10.27.2010

It's Out of the Question, Genetically Speaking

"Is that your cat?" I ask the three-year-old
as I point to the black mangy tom
sprawled peacefully on the radiator
that Dave and I replaced.

No answer from the girl.

"Who's that on the TV?" I try, nodding towards
the latest, freakish neon cartoon shipped with love
from Japan to rot the minds of American children.

She smiles a bit, revealing a full set of rounded teeth.
They're so perfect and miniature that they seem fake.
I'm surprised to see them, considering she doesn't speak.

I try the cat thing again. It seems more organic.
And besides, if she decides to make conversation
I know more about cats than I do about new cartoons.
Her green eyes light up her milky face
and the near-white ringlets draped over her ears
twitch with delight. Her right hand pats her thigh
three times in an inexpressable jolt of excitement.
It's got nothing to do with what I'm saying.
She just likes to hear me speak-- a trait she'll grow
out of in another fifteen years if she's anything like
the rest of her kind.

"That cat's silly," I venture, but the patting stays the same.
I begin to wonder if she even speaks English.
Maybe they do things differently in Walden.

"Alright. Boiler's up and running!" Dave calls
from beneath the floorboards. Nothing's leaking.
It's another minor miracle of the plumbing world.
Hallelujah, praise the Lord, pass the ammunition.

"All Quiet on the Western Front!" I yell back down.

"Huh?" Dave asks.

"It's a...nevermind. We're all good, baby!"

The girl, of course, pats her leg some more.

"Leave that poor man alone," the young mother
pleads from the kitchen. I wonder how she knows, if
my reputation precedes me as far as the next town over.
"Come and get a cookie, Lily," and my audience wobbles away.

Lily, the perfect name for a gorgeous bundle of almost-albino life.
I wonder if they had another one picked out, but changed it
after her birth since it was too fitting to pass up. (Yes, these
are the things your friendly neighborhood plumber thinks about
when he's in your home. These, and how to screw you.)

Lily and mom come in from the kitchen, cookies in hands of both.
Dave climbs the basement stairs and enters the room as well.
The three of them look at me, but only the one who knows me
asks what the smile on my face is about.

I pat my thigh three times and shrug
hoping the training pays off someday.

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