Today I awoke to the scream from my kettle. Stream rolled out, like starving birds in winter. Droplets thrashed down into a sun blushed doily, before ambling away over the kitchen counter. I’ll try and move it later. Could that loathsome kettle actually be a fleeting distraction? In some awful way it was. So easily am I distracted from today’s mission. The big one. Opening that damn shoe box again. Yes, that’s right, a box to store, purchase or retain shoes. Although, as so many of us tend to, I retain my bridges to better times. Dated. Labelled. Catalogued. Now, resting in a coffin like state, dead centre on my coffee table in my solitary living quarters. Why is Paul making me do this? So, at some point today, I will lift that lid, slide one hand in, then find a photo looking up at me in the eyes saying “You left your bedroom untidy ... get back in there and sort it!”

***

Mum called with peculiar venom. Her voice shattered ear drums and your nerves all at once. Leaping to the foot of the stairwell, swooping through tangles of door beads, then pulling up to a company halt at her feet. I looked upwards - her expression was military. It was disturbed. She tapped her foot to a 4-4 rhythm - I knew it was 4-4 because that was the same rhythm she would take out her frustration on me. I knew it was coming I just didn’t know how, but I knew why. Paulie.

Paulie slunk in low, circling the table legs. Appearing curious and sorry for himself all at the same time. He could eat breakfast, lunch and dinner at once. He was greedy and fat. But speedy and loveable. He maintained a golden coat with only the briefest of imperfections of white flecks across his snout and left ear. And there, across his lips, lay Mum’s groceries, a trail of evidence. Paulie lay happy and satisfied on the ground, in the shadow of the table’s radiance.

Like balloons being stretched, Mum pulled me by the fingers. She didn’t have to say a word - her actions spoke the loudest words. The kettle pinged. Bubbles cried. The vapours rode northward. I screeched. My hand blistered. I crumpled on cold tiles. She left like a tempest.

From beneath the table, he raised his speckled snout. Tentatively edging to his owner; his favourite. The boy contained his weeping. Turning it into red hot huffs. His breathing quicken. His eyes darted to the counter. He grabbed the kettle. Towering high above his faithful friend. Tilting his hand with calm resolution. A droplet fell. It met it’s mark. Paulie winced. Whined. Began to scream. He dropped the kettle to the ground. He collapsed next to Paulie. Begged for forgiveness. Begged to fly away.

***

Here I am, crumpled like a half-soaked napkin. Dog-eared photo between my fingers. With the echo of droplets from the counter in a terrible 4-4 beat.