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Long In The Wee Hours: A woman dies alone
Posted by Realist101, Jan 5, 2013. 513 views. ID = 6059

Long In The Wee Hours

Posted by Realist101, Jan 5, 2013. 513 views. ID = 6059
This post was written in 30 minutes.
Thank you for real critiques and your time. I hope you will enjoy this.
This post has been awarded 4 stars by 1 reader.

Long In The Wee Hours

The new lamp shone with a soft glow on the worn carpet and Mrs. Brown sighed with pleasure. It'd been a long time since she'd splurged and purchased something beautiful for herself. In fact, it'd been years. She walked to the pale mauve lamp and twisted the switch to off. The sunshine streaming through the window was too bright for the lamp to be needed. But she had to see what it looked like, lit up. The hummingbird design was flawless. The artist who'd designed it so talented.

"Mr. Peebles, what'dya think? Pretty, isn't it?" The old cat wound around her legs, his purr one of agreement and his tail a question mark asking for a meal. Long, white hairs stuck to the blue slacks Mrs. Brown wore, the one thing she disliked about having a white cat. The hairs ... everywhere, there were long white hairs. It was almost a full-time job removing them from the furniture. And her clothing, but she wouldn't trade her friend for all the hair-free living in the world.

"Come on, then, Peebs. Let's see what we've got for you." The can of Fancy Feast opening was all it took. The cat zipped into the kitchen, this time meowing loudly, his raspy voice a familiar comfort to his mistress. She laughed, thankful for his company. Without him, the absence of her late husband would be unbearable.

The rest of the afternoon passed in quietude and ease of living for both cat and human. The sun finally retreated 'good-night' and the woman returned to her den and switched the new lamp on. The pink body of the thing cast a warm color to the atmosphere in the room. It was enthralling to her, and she sat back with a heavy sigh, the pain in her chest growing with intensity. She didn't think once of asking for help. It was okay, as long as Mr. Peebles was with her, and she stretched out in the old easy chair that had held the dying Mr. Brown four long months ago.


"Come'ere, Peebles. Kitty! Come on." The Persian leapt to her lap, and began to knead her velveteen housecoat. His purr grew loud with contentment, and as the dark grew indigo blue, and the shadows reached around the house, the cat slept deeply, cradled in the old chair with his beloved mistress. He would not move until the grandfather clock struck the midnight hour. Until the owls outside the window, called him home too.

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