KITTY • by Amy Silver

The fourth time Vicki’s FOR SALE sign went up in her ugly old Mazda, I’d given up my beer budget and was spending next to nothing on food. Kitty was what she called it. She’d bought fake-fur seat covers, floral floor mats and butterfly decals.

I tried making love to her instead of my usual pep talk. She wriggled out of her nightie and pushed it off the side of the bed, then lay on her back and waited.

Asleep, she looked like I had broken her into several pieces and swept her under the sheet. Just a pile of naked woman with her arms and legs folded on top of each other. I thought about the price of a bus ticket compared to a tank of gas.

It felt like an act of compassion when I took the keys and closed the door behind me. She never would have sold it for what she was asking and I would send money when I could.

Amy Silver lives in Washington State with two lovely cats and a very nice human. Her stories have appeared in 400 Words, Pindeldyboz and elsewhere.

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Every Day Fiction