From Jerome\u2019s vantage, he could see the mass of remaining body parts and a pool of blood spread out before him in the grass. It was late afternoon and the sun was low on the horizon, his favorite time of day to hunt. He looked at the viscera and the assortment of still-warm organs protruding from the carcass before him. Delight filled him as he thought about how he\u2019d savor each of them, one by one. First, the heart. He loved the way the first bite sent a gusher of blood through his mouth and down his throat. He\u2019d munch it down before moving on to the lungs. Everyone disparages lungs, but texturally, they were among Jerome\u2019s favorite. The air pockets provided just a slight bit of crunch the sound and texture of which made Jerome squeal with ecstasy. And then there was the liver. He liked to save it for last. Its rich, fatty smoothness was regarded as a delicacy across species and cultures for good reason. He always started with the head of course. It was what had landed the the little beast in the disembodied spot it now laid. Jerome put his foot down on the little bird\u2019s breast and tore away its head tossing the whole thing to the side in one swift motion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He sat in this sunny spot scarfing down the rest of the bird, the fuzzy brown sparrow, in convulsive, guttural chomps. He eased the chunky bits of flesh and quills down his throat. It was here, in the spill of afternoon light, warmed by the sun\u2019s heat and the sated feeling of accomplishment that Jerome gazed across the lawn. Without noticing the approach, suddenly he was cast into darkness as something stood in the golden afternoon rays. A shadow fell across him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cGoddamnit Jerome! What have you done to that poor little bird?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His minder. The only one who started nearly all his sentences with that familiar refrain \u201cgoddamnit Jerome\u2026\u201d He\u2019d heard it a thousand times before. \u2028
The muffled rantings of a grown man bent over, his face toward the floor, followed by the grunting struggle of standing back upright \u201cGoddamnit Jerome, how many times have I told you about knocking things off the table?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The yawps from another room, across the house \u201cGoddamnit Jerome, no more scratching the furniture!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Or the one that was his favorite, despite its menacing tone, \u201cGoddamnit Jerome, can\u2019t you keep it in the box?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The minder was a somewhat ogreish man. He\u2019d come home from work and kick his shoes off by the door. He\u2019d trundle about the house in his socks for a while until he\u2019d eventually change into a pair of dingy threadbare sweatpants and a cat hair-covered hoodie that bore the name of some place he hadn\u2019t been in a decade. Niagara Falls it read over the top of a graphic depicting the location that did not do the actual place\u2019s majesty any justice. After spending an hour at his desk, answering questions in chatrooms devoted to Python and Ruby on Rails, he\u2019d prepare dinner for the two of them. For the minder it was usually an inexpensive cut of meat bathed in a store-bought simmer sauce and some vegetables from the freezer. For Jerome, it was a few slices of lox or maybe some canned sardines and a tiny saucer of milk. He\u2019d prepare their feasts simultaneously setting Jerome\u2019s bounty down on the floor to the side of the refrigerator. \u201cHere you go, buddy\u201d he\u2019d say as Jerome circled his feet in anticipation of the evening\u2019s tribute. As Jerome dove nose first into the ornately decorated ceramic bowl, the minder would gently stroke his back. Giving just the right amount of attention to Jerome\u2019s shoulders, lower spine and hips, he would purr in delight. \u201cThat\u2019s a good boy,\u201d the minder would say in a tone one normally reserved for a small child. \u201cGood kitty.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Typically, Jerome found it patronizing to be referred to as \u201ckitty.\u201d The moniker lacked a certain amount of gravitas Jerome felt he deserved. However, with a mouth full of fish, and the minder giving special focus to the spot just above his tail, Jerome wasn\u2019t bothered much. Furthermore, it was far preferred over the angry grumblings that nearly always started with \u201cGoddamnit Jerome\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When Jerome was finished with his fish plate and milk pairing, he\u2019d wander off to a warm spot to give himself a bath and take a nap. Often he\u2019d curl up by the radiator in the living room or occasionally he\u2019d find a spot atop a pillow on the minder\u2019s bed. He\u2019d nap for an an hour or so while the minder ate his own dinner. Later in the evening when things quieted down, Jerome would reconvene with the minder as he sat on the couch watching Sci-Fi of dubious quality. Jerome would curl up on the minder\u2019s chest as he laid on the sofa. He could smell the oily and splattered remnants of dinners past on the minders sweatshirt. Atop his sternum, just above his belly, he\u2019d nestle himself in and try to implant just a few more hairs deeply into the fibers of the minder\u2019s clothes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Eventually, the minder would stir. Perhaps he too had drifted off, cozy and warm on the plush sofa after a long workday, the soft purring eleven pound heater having lulled him to sleep. Gently, he would slide his hands underneath Jerome. Trying to disturb him as little as possible, he would lift the fuzzy cat ball and place him gently to the side as he slid himself out from underneath. Jerome would often shift a little bit, but settle back into a heavy slumber in the now-heated groove the minder\u2019s large torso had left in the cushion of the couch. Quietly and softly the minder would give Jerome\u2019s upturned chin a loving stroke, grazing his hand lightly across his face and then down his exposed side-body. For a moment, the minder would gaze at Jerome, watching the sweetness of this fuzzy creature\u2019s restful breathing. The rise and fall of his chest suggesting an innate perfection the minder sometimes found hard to grasp. In that moment, all was forgiven. Turning off the television and then the lights, the minder would make his way to the bedroom. It was when he traded his frowsy house clothes for proper pajamas, that he usually noticed the large wet spot on his sweatshirt near the center of his chest. This spot, a tiny puddle of varying size depending on the day was the byproduct of Jerome sleeping so heavily that he\u2019d drool all over the thing he was sleeping on, in this case the minder himself. As the minder caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, groggy and disheveled, the wet spot was often the first thing he noticed. With a chuckle and smile, under his own breath he\u2019d say \u201cgoddamit Jerome.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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