Weird Lost Conversations
the littlest moments define who we really are
“I don’t know where the cat is,” he said.
“Well,” she responded, “I think the drug addict caught her and killed her because I wasn’t being nice to him yesterday.”
He sighed and chewed his cashew chicken, wondering why she always went scorched earth.
“Look,” he said patiently, “maybe don't be so ready to jump to the conclusion that our neighbor murdered our cat. Yes, he's an ex-con, but he's not that kind of guy. He might steal your drugs, but I don't get the sense when I talk to him that he liked to set dogs' tails on fire as a kid or anything.”
“You could be right... but don't forget, I took a psychology class when I was in college,” she said, defending her stand. “And I'm pretty empathic when it comes to people. You know I spotted Jean and Mark's marriage was going south years before they actually imploded.”
He thought about it for a moment. “You might be right. But it's just a little too soon to assume we have felinicide in the neighborhood. What do you think your pony would say?”
Epilogue: The cat was fine. She was sleeping under the porch.
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