I know what they're thinking. The kids in the neighborhood only stop by on Halloween for candy, all nervous and concealing their laughs. Occasionally when a baseball rolls into the yard they come to get it. I watch them from the window as they dare each other to step into my yard. What do they think I'm going to do, feed them to my cats? Not likely, tough, chewy stringy little bastards, they are. They think I'm a witch. I just like to keep to myself.
If they ever gave me a moment, I'd tell them. Oh, maybe I wouldn't. They wouldn't appreciate the rambling story of an old lady. They won't appreciate it until they are older, anyway, I'll never tell.
This one's name is Sputters. He can't meow. When he was a kitten I kept telling him to spit it out already; that's a phrase I adopted from my mother, God rest her soul.
She used to say that to me when I would get too excited to speak. I'd come running in to the house with some news from school and get so excited the words would tangle in my mouth, and she'd say, "For heaven's sake, Cynthia! Spit it out!" Sputters.
That one over there is Wendell. I've had a cat named Wendell for years. One Wendell dies, I get a new one, and name him Wendell too. It just always seemed like the right thing to do. The rest of the cats have come here over the years. I couldn't turn them away. They're my children. I'd go find me a new Wendell and bring home another sad little devil of a cat cuz I just couldn't leave 'em. The Wendells always come with baggage. I know, I shouldn't laugh, but it always seemed the way.
Why do I name them Wendell? Well, let me see. Wendell was my very best friend. We grew up together. He lived over on Pearl Street. I lived on Moore, right around the corner. He loved cats too. When we got older he said he would marry me one day. His family moved away for work though. That's when finding work in these parts was hard to do. My heart was broken. Wendell George wrote me letters. I still have them if you want to see them. He made me promises and told me how he loved me and I wrote back and said all the same stuff, just in girl words.
One week I didn't get a letter. The next I got a package in the mail. It was from Wendells's mother. She wrote me a note that said he'd gone into the Army. Wartime and all, so many young men went away. She sent me some things he's told her to. A photo of him. A letter he hadn't had time to send, his letter sweater from school, and a ring. He'd been working as a farm hand, saving his money. The letter he wrote said it wasn't an engagement ring, but to save the spot for something better when he returned.
The next letter I got was a condolence. He never came back.
I wish that ring still fit. He was my best friend. It didn't feel right replacing him. He was the only one for me. See over there, around Wendell's neck? That's the collar all of my Wendell's wear. The pendant is the ring. Only seems right. Just always seemed like the way.
I wasn't paying attention to the clock. I have no idea how long that took. Not too long, but...well probably too long. I like this character.