Кладбище домашних животных

30

           Thewarmbuildofsexualexcitementhadsuddenlydeflated.Christ,thatbird’sdamnnearasbigasheis.Musthavecaughtitwithitsguarddown.Way,waydown.

           Thiswouldhavetobecleanedup.NobodyneededthissortofpresentonChristmasmorning.Anditwashisresponsibility,wasn’tit?Surewas.Hisandnobodyelse’s.Hehadrecognizedthatmuchinasubconsciouswayevenontheeveningofhisfamily’sreturn,whenhehadpurposelyspilledthetiresoverthetatteredbodyofthemouseChurchhadkilled.

           Thesoilofaman’sheartisstonier,Louis.

           Thisthoughtwassoclear,somehowsothree-dimensionalandauditory,thatLouisjerkedalittle,asifJudhadmaterializedathisshoulderandspokenaloud.

           Amangrowswhathecan...andtendsit.

           Churchwasstillhunchedgreedilyoverthedeadbird.Hewasworkingattheotherwingnow.TherewasatenebrousrustlingsoundasChurchpulleditbackandforth,backandforth.Nevergetitofftheground,Orville.That’sright,Wilbur,fuckingbird’sjustasdeadasdogshit,mightaswellfeedittothecat,mightaswell

           LouissuddenlykickedChurch,kickedhimhard.Thecat’shindquartersroseandcamedownsplayfooted.Itwalkedaway,sparinghimanotherofitsuglyyellow-greenglances."Eatme,"Louishissedatit,catlikehimself.

           "Louis?"Rachel’svoicecamefaintlyfromtheirbedroom."Comingtobed?"

           "Berightthere,"hecalledback.

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