KITTY KITTY

He made a small gash into the apple with his two prominent golden-yellow teeth--prominent because they were the only teeth in his head not blackened with rot and therefore the only ones that were immediately visible. With his first and middle fingers, he swathed the bite and held them out, calling: HERE, KITTY KITTY! HERE, KITTY KITTY.

Behind a dilapidated box crate, a small black cat emerged. It stuck its head out and looked up at the man and then at his fingers, trying to gauge the relative safety of leaving its post. It took a few delicate steps towards the man and immediately hopped back a little ways so that it could still see the man and his fingers.

COME ON NOW, KITTEN. I'M A GOOD FELLOW, the man pleaded.

The cat cocked its head and stared the man in his eyes to which he stared back with the irregular pulpy grin of a jack-o-lantern decomposing on someone's front stoop weeks after Halloween. The cat eventually conceded defeat and walked back toward the man, keeping its head down the whole time as if this were its punishment for losing this little staring contest.

THAT'S A GOOD KITTEN, he said. A REAL GOOD KITTEN.

The cat sniffed his fingers tentatively. It made a little pigeon-noise once it detected the apple juices and began licking wildly.

KITTY LIKES APPLES, SHE DOES, he said. His smile had transformed from that of a rotting jack-o-lantern's to the self-satisfied kingly smile of a lunatic pleased by something inconsequential and esoteric--like the ability to bait a displaced cat in some remote dirt-covered alleyway.