebutinhisownabsentway.Intheweeksfollowinghiscastration,Churchhadchanged,hadgottenfatandslow,hadestablishedaroutinethattookhimbetweenEllie’sbed,thecouch,andhisdishbutrarelyoutofthehouse.Now,indeath,helookedtoLouisliketheoldChurch.Themouthsosmallandbloody,filledwithneedle-sharpcat’steeth,wasfrozeninashooter’ssnarl.Thedeadeyesseemedfurious.Itwasasifaftertheshortandplacidstupidityofhislifeasaneuter,Churchhadrediscoveredhisrealnatureindying.

           "Yeah,it’sChurch,"hesaid."I’llbedamnedifIknowhowI’mgoingtotellEllieaboutit."

           Suddenlyhehadanidea.

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