The Glorious Horse

          While Miles was outside admiring the horse, Miss Kitty started her routine. First, she dusted Miles' bookcase, making sure she didn’t knock over a book or uncover one of his numerous stashes of tidbits.

            Harold sat in his rocking chair, longing for a cigar. He wondered if he would be able to draw in the smoke, and if he could smell the pungent aroma. Unfortunately, thinking about sensual matters tended to make Harold morose, and this resulted in what Miles called the fading. By the time Miss Kitty had completed dusting Harold was invisible. However, Miss Kitty knew that Harold was still in the room on account of the squeaky rocking chair.

            Miles practically jumped back into the house, his whiskers aquiver. “Oh, Miss Kitty, your horse is glorious.”

            Harold grumbled, “Miles thinks your horse is glorious.” Harold didn’t care for horses. His uncle owned a dude ranch, but every time Harold rode a horse, he ended up with one that brushed him off with branches of trees or ran back to the barn, with, or without Harold, on its back.

            “Why, thank-you, Miles. She has a curious disposition, a big heart, and a long walk. Despises the roundish pen; hates riding in circles.”

            “Oh, I completely understand,” Miles said. “If I were a horse, I’d want you to be my human.”

            Miles looked at Harold, but as he had gone completely invisible, even Miles couldn’t see him. “Oh dear,” Miles said, “Harold, are you all right?”

            Harold had ambled up the stairs, and was having a lie down in the attic bedroom. Sometimes, sinking into his cold, white bones gave him comfort.