She hears me out. We are still yelling but we could always scream in each other’s faces longer than we would ever dare yell in the face of a partner or lover- together we are closer than anyone else could be. (closure than E. could be as well, but we both feel guilty about that). We shared the body of our mother. Then the same body, sometimes I would be her, sometimes she would be me, sometimes we would be both, sometimes we would be either. Photos would fill in for memories that existed before we remembered existing in the first person.
I wait by the mailbox as A. heads into the field.
I would taxidermy my cat. Soft and as liquid as he lived. I wouldn’t taxidermy you. You don’t really like to be touched, but neither does Gilbert (my cat) most of the time. He reliably wants to be held when he is scared- tucked into my neck as I hold him outdoors. Brave always and needing support rarely. He’s a scruffy street cat afterall- finding you last year with scratches and dirty fur he now sits on plush blankets. He would be taxidermied because I know he’d (as his conscious self) be elsewhere with better things to do and wouldn’t pay any mind to the fur suit he left behind. But I would hold it and keep his body safe in the case that he would return for some reason. It would be warm and away from the cold and exciting outdoors he would be exploring.
I would taxidermy my cat.
