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The Rocking Chair


She comes home and doesn’t have to turn on the foyer light because the Christmas lights are already plugged in.

The first to greet her is a miniature cat with 3 legs and no collar.

The cat falls to the carpet and makes like a U, retractable claws on either end.

She puts her keys on something hanging on the wall. 2 nails support this thing, but it’s quick to dangle on 1 nail when she doesn’t treat it gingerly enough.

The cat doesn’t know she’s about to get scooped up and cradled. She takes her time in dropping the cat lightly back onto her 3 paws.

“You want a treat? You want a treat, Honey?”

Sometimes the cat meows. It’s funny when it happens. She always laughs and gives the cat a treat.

A melodic sound comes from her iPhone.

She knows without looking at the screen that someone just made a move on WORDS FOR FREAKS. It’s her turn to make hers.

The light on the inside of the refrigerator shines first on her fingernails and, soon after, her face.

She pulls out a bag of baby carrots and pours a glass of some cold water over ice.

The cat hasn’t moved from where she dropped her.

She wheels her iPod to Esperanza Spalding and sits in a rocking chair.

She lets the music press rhythmically against her eardrums.

2-3 songs later, she bites into a carrot and looks at the Fibonacci-sequence screen print above her fireplace.

The cat hops over to her cardboard box center and swipes the tennis ball hanging off a dowel that is flexible like a fishing rod.

She marvels at how quickly the cat swipes. Not once is she able to predict the moment right before the kill.

The heat turns on. The warm air gets rid of her chill.

The cat also enjoys the warmth.

“I should bring the basil in tonight. It’s going to freeze if I leave it out there.”

The second she opens the sliding glass door, the cat has escaped.


The cat hops by the septum wall that separates her from her neighbor’s balcony.


Rather than get her back, she takes in the basil and closes the door behind her to keep the warm air from leaving.

The cat doesn’t ask to be let in until she’s eating what will be her last carrot.

When the cat comes in, she meows as if complaining of the cold and pins her tail straight up in the air and hops directly to her cardboard box center.

She’s startled when the cat swipes the tennis ball unexpectedly.

The glass of ice water on her coffee table has sweat its own puddle.

She takes it to the sink and washes the sweaty water down into the in-sink-erator.

She pours herself a shot of rum mixed with apple cider warmed on the stovetop.

“That’s better.”

The cat hops like an assassin to her Food & Water center. She chews on dry food that explodes into small pieces in her mouth.

Some of these pieces become crumbs.

On the other side of the wall, she’s going back and forth in the rocking chair.

One of the spokes that holds the back part of the chair together snaps loose. She leans forward and almost spills some of her rum and apple cider.

“Oh no.”

When she leans farther forward to get a better idea of what’s happening to her rocking chair, the spoke next to the one that already snapped also comes loose.

Her chair is falling apart.

She stands up and walks toward the Fibonacci-sequence screen print.

Behind her, the rocking chair gradually comes to a standstill.

The cat watches from the far corner.

When there’s no more movement, the cat licks her chops and then licks her only forepaw 7-9 times.

December 13, 2010 10:55 pm

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