Get Well Card

           Miss Kitty brushed back her hair, using her thumb to pin the forever lose strand behind her ear. She hated when the hair tangled itself up in her eyebrow ring. Once, she tried growing her hair long enough to tie it into a ponytail, but the curls constantly disobeyed, and snaked around her brow like a devilish halo.

            “Dear Miles,” she typed into her smart phone. “I visited Chad at KMC. He is on suicide watch, going through withdrawals and still delusional. They did let me visit with him, but he won’t tell me anything until he can talk to Harold.”

            Miles, snacking on a Dove chocolate bar, washed his jaw, nose, ears, tail, and paws before he sent Miss Kitty a reply message.

            “Can you buy a get well card for Chad on your way home? Harold and I will type him up a letter, and mail it to him. That’s the best we can do in this unusual situation.”

            “Ok,” Miss Kitty replied.

            “Well,” Harold said. Harold had his head on his shoulders, and was dressed in tan carpenter pants, a pink t-shirt, and sandals. His blue eyes were cased in shadows, and it looked like he had decided to try growing a beard.

            “Chad won’t discuss anything with Miss Kitty until he talks to you. He’s delusional, suicidal, and going through withdrawals. I think we should write the bastard a letter, Harold.”

            “He’s probably paranoid, Miles. And I doubt he’ll believe that it’s me. He did, after all, kill me.”

            Miles scratched his ear, giving himself a few seconds to think. As far as Miles was concerned, the powers that be should just let Chad, AKA Smack Death, kill himself and save everyone time and energy. On the other hand, Harold needed some kind of ending; Harold needed the truth.

            “Miss Kitty is buying a get well card. You can write the letter, Harold. I’ll type it in. After all, you know Chad, and can provide intimate details that only you and Chad know. We’ll print the letter out, forge your signature, and send it to KMC. What do you think?”

            Harold sighed, which sounded like the last gasping breath of a recently hooked fish. “Sounds like a workable plan,” Harold said.