“What have you found?” He takes the bloody little flip-flop from me, and goes still, looking at it. “I thought I threw that away,” he says. “Why won’t it stay gone? I don’t want it down here, I don’t want you to see it.” He puts the flip-flop in his pocket and picks me up. His breath is a warm blast through my fur. I writhe and scream but it’s no good.

He puts me in the crate. The lid comes down. I hear him piling things on top. He NEVER does that while I am in here. I row politely, because clearly there has been some kind of mistake. I won’t be able to get out. But he carries on. Ted is trapping me! Why would he do that?

I row and row, but I am answered by silence. Ted is gone. He has locked me here in the dark. I try not to panic. He’ll get over it and let me out. Besides, I love my crate, don’t I?

I can’t sleep. Every so often I twitch awake, convinced there is someone in here with me. I feel them along my side, stirring in the dark.

TED

I cannot remember exactly how old I was when I realized that my Mommy was beautiful. No more than five, I think. I understood it not by looking at her but from the other kids’ and parents’ expressions. When she picked me up from school the parking lot was always full, and they all looked.

It gave me complicated feelings. It was obvious that the other mommies weren’t like her. My mommy had smooth skin and big eyes that seemed to see only you when they looked. She didn’t wear big jeans or sweaters. She wore a blue dress with a skirt that swished about her calves like the sea, or sometimes sheer blouses, which showed glimpses of the warm shadowed caverns of her. She spoke really softly and gently, she never yelled like other moms. Her pointed consonants and flat vowels were exotic. I was proud that they looked at her. But the glances also made a little hot place in my belly fire up. I both wanted them to look and didn’t. It was better after I started taking the bus.

I was protective of her at school. But I was always most jealous when Mommy came home from her shift. I was scared that all the other kids she looked after at the hospital would use her up and there would be nothing left for me.

In a way, that was what happened. She was heartbroken when they let her go. There were cutbacks everywhere, everyone knew that. Money was tight. Daddy told me to keep out of Mommy’s hair. She needed some space, he said. And she did seem diminished, somehow. Her easy glow was dimmed. I was fourteen or so then, maybe.