Late Night Strange

I know it's been quite a while since I've posted some fresh, original content. Here's a little taste of something I'm working on, ever so slowly. Let me know what you think.      -MK

     I said goodnight to my friends and began the uphill stumble towards home. Walking on the paved trails of campus, the going was easy. Even for a drunk. It became a challenge when I had to cross the practice field that separated Adult Student Housing from the campus-proper. Like every other day in Hilo, it had rained and, like every time it rained in Hilo, the ground couldn't absorb all of the water. The field was flooded.

     At first, I set about crossing the hundred-yard span like I usually would—if it were light and I were sober—by trying to hop from one drier patch to another. But, when you're drunk and it's dark, mistakes are bound to be made.

     Splash! One of my hops found me not on a dry crest, but eight inches deep in a hole. I was soaked clear up to my knees.

     “Fuck it,” I said aloud and kept going. Now that I was wet, there was no use trying to keep my feet dry. Instead I stumbled along, indifferent to anymore dry patches. By the time I reached the edge of the field, my pants were completely saturated up to my belt and my boots might as well have been wet sponges laced to my feet.

     Ahead of me there was a short trail of dirt and rock left to negotiate before I was on the paved walkways of ASH. While this route was the one taken daily by almost everyone living in A.S.H., it was a guerrilla road and therefore sanctioned by neither ASH or the University. It was fifteen yards of semi-vertical peril that clear-minded students negotiated with ease during the day, but could be a little tricky to stumble up after a few drinks at an on-campus party.

     I only took a few steps up the trail before the moist ground put its finishing move on me. My foot slipped on a wet chunk of lava rock and down I went, sliding five or six feet in the red Hawaiian mud. I laid where I came to rest for a moment. Instead of being upset, I let out a chuckle which turned into an audible laugh.

     “Just my luck,” I mused. “Drunk and worthless.”

     I pulled myself up. In the faint light I could see that the front of my pants and shirt were now a reddish shade of brown. I brushed myself off and headed back up the slope. This time I was more cautious of my footing. There was no trouble and I soon found myself on the paved path that would take me home.

     As I was nearing my unit, I saw a small, dark shape on the path ahead. I stopped for a minute and tried to discern what it was through my alcoholic haze. The shape began to move towards me and when it passed into the stream of one of the walkway lights I knew what it was.

     “Hi kitty,” I said.

     “Meow,” it calmly replied and continued moving towards me.

     I leaned forward and called to it in a soft tone. The cat was soon standing under me, brushing its face and sides on my ankles.

     “Well, aren't you the cutest little thing?” I jokingly asked the cat.

     It let out a half-a-meow, as if to say, “Duh!”

     Slowly, I bent forward and reached down. The cat immediately started brushing its face against my hand. I reached down with my other hand and picked it up. I held it to my chest and it began to purr.

     “You're a little sweetheart, aren't you?”

     Her reply came in the form of louder purring. She brought her face close to mine, then began rubbing her cheek against the side of my face.

     “Well, I like you too,” I said.

     As wet, cold, filthy and drunk as I was; this affection instantly gave me a sense of warmth and joy. It cut through the agony and loneliness I was feeling. In that drunken haze, it make me feel loved. I carried the cat back to my apartment.

     After I let us in, I set the cat down and did what any good drunk does at two in the morning—I went looking for food. I went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. There wasn't much to be found there: some milk, a half-eaten bowl of noodles, some eggs.

     “You hungry? Thirsty?”

     “Meow.”

     “Well, let's get you something.”

     I pulled the carton of milk out of the fridge and grabbed a bowl from the cupboard. When I poured the milk into the bowl, I immediately saw that it had spoiled. I checked the expiration date.

     “A week ago? Thought this was newer than that.”

     I looked back at the cat. She was sitting up and staring at me.

     “Meow.”

     “I don't think you want this kitty,” I said as I turned the faucet on and began dumping the milk down the sink. When the milk was gone, I threw the carton away, rinsed and filled the bowl with water, then set it down in front of the cat. She lapped a drink out of the bowl and then looked up at me.

     “Meow.”

     “Hungry, huh?”

     “Meow.”

     Reaching into the cupboard again, I found a can of tuna. I opened the lid and then used it to mash the excess water from the can and into the sink. Then, I grabbed another bowl and dumped the tuna into it.

     “Here you go girl.”

     The cat began to eat. Content that the cat would not starve or die of thirst in the middle of the night, I headed for bed. The floor of my room was a typical college mess. Clothes and books littered the floor to the point that once would be hard pressed to know the floor was covered in beige carpeting.

     I took off my filthy clothes and crawled into bed in a pair of boxer shorts. It wasn't long after my head hit the pillow that I snapped upright with a frightening though: What if the cat takes a shit on the floor?

     “I need a fucking kitty-litter box!”

     I jumped from the bed and sprang out into the hallway and started rummaging around. Somewhere there had to be something that would resemble a litter box. Eventually, I found my improvised cat-shitter laying on the lanai—It was a cardboard flat that once held a case of soda.

     “Okay, I've got the box. Where do I find the litter?”
     I was much too drunk to drive to the store. Whatever media I was going to use would have to be acquired nearby. Suddenly, I remembered a place where I had seen some loose dirt and sand on the other side of the parking lot. Without thinking picked up the box, kicked on my flip-flops, and ran out the front door in nothing more than my underwear.

     It was pretty dark outside, I figured no one would notice my drunk and half-naked ass in my quick quest to find dirt. Running in flip-flops was always a precarious idea, more so when drunk. However, a poor choice in footwear would not be my undoing. I made it across the parking lot; towards point where a small dirt access road led off behind the campus. It was there where I remembered seeing some loose black sand.

     I took my first running stride onto the dirt and all of a sudden I was upside down and airborne. Shortly thereafter, I was landing on my head in the patch of black sand. An excruciating pain emanated from my upper thighs. I had forgotten about the thin steel cable stretched across to road to keep unauthorized vehicles out.

     “Fuck!” was the only sound I was capable of uttering. For the second time that night, I found myself face down in the dirt. I pulled myself up to my knees, found the box and began scooping dirt into it with my bare hands. Once the box was full, I stood up and quickly brushed myself off. Not all of the dirt came off. Bits of sand and rock were imbedded in my knees and hands. I picked the box up and hobbled back to my apartment.

     “Here you go kitty,” I announced as I set the box down.

     “Meow,” came the reply from the cat. She was no longer eating and had posted up on the couch for the night.

     The pain was really beginning to set in. I noticed that there was an inch-wide line of abrasion across my thighs where I had ran into the cable at full stride. A bruise was beginning to develop below the skin. It hurt like hell.

     One more time I went to the cupboard, this time I was looking for something for myself. There was a bottle of very cheap vodka that I planned to dull the pain with. I took a couple of big pulls, straight from the bottle and went to bed.

     I awoke the next morning to the sound of someone running up the stairs. Key's jingled on the landing, then the lock clicked open. It was Danielle. She was making her usual morning appearance to grab a bite and change her clothes before going to class. The door opened.

     “What the fuck?” I heard her say in a slightly confused voice. She had seen the two bowls and the kitty-litter box.

     “Meow.”

     “Uhh... Hi kitty. Where did you come from?”

     Footsteps made their way down the hall and the door opened.

     “Dude, where did this cat come from?” she asked me.

     “I, um, found it last night on the way home. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

     I was feeling a bit embarrassed. Bringing a stray cat back to the apartment we shared without even telling her seemed to reinforce in my mind the low opinion of myself I'd been having.

     “I know you're going through a rough time, but this was not what I meant when I told you that you needed to go out and find some strange pussy!”