Alone

Warnings not given

Lead to empty hollow homes

Alone, we waited

There was no warning. The suitcase, beaten and battered and likely still feeling my fangs, remained in the closet. I know. I checked. I keep an eye on such things.

But Friday evening, the humom said the words she says when she leaves for longer than I like to allow. Not "Later, El," nor even "Later, kittygators," (yes, I groan when she says that too). No, her words were "you be good." I know what that means. Loneliness. A cold bed. Me in charge of "the girls."

She wasn't gone terribly long--not with the suitcase safely ensconced in the closet--but she did the most evil of things: she took the laptop with her. We couldn't write all weekend, and Sashimi was insufferable, chanting in rhymed couplets at the top of her lungs for half the night.

The humom came home Sunday, and I admit that at first I was relieved. It isn't like her to go with so little warning. Still, lessons must me learned, and I had my revenge.

I crawled under the covers and puked in her bed.