What's under there?
We crouch low to the ground, careful not to get run over but slight enough to look up the asphalt driveway beyond the back wheels and tail pipe deep into the hazed shadows of the exhaust by the wheel well. Huddled; a scared ball of fur shivers looking at us. He's all alone, the sweet thing, and how did my brother see him? I could've sworn we were speaking at eye level.
Squatted, finger tips pressed firmly to the black, we were prepared to stare and oooo over the fluffy cuteness. We'd never had one.
Ian held him in his hands that went on to hold girls hands and paint 7th grade art projects and strum guitar strings and roll disjointed bargains of LSD pipe dreams and pisces free will, popsicles, receipts, toothbrushes, and hamburgers, folding towels for mom, glassware, and city water, paint ball guns, and Sony Play Station 2, a Kentucky Fried Chicken uniform, jolly ranchers, movie stubs, the toilet handle on the main floor of our house.
"It's a Calico, which is a rare breed. They're expensive. What's strange is that it's a male. Male Calicos are hardly ever." is what Matt said after he took him to the vet. We gave that Calico to Sarah's across the street neighbor, Jarod, who played basketball with me and everytime I made a basket he'd say, "That's my girl!" Jarod named the kitty Earl.
I'm still amazed at how Ian found him, but then again my Mom told me a story once that she took Ian to the beach when he was little. He waded into the water out to his thighs. She watched him. He played a little while all by himself then turned and faced shore, stuck his arms out like a mummy, closed his eyes, and walked that way back to land. Through kids playing Marco Polo and through big kids throwing frisbees and sitting on each other's shoulders having chicken fights and even kids who are too little to walk who just sit with their moms on the shoreline like little bags of bones and blood the water gently lapping. Ian walked thru them all and landing on shore opened his eyes.
Squatted, finger tips pressed firmly to the black, we were prepared to stare and oooo over the fluffy cuteness. We'd never had one.
Ian held him in his hands that went on to hold girls hands and paint 7th grade art projects and strum guitar strings and roll disjointed bargains of LSD pipe dreams and pisces free will, popsicles, receipts, toothbrushes, and hamburgers, folding towels for mom, glassware, and city water, paint ball guns, and Sony Play Station 2, a Kentucky Fried Chicken uniform, jolly ranchers, movie stubs, the toilet handle on the main floor of our house.
"It's a Calico, which is a rare breed. They're expensive. What's strange is that it's a male. Male Calicos are hardly ever." is what Matt said after he took him to the vet. We gave that Calico to Sarah's across the street neighbor, Jarod, who played basketball with me and everytime I made a basket he'd say, "That's my girl!" Jarod named the kitty Earl.
I'm still amazed at how Ian found him, but then again my Mom told me a story once that she took Ian to the beach when he was little. He waded into the water out to his thighs. She watched him. He played a little while all by himself then turned and faced shore, stuck his arms out like a mummy, closed his eyes, and walked that way back to land. Through kids playing Marco Polo and through big kids throwing frisbees and sitting on each other's shoulders having chicken fights and even kids who are too little to walk who just sit with their moms on the shoreline like little bags of bones and blood the water gently lapping. Ian walked thru them all and landing on shore opened his eyes.