The cat lay vomiting on the side of the bed and I was vomiting, too, our heads together and apart like a magnetic field, when he laid one way I would lay the other. Just being in each other’s presence was enough to be sick. Great, I thought, two piles of puke trying to hold it together.
When I leave the apartment, when I am on the street underneath our window, the cat mews and pushes the screen with its paw. If the cat were to jump, I would catch it with my arms, hope they held up to its rotund weight, hope that I could provide something more than a vomitorium partner.
Later, when night falls, and everything is still dirty, we will snuggle and shake, recollect ourselves together.
Later still, when I bring someone that is random yet good looking home from the bar, I will forget there are piles of vomit everywhere and suggest we go to their place. I will suggest we go sooner than later, while the cat is still resting in the window.