Steam rose from the coffee pot. Vaporous tendrils curled and dissipated under Sheila's distracted gaze. She sat with chin in hand waiting. The digital stove clock showed 7:32 in neon red. At 7:35 she stood, stretched, and left her formica table. Three strides later she rested her forehead against a cool windowpane. Below the street was awakening , but her eyes found the sky. A thick fog bank rested lightly above the rooftops of Sacramento Street. Blue punctuations broke the gray monotony, but rain seemed inevitable. Sheila sighed.
Behind her the coffee pot hissed. As she turned toward it her eyes fell briefly on the pavement. She paused as dread began to rise within her. A small fur lump showed from a puddle of gore. She inhaled sharply and stepped back. Her hands found her stomach as it began to heave. Bile rose in her throat. She clutched the drape and felt her face contort.
She had left the bathroom window open. The small square window above the shower. She remembered this while walking slowly down her front stairs. She'd left it open once before and had spent an entire afternoon searching the neighborhood for Toledo. Now the worst consequence of the simple negligence had come about. She stopped at the curb. He was a purplish streak across her neighbor's driveway. Sheila shivered. Fat droplets began splattering the sidewalk. She lifted her face to feel the rain on her skin. Several drops ran down her nose before she faced Toledo again. She nudged his hindquarters with her bare toe. He was stiff. Bile rose in her throat again. Her arms wrapped her torso tightly and she closed her eyes. Rain was already soaking through to her skin. She had no place to bury his corpse. The apartment had an alley for a yard. Her eyes wandered morosely up the street as her mind went quietly blank. They came to rest on a small square sign set atop a nearby pole. No Parking Tuesday 9 AM to 12 Noon Street Sweeping.
She sighed and began the gruesome task of shifting Toledo's corpse.
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