Dead Man Read Free Page A

kitten.”
    “It shall return,” she said with placid resignation.
    “How do you know, if—”
    “Albie knows.”
    He believed her. Marie was a very sensual being, in touch with her body and the bodies of those she loved. In bed they made
     each other come so hard and so often that he sometimes thought there must be something to her reincarnation musings: it seemed
     that a love this rewarding spiritually and this intense physically just
had
to extend back through several lifetimes.
    But now, Wisking the burrito stain before putting the shirt into the hamper, he said, “If the kitten does show up again, we
     just can’t keep it. You know that, don’t you, darling?”
    “I know.”
    “If it’s a stray, it’ll be dirty and diseased—”
    “I know.”
    “Then we’ll just have to explain to Albie that—”
    “I know.” Then she kissed him, a long kiss that made him want to get Albie to bed early. She stepped back and patted the front
     of his pants and made a silent whistle, and laughed, “Tell you what, big guy.
You
explain to Albie why he can’t have that kitten, and I’ll give you something nice later.”
    “You cheat!” exclaimed Eddie with feeling.
    But after supper, he and his son sat out on the redwood deck he’d built the year before, at the same time that he’d built
     an eight-foot-high wall between the driveway and the garage they’d converted to an office. The wall had a door that was locked,
     so Albie could play in the backyard while Marie worked at the computer and kept an eye on him through the office window.
    The deck was low, ideal for sitting on the edge with your feet in the grass. Albie sat in rapt attention beside him, staring
     solemnly up into his face, swinging stubby legs as Eddie explained why they couldn’t keep the kitten.
    “Even if he does come back, he probably belongs to someone who’ll want him to come home to them.”
    “He’s black and white,” observed Albie.
    “Or his mother was a cat gone wild. In that case he’ll be a feral cat himself and won’t want to live with us because—”
    “His whiskers are white.” Albie held out demonstrative hands a foot apart. “Real long.”
    “That’s long,” admitted Eddie. He shook his head in admiration. “But wild kittens have all sorts of diseases—”
    “Mommy says he’s a puss-in-boots kitten. Black legs, white feet.” Then he added, in case Eddie was as dense about books as
     he was about kittens, “Like in the fairy tale.”
    “Even a puss-in-boots sort of kitten would be…”
    He trailed off because his son had jumped off the deck and was running on stubby bowed legs over to the wall. Thrust through
     the two-inch gap left under the fence for rainy-season runoff, a tiny delicate upside-down black arm with a white paw was
     making what looked like beckoning gestures.
    “It’s him!” cried Albie. He squatted and patted at the paw with one hand. The tiny paw convulsed about his finger, held on
     without claws. The kitten started to mew. Piteously.
    “Open the door, Daddy!” cried Eddie’s son. Piteously.
    If he opened the door, Daddy knew, all was lost. If he didn’t open the door, Daddy knew, all was lost. So macho Daddy said
     forcefully, “But it has to stay in the kitchen until we can housebreak it. And it goes to the vet’s tomorrow and…”
    Marie stood in the darkened kitchen, watching her husband cave in to her son about their new kitten and chuckling deep in
     her throat. So even though they had to make up a box with an old towel in it for the kitten to sleep on, and feed it, and
     of course hold it, when they did get to bed she gave Eddie something just as nice as she’d promised. More than nice and more
     than once, in fact, and then told him she loved him because he was a kitten freak in public while being a tiger in bed.
    The kitten was little and skinny and black and white and full of fleas and scabs and rickety from lack of food, so for two
     weeks it was touch-and-go. It could