When Sylvia was growing up she had a cat. It was old, but fluffy, and her mom had gotten it for the family just before Sylvia was born. It’s fur was shaggy and grey, with ugly green eyes that glared at you any time of day, a few little black stripes that directed you towards its gaze.
It’s not really anyone else’s place to say if she was a dog or cat person more, but it was clear that Sylvia and this cat did not get along.
It would tear up her stray drawings, left on the floor or fallen from tables, chew on her toys until there was little tooth-sized holes in them every which way. There was one time it found a way to strip her favorite dress of all its sparkle, tearing the skirt’s tool away from itself.
Perhaps it was in revenge, to all the times little toddler-Sylvia would yank its tail, make it wear hats, etc etc. But how was that fair? She was just a little two year old, after all?
If you were to now ask Sylvia what that cats name was, she couldn’t even tell you. She was only 6 or so when it died, and she was too busy whining and crying about its behavior to even want to put its wretched name onto her tongue.
Tim and Dallas knew well of this cat. Sometimes when Sylvia, even in her teen years, would recall her precious photos and memories wearing that dress, or see the old catalog to the toys that had fallen victim to its teeth. She hated the damn thing; refused to recognize it as a being, it was now just a thing.
Growing up Tim basically memorized the long list of things this cat had done to terrorize Sylvia, maybe that’s why he was so surprised to see her crying on the curb of the old playground, claiming it had finally kicked the bucket.
“The cat..” she choked out through a sob. “It’s, it’s-“
Tim had prepared himself for another toy being broken, or maybe that new fancy dress her dad had bought her being torn up. But instead, he was met with;
“It’s dead!”
“..Well, isn’t that a good thing?”
“No!! No Tim, he’s gone! He ain’t coming back!!”
At the time Tim couldn’t completely grasp what it was that had truly upset Sylvia- it couldn’t actually be that devil spawn’s passing. Perhaps more, the stress of it. No doubt Sylvia’s mom was at home, crying about how her precious little ‘kitten’ had gone and bit the dust, Sylvia felt bad more than anything.
What if she hadn’t screamed at it the way she had a couple nights before? Is that why? She never meant for her mama to cry, really.
“I didn’t mean for him to die!!”
“It ain’t your fault, Sylv, it was old.”
“Yeah, but I screamed at him!”
“That wouldn’t kill him, Sylvia.”
Despite the 7 year olds attempt at comfort, Sylvia still cried and cried until she had to lean into Tim’s shoulder for some sort of support.
And while she sat there, on that old playground curb in ‘54, Tim held her with just one thing on his mind:
‘thank god.’
@sophie-i-guess13 @collieflower215 @rumble-aint-a-rumble-without-me @the-height-of-life @outsiders-lesbian-xvi @johnnycadesjeanjacket @mysemantics [idk y’all this came to my head this morning it’s random as hell but I need to write something ]
edit:
Sophie added onto this and it’s gorgeous so click here
Enjoy
