Butcher Man

This path took me past the butcher's shop and as I looked in the
window I saw a cat. Its head on an anvil, radiating sounds from a
bloody mouth. My head turned to blue ice feeling hatred for the butcher
man.

The butcher man was closed off to the cat, to my way of thinking.
Something popped, an eye bounced off the table. The butcher man laughed
in the face of it. I tried to turn away but the cat and the butcher man
wouldn't let me.

The smell of yellow cat piss caught in my head. An aperitif to what
could come later. I felt a shiver, cold blocking off. What if I walked
in and proclaimed myself the cat's healer, placed an aura around its
head, magnetised the butcher man with a sensual curving of my navel. I
needed to find this beast's soft spot.

The eye which had fallen to the floor lay there demanding love. My
heart was a black country, seething in its shell.

I still stood at the window, all my attention on the cat's face. I
could see every ball of sweat on the butcher man's face. A forelock of
his hair glistened like a black feeler.

But down went the missed opportunities with the sudden flick of his
wrist. My hearing became muffled. Darkness made a veil form in my
throat. I felt as if no food would ever again pass my lips.

The cat was sold, a white label round its neck. Nothing could save it
before and after.