Like a cat. She thought she was a cat. Don’t they usually think they’re a king? I said cat, didn’t I? She thought she was a cat. In my experience they usually think they’re a king. Or something like that. Delusions of grandeur, ain’t that what they call it? The boy’s parents’ voices scale the ladder as though a pair of cats themselves. They settle heavily on his chest next to the lighter weight of Gregory’s hand. Downstairs the pipes cough when his mother turns the faucet on, and then, when he hears the water run smooth, the boy presses his thighs together. Friday morning, eight A.M.: he has been awake for two hours—desperate to pee for a good forty-five minutes. A cat, Ethel. She crawled out on the ledge like a cat. Stark naked of course. Meow, meow, kitty cats don’t wear no clothes, meow. Why it is the crazies have to get naked I’ll never know. The water stops, a pan settles heavily on the stove. Well, his mother says, and the boy can hear the self-lighting stove click for several seconds.
