Frail and Vulnerable

 Joe was exhausted.

He leaned his head back in the recliner, slid his finger inside the book to keep his place, laid the book across his left thigh, and closed his eyes. His beloved cat Patsy was draped over his right thigh.

It was 8:52 on a Sunday morning.

He had not slept well since the surgery. Four straight weeks of late night torture. He typically went to bed at midnight, 1:00, 1:30.......and invariably woke up for the first time always around 3:00. Every fucking time. Always around 3:00.

Then he would doze off and on for 2 or 3 hours and wake up for good around 5 or 6.

When he read in the morning he had to take breaks. He was too tired to concentrate. Sometimes he fell back asleep.

Like today.

Joe's chronic fatigue led to slip ups and oversights. He forgot to lock the front door last night.

So his friend was able to slip into the house silently. He walked to the recliner and looked down on Joe with disgust.

Sleeping. Book on one thigh, cat on the other. So frail, so fucking vulnerable.

He quickly drew the knife across Joe's throat and left the house quickly.

Patsy had leaped to the floor and began to clean herself frantically.

If Joe could have seen Patsy smeared with his blood he would have broken down sobbing. She was his precious cat.

As it was, Joe saw nothing.

And he never would again.