It suits my mood, this constant rain. Unrelenting, day after day. I should be upset. My summer getaway has left everything, except my unused beach towel, drenched for two weeks now. No sun to shield my eyes from. No sounds of happy neighbors grilling outside with their friends and family, just the sound of rain.

My only companion of late is a fat seemingly homeless cat, with a mutilated left ear and a droopy eye. His collar lists no contact information, but names him Lunchbox. It’s a good name for him. His sheer girth is proof that he has no trouble finding sustenance. Lunchbox bellows outside the door every morning until I let him in, then saunters by, chest puffed out like Marlon Brando in Streetcar. I’d love to have that kind of confidence.

Today he has gifted me a sparrow; he dropped it at my feet as he strode past me. “Well that’s very generous. I suppose now you expect me to share my meal with you as well.” I say to his backside as he heads for the kitchen. I scoop up the dead bird with a bag, and put it outside to deal with later.

This is a day like the last fourteen, perfect for a hot bowl of soup and some black tea. I pick some fish chunks from the leftover gumbo I had been heating up, and put them on a plate for my new friend.

And so we sit eating in companionable silence, contemplating my pathetic life.

To be continued …
(This has been an attempt at fiction.)


Daily Prompt:
An Odd Trio
Today, you can write about whatever you what — but your post must include, in whatever role you see fit, a cat, a bowl of soup, and a beach towel.

6 thoughts on “Rain

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