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本帖最后由 Gust101 于 2012-6-27 22:49 编辑
An advertisement
June 27, 2012
Jamie was a male cat. When the firework of millennium lit up the darkness outside the opaque window of that rundown 12th floor apartment, he was born. Jamie's mom had golden brown hair, and his father...well, Jamie could only guess his father's color by looking at his own white blotches. Madam Pepper, the rail-thin hot-tempered granny who owned Jamie's mother, hadn't even waited to his nursing break before giving the baby cat away to an alcoholic neighbour, Mr. Smith, a man with very wide eyes and unkempt moustache. He would often put Jamie in his pocket to shop the liquor store, but only to release him on the floor to distract the kind-hearted store clerks, then grab a bottle of scotch and run.
Jamie liked Mr. Smith's shopping experience, actually. That was the only time that the little cat could feel the caress, tickle and the tenderness of love. Jamie liked to lick the pink wart on the female cashier's chubby finger. It felt like his mom's nipple, warm and soft. Those moments at the liquor store was heavenly pleasant for Jamie, but they could not last very long. Mr. Smith would always come back to claim the poor little one, put him back into his giant pocket, and trudged in the snow for several blocks before returning to that German style suburban highrise. Jamie loved the snow that dragged Mr. Smith's feet and made him walk slowly. Through the little hole on the side of pocket, Jamie was fascinated by the pristine white world. Maybe, his never-met father was hiding out there, Jamie would fantasize.
Jamie liked to see Mr. Smith cooking, because the drunk man would frequently forget switching off the gas. If there had been a fire, Jamie might be able to return to his mother. Jamie was a little evil cat. But, the life with Mr. Smith was constantly full of fear. Jamie was kicked, pinched every other day, and one time he was almost crushed to death when Mr. Smith dropped his fat ass on the end of couch where Jamie took as bed. Many times, when Mr. Smith ran out of food, he would open the frige once every few hours including night, gazing at the empty shelves with his angry stare before slamming it shut, muttering some F-words. That's primarily how Jamie learned human language. One F-word, meant no bread. F-word again, no cheese. F-word the third time, eggs were out too.
The only good thing was that Jamie had never been starved. Madam Pepper would pop at their apartment every few days with some leftover of cat food that Mr. Smith would not even want to smell at.
Two Christmases passed by, Jamie had become a big cat. On his birthday, Mr. Smith died of heart attack. Jamie was deeply sad that evening, not because he was mourning the alcoholic's sudden death. On the floor next to Mr. Smith's lifeless body, there was a newspaper clip slipped out of his pocket. It was an advertisement that read,
"Collect abandoned cat for a buck." The word "abandoned" was in bold character. The "buck", looked like a f**k. |
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发表于 2012-6-27 16:07:36
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发表于 2012-6-27 16:17:52
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