Angry At My Cat

Tonight I threw Charles across the room. I said, "You can't do that. You can't bite me." I was kneeling beside my bed, looking at the globe on my bedside table, not thinking about the North Pacific or Madagascar but the whole planet like a broken snow globe in space, leaking cotton and jell-o and people. My little globe is nine inches in diameter and looks a picture of someone's cousin with leukemia. Or maybe a bit of memorabilia from a favorite teacher who died in a car accident while masturbating on the highway. As soon as I threw him I felt very bad and looked down at the bed, with the sheet and blanket pulled back one quarter of the way at the corner closest to me. What I noticed was the shadows of the folds in the fitted sheet. There seemed to be a great many of them, more than I'd ever seen before.