The Vigil

I lie on the bed, facing the window, watching the sky turn various shades of blue like my hearts longing as I wait for Mom's return. As soon as hear her I can peek out the curtains, hoping she looks up; maybe to see me waiting, my tags flashing in the moon light, even if she can not see me fully, she'll know I wait. Inigo says I'm a tool and goes to find trouble. I warn him, he may miss Mom, but that news seems only to hastened his retreat into other rooms.


We live in an old house without a bedroom door, Mom's made a sliding one out of a panel of wood and it would appear she left it ajar once again. The benefit for me is I am not sequestered in the room with Beetle. The benefit for Inigo is he has the run of the house. There is no benefit for Mom.


I can hear him rummaging in the bathroom garbage. He's brought me a toilet paper tube, or maybe it's for a new hoard pile, who's to say. I, however, plan on ignoring him and continuing my solitary vigil. Mom neglected to push the kitchen chair in again and it appears as if Inigo has gained purchase to the table and everything on it, which just moved noisily to the floor. He really should never be let out of his box, crate, monkey cage.

Mom's still not back; Beetle's run out of trouble or the energy to fuel more trouble, his stomach sure to be full of the garbage of which he's pillaged. Inigo circles a nest into the blankets, gives a surprisingly robust belch and cuddles his paper tube. Curiously he smells of butter.