Rainy Wednesday, interlude

I’ve had a cold since at least Saturday, starting with a frog in my throat, and have been fighting the symptoms with vitamin C.

A slice of lemon and honey in green tea have been my constant friends, when I can remember them.

Yesterday was my last day to volunteer for the Tennessee Republican Party. I had a cold, but chose to go anyway.

At the store I bought a non-drowsy cold medicine, but still had to deal with brain fog.

The day went by rather fast with little problem, other than my bladder giving me a hard time.

Bladder has been intimate friends with my nerves since I started volunteering back in September.

The young man who is more or less in charge of volunteers will go back to his home in Colorado on Thursday, since Midterms are over.

I was supposed to help by phone banking until California until 11 p.m. e.s.t. but it didn’t happen.

—from an interview with Ctfarc Isaacson on November 7, 2018.

He’s Eating, interlude!

…He finally eats solid food as of today at 4p.m. He hasn’t eaten anything solid since Saturday. I’m gonna keep hoping he’ll survive beyond this month.

–from “Amazing Veterinary Stories in Feline Culinary Artist Magazine,” January 2018.

Poor Cat, interlude

…Two weeks ago he was fine. Ate like a horse, then wanted outside, then came back on his own. Just like a dog. He even has the same markings as my dog.

Now look at him. He no longer has an appetite but drinks often. Like a fish. Chronic heart failure the vets say. They’ve done all they can.

I’m giving him medicine three times a day and chicken broth with a syringe twice every hour. He just lays there on his pee pad with a towel underneath. He’s a mess.

I’ve taken him outside and he perks up then. He tries to retrace his old haunts, then runs outta steam and lays down. Either he’s out of breath and wheezing or the boughs above are creaking.

He gets back up to the place where I cannot follow, a small opening in the fence, to the neighbors yard, and that’s where I intervene. I carry him back inside to feed him more broth. I can tell he pouts.

–from “The Twilight of Mr. Missouri” available on compact disc and mp3. Ca 2005, Calico-Fluffypants Records, Inc.

Dishonest, Interlude

Horus Corley calmly walked into Beth Azure’s bedroom. The cat sleeping on her bed stirred, immediately knew something was wrong.

“Hey there, baby!” grinned Corley. He flashed his surgically sharpened teeth. The cat arched his back, hissed, and jumped off the bed. Corley laughed as he watched the cat run down the hallway.

It only takes Pestilence Men two minutes to make their target sick. Horus Corley had been standing at the foot of the bed for a half hour. Despite his best efforts, Beth Azure slept soundly. Corley smiled his surgically sharpened teeth, but it was only a smile of embarrassment. He tried again.

“Heh, heh. I’m not sure what’s wrong. Have you simply have been taking more vitamin C this whole time? You keep sleepin’ like you’re dead. Well wake up!”

Beth, curled up like a little child, hugged her pillow like it was a teddy bear. Whatever she dreamed was pleasant enough to make her smile. Was it the warmth of the blankets?

“Why won’t you listen to me?!” shouted Corley. Then he covered his mouth. Shh. Don’t wanna get the rest of her family sick. They’re not on the list. Yet.

Aw, no. He heard coughing in the next room. Beth no longer smiled in her sleep.

“Com’n, fever up,” said Corley, “I got others to sicken tonight. Wait a minute—!”

He saw Beth put her hand on her ear to check something, then went back to sleep.

Earphones?!

Something Corley’s boss did not tell him was that Beth Azure always slept with earbuds connected to her phone, which played soft music all night.

“The Briostone coulda been useful tonight,” muttered Corley.

Despite their reputation, Pestilence Men, like delivery services, had to follow rules. Corley was presently invisible, incorporeal, and could not simply remove the earphones. Due to job ethics, the Briostone, which made Corley flesh and bone for a brief time, could not be used while on the job. So how would he accomplish his mission?

He’d just return the next night. He’d return as long as it took, until the night when Beth forgot to wear them, or something unfortunate happened to her phone.

When Corley left the house, he was contacted by his boss.

“Is the task complete?” asked the voice on the other line.

“Yeah. Sure is, boss.” Corley smiled, “She is sick as a dog.”

There was a long pause.

“It will snow tomorrow,” said the voice on the other line, “The snow makes everything better for us.”

From “Fall from Autumnway” from the curiously long book of short stories, I am lettuce, who are you?

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