My father was English. He date-raped my mother so she's hated English men ever since. You know my boyfriend's English, and I'm, uh, I'm half-English, which she's never been real happy about. If she finds out I'm dating someone English, she'll ah, think I' turning my back on her and becoming a foreigner.'
Cathy, that's the stupidest reason I've ever heard.
I heard the smile disappear from Cat's face. "Next."
I repeated myself.
"Are you referring to Stephenie Meyer's books?"
"Yes," I said. A little unwillingly.
Cat chuckled. "There's no shame in reading enjoyable books. But this topic is better discussed later."
You arrogant...” thrust through the stomach of a snapping zombie, twisting and using all my strength to cleave him in half “... over published...” wasn't going to work, it clawed at the blade, and my God, these things were tough, “...showy old bat...” Crack! There went my head into the wall. If I didn't have a split skull, I'd be amazed. “What are you waiting for? Aren't you the king of all bogeymen? The legend children fear will devour them if they don't behave?”
“Come on, Vlad, live up to your reputation! If you can't burn to death one Egyptian vampire chained to a wall, how did you ever drive the Turks from Romania?”
“You did it!”
“Of course, I'm Vlad Tepesh, what did you expect?
I thought of Bobby, of the last look he had given me, and at that moment I understood one of the differences between man and cat: man knows he's going to die, so he can get ready and be willing, even eager, to go. A cat knows the end is near, but that's all. He can't accept death: he can't trust in it; cats are perhaps too metaphysical an entity to need to believe in the idea of a beyond; a cat is his own god and man his creation.
I had a dream about you. You were a sad snowman who couldn’t cry because your eye rain was too cold, and I was a used ice-cream salesman. Hanging out with you was the first time I cuddled with a tri-glob of snow like it was a cat. Fur is more fun to pet than frozen water.