A Strange Occurrence
“Do you want any more juice?” she asked, crossing the tile floor of the kitchen to where he sat, halfway through that morning’s paper.
He looked up for a moment and smiled weakly. “No, I’m fine, thanks.”
She whistled and pulled her small glass with ladybugs frosted on the outside towards her and poured herself some juice. He glanced up from the opinion column.
“Since when can you whistle?”
“Since forever, silly.”
“You’re in an awful good mood today.”
She looked at him, surprised. “Well why wouldn’t I be? It’s such a nice day and it’s so quiet in here, just the two of us.”
He looked up from his paper again and glanced around.
“It is quiet in here. I wonder if Sergeant Tibbs is awake.”
“Ugh! That bird is all you talk about,” she moaned.
He didn’t seem to notice and went back to the paper. She walked back across the kitchen and began scrubbing a bowl in the sink, letting the soapy water seep through her fingers. She glanced out the window.
“Honey, where’s Mr. Tumnus?”
“What, that cat?”
“Yeah, I haven’t seen the baby all day and I set out his foie gras hours ago, but it looks as though he hasn’t touched it.”
“You spoil that cat too much. One day, it’s going to have to learn to live on its own,” he said. “That damn cat eats better than I do.”
She turned towards him.
“Well maybe if you talked to me half as much as you talk to that bird, things would be different. Anyways,” she said, turning away from the sink, “I have to go to work.”
She walked towards the door and grabbed her black coat, felt for her keys in the pocket, and then blew him a kiss and walked out the door. As soon as she was gone, he put down the paper and walked towards the guest bedroom. Condensation had begun to form on the ladybug glass, and the only sound in the kitchen was the soft ticking of the Felix the cat clock that hung above the sink. Their screams pierced the silence simultaneously, and they both ran into the kitchen at the same time.
“You ran over my cat!”
“Well I was going to get the paper and he was in the way!”
“You had to drive to get the paper? You know he likes sleeping in the driveway! Your car is still on top of him!”
“Well you’re the one who killed my bird and wrote a suicide note to me from him!”
“Honey, he looked kind of depressed last night when I saw him. Maybe there was something he wasn’t telling you,” she said quietly.
"Sergeant Tibbs can't write! And there was box of rat poison next to his cage!"