Manx

“Home.”  Jeff grunted as he kicked the screen door shut.  He dropped the plastic bag unceremoniously on the kitchen counter with a thud.  “Got your shit.”

A mustard-yellow cat whined out of the pantry, its whiskers festooned with dusty cobwebs, and twined around the leather of his boots.  Looking up at Jeff, it yowled inquiry, the sound thin and peremptory. 

“Yeah,” He lifted a can of tuna out of the bag and flashed it at the cat.  “I got your shit.  Junkie.”  The animal pranced, shrieking its delight, then butted at his boots while he rifled the kitchen drawers for a can opener.  “Take it easy.”

There was no taking it easy, though, not until the smell of canned fish had filled the kitchen and the cat was making rapid headway through the tin.   Jeff shook his head, watching it eat for a moment, then picked up the plastic bag.  “Eat up.  I’ll be in the back.”

The cat didn’t even pause as he stepped over it, the thud of his boots dulled by the carpet in the living room, disappearing into the back bedroom.  There was the sound of a door half-heartedly closing.  After another minute, the muffled sound of someone singing off-key Steppenwolf without a backup track drifted through the kitchen.  The cat was too busy eating to do more than mew in complaint.

When the only thing left in the can was the memory of tuna, the yellow cat nosed the tin around the kitchen floor for a few minutes before finally deciding that no more fish would be forthcoming.  With a final bat of its paw, it knocked the tin into the dark niche beside the aging refrigerator and sauntered off to the back bedroom.

The door wasn’t latched; it swung open gently to admit the cat.  From the bathroom, the scent of vanilla and candle smoke wafted, and as the cat padded through the doorway Jeff finished the last chorus of “Power Play” and looked up. 

“Hey, junkie,” he greeted it cordially.  It might have been the yellow cat’s name; the creature yowled softly in return and sat back on its haunches.  Jeff picked up a tongue depressor, dipping it into a little crockery pot sitting over a candle.  “It’s about ready,” he mused.  “Did you want some too?”

The cat backpedaled, fur rising over its hackles.   Jeff laughed, layering wax onto one leg and covering it with a cloth strip.  “It’s not for everyone,” he conceded.  “But you have to understand.”  He closed his eyes, grabbed the end of the cloth, and pulled.

There was a ripping sound.  The yellow cat yowled.  Jeff laid the strip aside, where the cat sniffed suspiciously at it.  “Not everyone,” he reminded it wryly, “is born beautiful.”

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Prompt:  A 6 foot 2, 250 pound man, long haired, goatee, covered in tattoos walks up to a cash register at Wal-mart with only 3 items: One can of tuna, one box of body sugaring wax and one can of deodorant.
It’s up to you to tell the story of his night after the purchase.
500 word max

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