Page 7 - and the man who loved cats

reeds, her arms flailing. Instead he returned her
smile with a weak one of his own.

The proximity of their bodies allowed nothing
less than an embrace. Therefore he was aware of
her coldness.

He wanted to turn her: to get her back on his
chest. So that he could swim her to safety.

He was puzzled by her smile, her presence. She
appeared calm and welcoming. Arrested, his heart
filled as her lips neared his. At the same time he
was vaguely aware of an icy thinness: a feeling
akin to standing before a crevasse. It was a gaping
thing not unlike that when standing before a dark
cave. It was not raging or tormented like the
feeling at the edge of a cliff by the sea. Here the
magnitude was the same, but the feeling
otherwise. There was no passion, perhaps no
emotion, and certainly no warning. Here was also
a precipice: a malevolent opening threatening to
usurp.

He felt her arm upon his shoulder. Its wetness
made it feel slimy. And although he had the feeling
that she was not weak, the arm seemed to slop
upon his shoulder.

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