Shallow Graves

first.“
    “Well, I would not worry about it. The important thing is not to let him have at his stitches.“
    “But that’s what he wants to do.“
    “Yes, well, there are really two sets of stitches in each leg, some inside the skin, and the ones you can see outside. If he gets only to the outside ones a little bit, you will see just a drop or two of blood which will scab over nicely. Nothing to worry about, yes?“
    “Doctor, he’s thrashing around so much with the lampshade on. I’m afraid he’ll bust through his stitches or even hurt his neck.“
    “Oh, well, we cannot have that, can we? Perhaps it would be best to take the collar off his head and simply monitor him.“
    “Monitor him.“
    “Yes. Throughout the night, if possible.“
    “Great.“
    “He may imprint on you a bit, as though you are the parent and he the child. But eventually the stitches will not bother him so much.“
    “Is there anything I can do for him now? He really seems to be suffering.“
    “Unfortunately that is natural with cats. But as they are poor patients they are good convalescents. They have much better attitudes about rehabilitation than dogs, yes?“
    “Am I supposed to be feeding him or what?“
    “Oh, I doubt he will take any food for a while. But do offer him some, the simpler the better. Dry food over canned. And do make water available. He probably will not be able to walk very well to his dish—“
    “Doctor, I’m telling you, he can’t even stand up.“
    “—nor to his litter box, I am afraid.“
    Better and better. “Anything else I should watch for?“
    “No. Cats have a remarkable ability to heal themselves, you will see, sir. Just be a little patient with him. And now, I really must go.“
    As I hung up the phone, Renfield let out a miserable yowl. Then he copiously wet himself and the towel.

    About eight o’clock, I put a commercial lasagna dish from Nancy’s freezer in her microwave and nuked it for seven minutes per side on low, then another five on high. Only the one towel was sacrificed to Renfield’s incontinence, him seeming a lot calmer, or at least resigned, after I took the lampshade off. I cleaned his hindquarters with some paper napkins dabbed in warm water, blotting the moisture off with dry ones to keep him from getting too cold. I still decided to leave him on the washable linoleum, though, a different towel underneath him and flipped lightiy over his rear legs.
    When the microwave trilled at me, I zapped some frozen garlic bread and opened a bottle of red wine. I had half the wine and all the lasagna and bread, the cat turning down both food and water whenever I edged his two-sectioned dish toward him.
    I tried to watch TV in the living room, but every time I left the kitchen, or more accurately, left Renfield’s line of sight, he cried. Continuously. Nancy is a real fan of private investigator fiction, so I picked a Loren Estieman paperback off a shelf and settled into one of the kitchen chairs.
    When the book mentioned jazz, I remembered Primo Zuppone’s tape in the pocket of my raincoat. I left the kitchen long enough to put it into the stereo, then listened to both sides of Wim Mertens several times, the equivalent of two albums alternating. Thoughtful, mournful, it seemed to suit my “wet nurse“ mood.
    The music playing, I drank wine and read about the mean streets of Detroit until almost eleven, when I started yawning. Renfield had dropped off at some point, and I stepped over him as quietly as possible. He didn’t wake up.
    I was asleep for a while in Nancy’s bed when I was roused by a terrible sound. Renfield. Yowling.
    He’d managed to drag himself across the threshold of the kitchen, getting tangled in the towel. He cried until I disengaged him and got him back onto the kitchen floor the way I’d left him. When I turned to go to the bedroom, he started crying again.
    I shook my head and went into the living room. I stacked the seat cushions from Nancy’s couch like poker chips and carried them into the bedroom. I took a pillow and the blanket from her bed and stacked them on top of the cushions. Then I carried everything to the threshold of the kitchen. Renfield stopped his crying when he saw me coming.
    I laid out the cushions on the floor the way they were on the couch. I put the pillow at the head of the string, nearest Renfield and just into the kitchen. Then I lay down, pulling the blanket over me. He false-started toward my face with his front paw a