hamie ran his wheel steadily into the night. he stopped to nuzzle droplets out of the water tube. hamie looked out the bars of his cage into the blue light of the room. hamie thought of grass. he brushed his forepaws against his mouth. he nibbled on some pellets. he pooped some pellets. hamie thought of his fur. hamie groomed himself.
in another room, gracie sat curled in her loveseat, reading shakespeare. she absentmindedly curled and uncurled her hair with her finger. her black painted toes wriggled intermittently. berlioz’s symphonie fantastique played softly in the background. cars hummed by in the street below, muffled by closed windows. a trashcan lid falling in the alleyway echoed in the night.
jezebel stared wide eyed at the sound. her tail flicked and she glanced briefly at gracie from the windowsill. jezebel watched the swinging of the grandfather clock in the corner. she thought of rocks, of trees. her ears swiveled to and fro. she groomed herself. she kneaded a warm spot into the pad on the sill and curled herself into a ball.
out in the night, in the alleyway, frank muttered to himself. frank sifted through a trashcan, picking out the remains of a tv dinner. he sniffed and muttered to himself. lord knows, he said, lord knows. he found a sketch of a building on a torn piece of paper. he sniffed. he turned it around and peered at it in the moonlight. hand of a higher power, he said, lord knows the road and everything on it. he stuffed the paper into his knapsack and chewed on a cold piece of chicken. he thought of a movie he saw a long time ago as a kid when he snuck into the theater. didn’t know the name. lord knows, he said, all the pretty hair and frame smiles. he rubbed his nose.