Kirby's Wright's Weblog

Last Night's Dream

Snacking with Sadaam

Sadaam strolls into my studio and slams the door. His face is gaunt and he’s wearing a tattered tuxedo. I can see a pistol tucked under his belt. “Asalama alaikum,” I say and he winces. He reaches into a bowl of kibble perched on my dresser. I don’t want to tell him it’s cat food. “It’s difficult to find much during the occupation,” he admits as he chews. Then my cat comes in—she leaps up on the dresser and nudges Sadaam’s hand out of the way with her head.

Sadaam holds up a kibble and examines it. “What’s in here that cats like?”
“Fish,” I say, “only dried fish.” Sadaam nods. He opens the door and pauses in my doorway. He pulls out his pistol. “Do you brush the cat’s teeth?” he asks. “Sometimes,” I answer. “Americans,” he says shaking his head, “treat pets better than humans.”

I watch Sadaam disappear into a cloud of dust swirling in the sunset.