Jack Part 2
By the time he had finished, the burning orb had settled just a few feet above the peaks of the mountains. Though the day was only starting, the temperature had already reached a record high. Not that anyone took measurements out here. That type of attention was reserved for more populated areas. Out here, where the closest neighbor was over 10 miles away, the only relevancy there was in checking the temperature was in determining how much you bitched about it.
Sweat beaded along Jack's forehead, droplets stinging his eyes as the salty liquid made its way past his eyelashes, dribbling off the tip of his chin. He gritted his teeth. After three years living out here, small things like that had stopped bothering him.
Picking up the bucket, he went to the side of the porch, emptying the contents as red hued water and small black particulates ran along the edge of the scorched wood, issuing through the gaps between to the blackness under the porch. The ground took it in with hunger. Walking back while simultaneously picking up the mop, Jack headed inside to the cold interior of his kitchen, finding Loyd once again asleep on the kitchen table.
“What's new pussycat,” Jack mused.
Opening the refrigerator, he reached in and grabbed some eggs, turning on the burner and shifting a pan into place. The screech of metal on metal woke Loyd up who, after observing for a few seconds, laid his head down and went back to sleep. Jack turned around and rested his lower back against the counter. He grit his teeth and furrowed his brow, his eyes focused on bundle of fur.
“It just couldn't have been him.”
He had found the gray and white patterned cat two years ago near a stream a few miles from his house, its hair matted and limping badly. Jack didn't have much experience with cats, but he brought it home all the same, and after a couple of weeks the he was back to a healthy state, the limp all but vanished except when it rained.
He wasn't a indoor cat. That much he was sure about. At the first opportunity he had escaped the house, disappearing for days on end. But Loyd always returned eventually, and always greeted Jack from its favorite spot on the kitchen table
Scooping up some butter from the dish on the counter, Jack plopped it in the pan along with the eggs, as the sizzle of poultry and fat intermingled. When his food was sufficiently cooked, he grabbed two pieces of bread and headed to the table, taking his usual spot across from Loyd. Ritualistically, the cat opened its eyes, narrowing its gaze onto Jacks plate of food. Jack cut off a piece of egg and placed it in front of Loyd's waiting mouth.
How could a small cat do so much damage?
No. No it couldn’t have been Loyd. Whatever the bird had been, it was much larger then his normal prey. There were plenty of animals large enough in the area to hunt and kill something that size. But there was something that Jack was trying very hard not to think about. He shivered as the thought entered his mind involuntarily. Very little of the bird had been eaten. If anything, whatever had killed the bird took particular interest in playing with its food.
Once finished he headed out again, bucket in hand, to collect water at the creek.
