Learning Quick Goodbyes by Story Boyle
I don’t sleep with the window open anymore. I can’t listen to it again. Sometimes I wonder if it would be a mercy to use all those plastic Walmart bags and drown them, a litter at a time.
I feed them: all the feral cats who live around the abandoned farm. I made the mistake once of rushing out after I heard the sound, half yelp, half scream, and then the screech of the car rounding the bend too quickly.
It was the splotched one I named Paint. He was laid open, flank split wide and belly empty, his intestines trailing to the road.
I wish I’d had the courage to get the .22. Instead, I sat still as he dragged himself half into my lap and rumbled a purr. I petted him until morning, when I shooed away the flies and took his corpse out to the garden to bury.
Story Boyle is a graduate of New College of Florida, and is Executive Director of the Peace River Center for Writers. She freelances for local publications, and counts among her passions coffee, cats, and abandoned buildings. She keeps a blog full of odd narratives at http://livetta.blogspot.com/.