Monday, May 11, 2015
Wham! Yelp, yelp! That was my wake-up call Sunday morning. Cussing, I went to the front door and peeked out. The neighbor dog was in the front yard licking his bloody nose while a large tom cat sat on our steps. Challenged, the cat must have body slammed our door before ripping the dog’s snout.
Coming back toward the table I spotted a note from Gal taped to the coffee maker.
“Turn it on Ain’t It. It’s ready to go. Clay felt pretty good so we went to church. All your talk of communion last night got us thinkin’ we oughta go, you know, shake people up a little. Service starts at 11:00 if ya get brave and wanna join us.”
“No flippin’ way. Have fun with that you two,” I said out loud. “I’m having a peaceful breakfast while I can.”
Hearing my announcement, Chong appeared from beneath the table and hurried to his topside spot. Checking the frig and cupboards, I hauled out enough to make a small meal of an old egg, wiener, and left over frybread dough which I flattened into a pancake and fried in a pan. Coffee brewing, I went about cooking and chatted with Chong who reclined against the empty cookie plate.
“Well Chong, at least you and your insect cousins don’t pain my ass like people do. Sure, your expressions are clear enough but beyond that, no harm no foul.”
A tiny hunk of my bread broke off when I flipped the cake so I gave it to Chong while I carried on. The change in me that allowed for conversing with insects went undetected to my conscious mind.
“Gosh, who among your cousins might Clay bring home from church? It might be lady bugs, a bee named JuJu, or Francis the mantis. Hell, it being Sunday, I’d put money on Francis. I can see why you and Toby wouldn’t go. Those church ladies are fanatical cleaners and ruthless bug mashers of your types, roaches and spiders I mean.”
Setting my food on the table, I filled my coffee mug and sat down to eat. Chong, still working on his morsel, looked up a moment then resumed eating. I assembled a lidless egg sandwich and painted it ocher with a thick coat of spicy mustard. Speaking through a wad of half-chewed food like Clay would, I poked at a rant.
“If I get brave, that’s what she said in her note Chong. Or did you read it as she wrote it? It’s not about being afraid, going to church that is.” I paused for a long sip of coffee. “I don’t know where Gal gets the idea I’m afraid of religion or whatever. It’s the principle of the thing I’m holed up at.”
Chong, apparently full and not yet bored with me, rolled to his side and leaned against the plate to listen. What a pal.
“The preachers harp about God’s love and how people can count on it for everything. Clay buys into that but I can’t. I once erected a monument of trust and fasted and prayed for Clay when he was suffering so much. My faith altar crumbled.”
Chong, adjusting his position slightly, nodded for me to continue.
“Yup, my prayers fell on deafness or apathy. Now look at Clay, he’s heading for death sometime soon. But where is he? He’s at the church still thanking his Jesus. I attribute this to his mental issues Chong. You got an opinion on the matter?”
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