Snacking with Sadaam
Sadaam strolls into my studio and slams the door. His face is gaunt
and he’s wearing a tattered tuxedo. I can see a pistol tucked
under his belt. “Asalama alaikum,” I say and he winces.
He reaches into a bowl of kibble perched on my dresser. I don’t
want to tell him it’s cat food. “It’s difficult
to find much during the occupation,” he admits as he chews.
Then my cat comes in—she leaps up on the dresser and nudges
Sadaam’s hand out of the way with her head.
Sadaam holds up a kibble and examines it. “What’s in
here that cats like?” “Fish,” I say, “only
dried fish.” Sadaam nods. He opens the door and pauses in
my doorway. He pulls out his pistol. “Do you brush the cat’s
teeth?” he asks. “Sometimes,” I answer. “Americans,”
he says shaking his head, “treat pets better than humans.”
Copyright © 2004 Kirby Wright. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.