The Move, Part 2

Tweak is stretched out in a square of sunlight on the carpet.

Me: “Getting recharged?”

I cleared away boxes just moments ago. Tweak glides down and claims victory over the new warm surface, or, as Tweak calls it, a “solar panel.”

Tweak: “Gotta power up the sarcasma-tron.”

Me: “I don’t think of you as sarcastic. More like honest with a side of pissed off.”

Bowie-dog doddles in. “Better to be pissed off than pissed on.”

Tweak: “You told that joke in 3rd grade.”

Bowie: “You’ve been pissed off since 2nd.”

Tweak climbs into a banana box to prove it.


Me: “Have you calmed down?”

Tweak: “So how long before we have to move? Six months? A year?”

Me: “Tomorrow.”

Tweak: “I’M NOT READY!”

Me: “You don’t have to DO anything. You’re a princess.”


Tweak rolls over and offers us her pink belly, a peach ripe for worship.

Tweak: “Who will bring my food?”

Me: “Molly, the soft girl.”

Tweak: “Who will carry my scratching posts?”

Me: “The Boy.”

She flips upright.

Tweak: “The Boy will be here?”

Me: “Careful, Tweak. That was almost a smile.”


She squints to rearrange the happy. Clint Eastwood in fur.

Tweak: “And who wrestles the litter box?”

Me: “Guess.”

Tweak: “Don’t forget my sifters. I hate when my shit sits and the dog eats it.”

Bowie: “I don’t eat shit. I test it for humble pie. So far you’re clean.”


Tweak stretches out again in the sun, gorgeous despite the disdain. Maybe because of.

Me: “Tweak, do nothing.”

Tweak: “Got it.”

Me: “But please make yourself available for transport tomorrow afternoon at 4:00.”

Tweak: “Piss off.”


To be continued…


29 May 2015, “Tolerating Tweak”


sun square

“The Move, Part 1”


Tweak: “Do we even OWN any bananas?”

Me: “Does anyone ever really own a banana?”

Tweak: “There’s always a banana in the night stand.”

Me: “That’s not a banana.”


I muscle up another box full of books and carry it out to the garage.


Tweak: “Lift with your legs.”

Me: “Shut with your mouth.”


I load the third or hundredth box into my car and pause to make coffee.


Tweak: “Where are you taking all of this stuff anyway?”

I stir in some caramel sauce.

Tweak: “Is there a shelter that needs five copies of ‘Fight Club’?”

I pour in two Splendas.

Tweak: “Are you having a bonfire?”

I open the cream.

Tweak: “Did something DIE?”

Me: “Only my dreams.”


I toss her a milk ring. She freezes, alert to the misdirection.

Me: “Tweak…”

Tweak: “What.”

She bites off the consonant. Every hair goes quiet. Even her eyes are still.

Me: “Tweak… We have to move.”

Tweak bursts out of the banana box like somebody dumped spiders on her.


And then set them on fire.


Tweak: “What exactly is WRONG with you? Can’t you haunt just ONE house for a while??”

Me: “Tweak…”

Tweak: “You’re like the un-dead renter!”

Me: “Tweak…”

Tweak: “If I had thumbs I would drive a stake through your heart!”

Bowie: “Did someone say ‘steak’?”

Bowie-dog peeks her dopey head around the corner.

Tweak: “Wait, that would never work. THAT WOULD IMPLY YOU HAD A HEART!!!”


To be continued…

21 May 2015, “Tolerating Tweak”


banana box

“Freight Train Dog”

Tweak: “What’s wrong with your dog?”

Me: “It’s May. You know what that means.”

Tweak: “We’re all going to get a new ‘Uncle’?”

Me: “Thunderstorms.”

Bowie-dog is breathing like a freight train on the floor next to my bed.

Tweak: “It’s unfortunate your dog lacks thumbs. Amtrak could use a new engineer.”

Me: “Too soon, Tweak.”

Tweak climbs onto my chest. Not afraid, superior.

Tweak: “It’s 1:00 in the morning. Shouldn’t we be sleeping?”

Me: “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

Tweak: “I know a guy.”

Bowie-dog lies longways and upright, not on her side. Head up, face down, barreling into a panic tunnel. Except that she never moves forward. She has wedged herself into a slender strip of floor between my bed and the wall.

Me: “Can you make it look like an accident?”

Tweak: “I can make it look like a meteor hit your windshield.”

Bowie-dog’s breath engine pumps in and out like a fur bellows from Hell. She is panting so hard and fast that the rug underneath her is soaked from hot fear.

Tweak: “I bet she’s doing 106.”

I cover my eyes with one arm. The rain pours.

Tweak: “That curve is only built for 55.”

Lightning flashes, the thunder cracks, Bowie-dog lurches and crashes headfirst into the nightstand.

Tweak: “Maybe you should check her black box.”

I roll over.

Me: “Uncle.”


18 May 2015 — “Tolerating Tweak”

“Pet Me”

Tweak, leaps on the bed and pins me in: “Why aren’t you petting me?”
Me: “I’m tired.”
Tweak: “But I’m pretty.”
Me: “Tweak, it doesn’t work that way. Both people have to want to.”
Tweak: “But I always want to.”
Me: “You only have to lay there!”
Tweak: “Lie.”
Me: “I am lying.”

Tweak stomps over my chest, flips her tail in air. Her ass reminds me that it’s an ass.

Tweak: “You should pet me.”
Me: “Tweak, I’m trying to sleep.”

She flips her body into an S-shape like a magic trick. Her impossibly blue eyes stare at me upside down.

Tweak: “Pet me.”
Me: “You’re giving me the bends.”

She stretches long and stabs my arm with a talon, then bashes her forehead into my ribs. Again. And again.

Tweak: “I. Am. Very. Pretty.”

So I pet her.

Tweak: “Learn from me.”
Me: “Kiss my ass.”
Tweak: “Exactly.”


17 May 2015 – “Tolerating Tweak”


Pet me.