Who Will Feed My Cats - Flash Fiction by Janice D. Soderling

Who Will Feed My Cats?

The six beds were separated by heavy green curtains. "Who will feed my cats?" she asked, over and over, even in her sleep. She snored too, noisy as an engine breaking down, disturbing the other women who asked the night nurse for ear plugs, but those didn't help much, so they got sleeping pills. Her two sons visited, never together, both anxious to leave as soon as they sat down. "You don't have any cats," said one son emphatically, the one with the deep voice. "Can you feed them while I'm here?" she asked and there was a long silence. "Please." Then she began to snore and after a little while his chair scraped against the floor and he left. When she woke up, she asked, "Where is my cat?" The other women looked at the ceiling and shook their heads. One raised an eyebrow. The following evening the second son came. Like his brother, he was bald and a little stooped, fiftyish they were, both of them, taciturn. The second son had a slight lisp. He told her, "I fed them yesterday. Don't worry." She was immediately suspicious. "How did you get in? You don't have a key." "I fed them," he said. "Don't worry." She fell asleep. The doctor came in and told the son, "We have the test results. I'm afraid it is not good news." The son said, "Okay." She woke up with a snort and asked the doctor, "What about my cats?" but he was already walking out of the ward, the son trailing behind. The next day the son with the deep voice arrived just before visiting hours ended. "It's your liver," he said. "There is nothing they can do about it. They are sending you home tomorrow." "That's good," she whispered. "I don't like it here. Those other women snore. And I worry about my cats." The following morning the lisper son came. He said, "You are being discharged now. Get dressed and get your things together while I talk to the doctor." She said, "Did you feed my cats today?" He didn't answer and she asked again. "I think they ran away," he said. She began to cry. He said, "Nothing to cry about. It's only a damned cat and there never was one anyway." Then he began to cry too, huge, gulping man sobs. "Don't cry," she said. "Poor little cats. There is nothing we can do about it now."

Janice D. Soderling has published hundreds of poems, flash fiction, short stories and translations, most recently at Better than Starbucks and Autumn Sky Poetry Daily. Her latest poetry collection is titled "Rooms and Closets"