Why do I have to watch out for the policeman again? It’s not fair. I’ve got to take care of Sissy. I’m hungry. She said she wouldn’t be long, but she said that last time, and she was gone for a long time. The policeman is scary. He’s got a big black gun. People are killed with it, she said, if they’re bad.
The window is dirty. I can see a little cat! It’s skinny. All the cats in the street are skinny. My head hurts. I’m hungry. I want to play outside, but the policeman might take Sissy, maybe kill her with his gun. Or kill our mom. Maybe, too, the ugly stinky man upstairs. Don’t like that man. He stinks like dog poop. Why did they take beer upstairs? The brown bottles, they stink too. All the men are stinky. Why does she want those men for drinking beer?
There’s the cat! There’s another one! Two cats, white fur and grey fur. Their names are Whitey and Greyey. My head hurts, and I’m sick.
If he kills her with his gun, then she’s a bad person. But she’s not. She’s not. Sissy stop whining. She’s hungry too. She said we’d get dinner when the man goes she promised. We wanted dinner before, but why was she screaming at us? She made Sissy cry. It’s stupid. It’s not fair. Why is there so much noise upstairs again? The stinky man is noisy and loud. Sissy is scared.
Greyey and Whitey don’t climb the tree, don’t get lost! I’ll come get you!
I’m cold. Sissy is cold. My tummy hurts. Here they come down the stairs. I’m not looking. She said not to look. Sissy better not look, and no talking, she said. I can smell the stinky. I’m not looking. If we don’t look and be quiet, we’ll get dinner, and I can look for Whitey and Greyey. My feet are dirty. So are Sissy’s.
Margaret Ormrod, at 66, is a latecomer to writing. Following several courses at the University of Toronto Online Creative Writing Program, she decided to take up writing as a hobby for her retirement. Margaret lives with her husband and new Boxer puppy in St. Albert, Alberta.