“Bern stepped inside with the kitten in his arms. “Oh no,” said Ryszard, the super. He was standing by the elevator doing nothing Bern could see. “You didn’t witness this,” Bern said. “It won’t concern you.” “No?” Ryszard scratched his belly. “We’ll all be cat watchers. Day and night. She’ll have us on our hands and knees.” “She’s a lonely old woman.” “I’ve swept this floor for eighteen years. Loneliness? It’s like utility bills. Slip slip slip. In your mailbox. Every day.” The kitten, golden, g...ray, purred against Bern’s chest. On the third floor, listing precariously inside the doorway of her apartment, Mrs. Mehl wept. Bern knew she’d never gotten over the loss of her previous cat. “I thought you’d like the company,” he said. He’d always wanted to do more for her than help her upstairs, now and then, with her grocery sacks. She wore a wool nightgown, now, exposing her veiny ankles. Her skin smelled of Vaseline. She held out her arms and the kitten nuzzled her neck.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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