This time we let Carl pick up the tab, as consolation for not wanting. to spend the day with him tomorrow. He has an obsessive need to give and share, which I should find inspiring, and in a way is inspiring, but there also appears to be a lot of neediness behind it. Well, why not? How much opportunity has he really had to develop any healthy close friendships with anyone. And I really don't know what I could possibly offer him. Francois, yes. He appears to be the least damaged of us three. But he also really wants to get on with his life. I imagine we are all like hostages, thrown together by the great Divine Kidnapper Himself. Hardly more than one or two inconsequential sentences have been exchanged between us since leaving downtown and now we are pulling into the driveway of my father's house. Sheeba the cat awaits us at the front door, and just after stepping inside the house she rubs furiously against my leg. I pick her up, a purring, delighted mass of dark fur. While holding onto her I slip off my shoes and carry her into the living room where she sits contentedly on my lap. Francois is in the kitchen and not even the sound of kibble being poured in her bowl appears to be enough to motivate her to leave me. He brings her bowl of food into the living room, places it at my feet and down she jumps. After a few courtesy mouthfuls, she jumps back onto my lap.
"Do you think someone's been feeding her?" I ask. "She doesn't appear to be hungry."
"Maybe she found something to kill", says Carl. "Shall we read a bit?"
"Oh, I don't see why not", says Francois, now stretching himself fully on the couch....
No comments:
Post a Comment