Begining
by Bast
Bobby Goren woke up cold. When he tried to sit up the room did an amazing acrobatic
spin. When it settled he noticed he was nude, had passed out on the floor, and had
two discarded pennies stuck to his cheek. He groped for his bathrobe, turned up the
heat, and trundled into the kitchen. He wrapped the coffee grinder in a dish towel
to mute the noise and spare further insult to his hangover.
What a way to start the new year.....
As he drank the coffee he began to muse--on his mother, on his partner, on his job.
The genius with a barely moving career, a crazy mother, and a pregnant partner who
had no idea how he felt about her. He looked around his home--pizza boxes and
Playboy magazines, dust so thick that Lawrence of Arabia couldn't get through it.
The windows rattled in the wind, and the rattles sounded like accusations. For the
first time in a long time Bobby cried.
He slowly became aware that someone was crying with him--a baby? The sound seemed
to be coming from outside his front door. Shot through with self-pity and depression
though he was, he roused himself to investigate.
The cold air through the open door felt like a slap to the face, and jarred his
suffering skull. He was about to turn and retreat when he saw it. A tiny gray
kitten, ears back, huddled against the wall, crying. She looked much more miserable
and uncomfortable than he did--and judging from the fact there was no one around
to claim an association with her, seemed to have more reason for despair.
He picked her up, intrigued with her tiny size. From head to tail she just covered
the palm of his hand. She looked up at him and cried.
He gave her milk, and the juice from a can of tuna. The actual tuna chunks seemed
to be more than she could manage. (This was a kitten who had obviously been
taken away from her mother). After eating she fell asleep in his lap. He noticed
the subtle shading of dark and light stripes across her back. He became so
engrossed in the intricacies of contrast he forgot about his hangover, his heavy
heart.
She slept that night tucked into his armpit. Logically he knew it was for warmth,
but the closeness of another living creature who demanded nothing comforted him.
He stroked a dark stripe down her back and heard a tiny rumble. He grinned.
* * *
The next day he found his enthusiasm for work had returned. He grinned at Bishop
across the desk, who, startled by this human gesture, slopped coffee across her
paper work.
"Happy New Year, Lynne."
(note: thanks to l. f. hoffman)
by Bast
Bobby Goren woke up cold. When he tried to sit up the room did an amazing acrobatic
spin. When it settled he noticed he was nude, had passed out on the floor, and had
two discarded pennies stuck to his cheek. He groped for his bathrobe, turned up the
heat, and trundled into the kitchen. He wrapped the coffee grinder in a dish towel
to mute the noise and spare further insult to his hangover.
What a way to start the new year.....
As he drank the coffee he began to muse--on his mother, on his partner, on his job.
The genius with a barely moving career, a crazy mother, and a pregnant partner who
had no idea how he felt about her. He looked around his home--pizza boxes and
Playboy magazines, dust so thick that Lawrence of Arabia couldn't get through it.
The windows rattled in the wind, and the rattles sounded like accusations. For the
first time in a long time Bobby cried.
He slowly became aware that someone was crying with him--a baby? The sound seemed
to be coming from outside his front door. Shot through with self-pity and depression
though he was, he roused himself to investigate.
The cold air through the open door felt like a slap to the face, and jarred his
suffering skull. He was about to turn and retreat when he saw it. A tiny gray
kitten, ears back, huddled against the wall, crying. She looked much more miserable
and uncomfortable than he did--and judging from the fact there was no one around
to claim an association with her, seemed to have more reason for despair.
He picked her up, intrigued with her tiny size. From head to tail she just covered
the palm of his hand. She looked up at him and cried.
He gave her milk, and the juice from a can of tuna. The actual tuna chunks seemed
to be more than she could manage. (This was a kitten who had obviously been
taken away from her mother). After eating she fell asleep in his lap. He noticed
the subtle shading of dark and light stripes across her back. He became so
engrossed in the intricacies of contrast he forgot about his hangover, his heavy
heart.
She slept that night tucked into his armpit. Logically he knew it was for warmth,
but the closeness of another living creature who demanded nothing comforted him.
He stroked a dark stripe down her back and heard a tiny rumble. He grinned.
* * *
The next day he found his enthusiasm for work had returned. He grinned at Bishop
across the desk, who, startled by this human gesture, slopped coffee across her
paper work.
"Happy New Year, Lynne."
(note: thanks to l. f. hoffman)