51
:
Howdy
F inally, it’s Saturday.
“I’m here, Howdy,” I say as the quarantine officer
unlocks the door to my cat’s kennel and Daddy and I
slip in.
Howdy has smushed himself up against the corner
of his cell under the wooden bench.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner,” I say as I lie
belly-down on the cold concrete and glimpse my cat in
shadow. I can’t read his eyes. “I can stay for two whole
hours today,” I say and reach out to pet him. “And
tomorrow, too.”
Howdy lays back his ears, opens his mouth, and
hisses.
“Howdy,” I cry, pulling back my hand. “It’s me,
Peggy Sue. You know, the one who loves you. The one
who misses you. The one who wishes more than any-
thing else that you didn’t have to live here.”
