Yesterday, this beautiful creature stood ahead of the refrigerated meats and cheese at the local butcher, looked stoically at me as I stood bedraggled after a long day of work and I was reminded of a scene I wrote. One that was inspired by cats like this one, maybe not as impeccably groomed as this regal puff, but roaming Brooklyn bodegas and shops just the same. This is from my novel, THE TREE BOOK, my first attempt at middle grade. A book I've dreamed my way through the best I could. Now I'm dreaming for it.
Not much to set up except that my main character, Cora, is chasing her little sister, who chases a cat.
I slink on over, slow, to Miss
Li’s, and stand at the swinging bell door. Adare crouches at the beer
refrigerators, where the cat is pawing at the silver and steel. Adare giggles
and the cat stretches its front legs out like it might leap away but instead it
starts licking its gray fur down and Adare’s cheek falls to her shoulder,
mesmerized.
“No
animals allowed!” Miss Li shouts, sticking her arm out, to her handwritten
signs behind the register, something about IDs and cigarettes, and no animals,
and a big red X slashing through American Express.
“It’s
not ours,” I say but Miss Li’s arm swings back again and one long, wrinkled
finger looks like it’ll poke the sign straight into my eye.
“Out.”
She says and her lips sag to her chin, like always, except for the one time
Adare reached over the counter and touched the gold bracelet on her bone-thin
wrist. Real gentle, with just one soft finger, but I still thought Miss Li
would slash her across the store quick. Of course, Adare’s smile, the way it
has a habit of knowing people and calming them down, made Miss Li smile too. A gift from my son, she said.
I look at her gold bracelet now. It’s made to
look like a ribbon, looped in a perfect bow. She wears it so tight, so close,
her skin bunches up, tries to take a breath from behind it, but never quite
lets go.
