Jonah eats vomit while Rome burns
Just days before the tenth birthdays of Frampton and Roswell, two cats I rescued from a Chelsea dumpster, Roswell has gone missing.The cats, sisters, were never alike. Frampton has always been good and Roswell has always been a nervous, skittish, malignant little thing, like cancer with fur on it. But she alone would appear when guests came over, as if to say to each one, "take me with you; they don't understand me here."
I'll admit that my sadness about her ungratefulness changed gradually to a healthy dislike, though I would daily make overtures to her that she would haughtily rebuff.
"You're a good cat, Roswell," I'd say.
"You don't believe that," she'd reply, "and neither do I."
The last time I saw her she was sitting on the balcony with Frampton and Jonah. The next morning she could not be found.
We've combed the house and half-heartedly searched the neighborhood. There are no bloated cat carcasses. There are no signs of struggle. She didn't leave a note. She can't have been kidnapped by Unreconstructed Solo, because word from my friends on the force is that he just got two years.
She's disappeared before and has always come back. The possibility of this fills me with no joy. I'm going to paint her room and change the lock.
Meanwhile, Frampton just threw up on the floor and Jonah ran over and ate it all up (saying "ate it all up" for some reason better conveys my disgust). He is often a vile animal. But the torch of fealty has been passed.
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by Marty Barrett at Friday, May 12, 2006
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