Champagne Dreams
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CastawayChapter 13 free porn video
The rest of the evening went uneventfully. After I finished eating, rinsed the plates and cooking things and put them in the dishwasher and refrigerated the leftover Bearnaise, I did a little more Tosca and then decided to call it a night. I gave the cat his final teaspoons of vodka—what with one thing and another I'd about gone through the bottle, I noticed—and headed off for bed. Briefly I thought about taking him upstairs; he'd slept with me every night. But the prospect of rolling over on him in my sleep and undoing the surgical work I'd done put me off that idea, and I left him where he was. I woke once in the wee small hours and went down to check on him, but so far as I could tell he seemed fine. He'd partially pushed off his blanket and I could see that the incision appeared to be knitting nicely, so I went back to bed.
Despite yesterday's resolution about my morning grooming, I hurried downstairs again in my bathrobe as soon as I woke, this time at the much more decorous hour of 7:00, to once again see how the cat was doing. He was still asleep as I entered the room, but seemed to sense my presence and almost immediately sat up. He was moving, I saw, much more easily than the previous evening.
I walked over and stooped down beside him. "Good morning," I told him with a friendly smile. His own face contorted slightly in what I supposed was reciprocation, and he began to struggle effortfully to his feet. I held out my hand as support, and he gratefully grasped it and pulled himself erect on his hind legs. Then he started to walk, slowly but steadily, to the door.
"Want me to carry you again?" I asked. But I sensed the negative even without his touching me. He was probably right; I knew that doctors placed a big store on getting post-operative patients moving as early as possible, and with his superior feel for his own body's needs and condition he probably didn't have to be told that. I opened the door and let him out.
The porch steps were another matter; when he reached them he looked a bit daunted. This time I did pick him up and carry him down, setting him back on his feet at the bottom. He went on for several paces before settling down to pass his waste. Once again he moved on and wiped himself, but then he walked a short distance further before returning to me—getting a bit of exercise, I surmised. I carried him back up the steps and into the house, releasing him once we were indoors.
He'd be hungry, I was sure, and this time likely he'd have a bigger appetite. I got out some more sprouts, added what little was left of the Romaine—he seemed to be strictly a vegetarian—and set it down for him. I also got the shot glass and put it beside the water bowl after refreshing the water. He gave me a grateful sort of nod, and I left him to it to go back upstairs and shower and dress.
By the time I got back down he'd finished eating and was lying down again, and he didn't stir as I made coffee and toasted a bagel and had my own breakfast. Then I sat down at the piano for my usual morning vocal exercises, holding it down to half-voice in deference to my snoozing companion but going through a full set. He was still sleeping when I finished, and I started to pick up the Tosca score again, but put it back down when I belatedly remembered Camilla's admonition that I get my own. That was easy enough; I got on-line and placed my order, paying extra again for two-day delivery, and then got back to work on the opera.
The morning seemed to go by quickly, and by noon I had the entire first act and about a third of the second fully in my head. It would sound very different with an orchestra and chorus, of course, not to mention the other soloists, but I was feeling pretty good about the progress I'd already made. Despite, I laughed to myself, some pretty drastic distractions. I went for an early lunch, a little paté and brie cheese spread on a slice of toast. On performance days I'd eat a good deal later and a lot heavier, to carry me through the show, but we were still dark today. The remaining Turandots would be tomorrow, Thursday and Saturday again, and that would end our season.
Kitty was moving again by then, and came over by my feet as I sat at the table, his tail lightly lashing my ankle. "May I have more food as well?" his voice came into my head.
"Sure," I told him, and went to get the rest of the sprouts. He polished them off quickly while I ate the balance of my own lunch.
We had unfinished business, cat and I, and perhaps now was a good time to get to it. He'd gone back to the quilt I'd laid out, and I went over and sat down on the part he wasn't occupying and reached out to lay my hand on the tail. It was completely boneless so far as I could tell, but with a surprising amount of musculature, very firm to the touch. And, I knew, with a huge nexus of nerve-endings and transmitters and other things I didn't even have words for.
"I think we need to talk, cat," I said aloud. "'Cat.' I can't just keep calling you that, you're nothing like a cat. Do you have a name, something I can say when I'm talking to you?"
What appeared in my mind was something utterly unpronounceable, something my vocal cords couldn't begin to reproduce. But I did my best. "Asmedogh?" I said tentatively.
I heard the same unpronounceable sound again, and it was repeated, but it still wouldn't come out of my mouth. "Asmedogh," I said again. "Sorry, it's the best I can do."
"It is good, then," he told me. "Speak to me by that name. Yes, Nick Volker, we must talk, you and I. I see your fears. I tell you now they are needless, you need have no fear at all, just as you had no fear when I showed you myself. But this day is not good for that. I must still heal. The food helps in this, but my body requires rest and to speak with you as I do is not restful. You have waited one day, will you wait one more, perhaps two?"
"I can do that, Asmedogh," I said; I was still speaking out loud, I knew—perhaps from what he'd transmitted to me, I wasn't sure—that it'd be easier for him if I did. But there was something else. "I need to get to the store, though, the food store." Monday was my usual day, and anyhow I was pretty much out of veggies. "Can you tell me what you like to eat? Other things, I mean."
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