Forgiveness

     

            "Do you really forgive him, even if he killed you and Lilith,” Miles asked, dipping the tip of his tail into the bottle of ink Miss Kitty brought over.

            Harold scratched his forehead, and then stared at his wedding ring.

            Silent for once, Miles practiced copying the signature Harold had used on his wedding certificate.

            “Miles,” Harold said, “When Chad was high on crank, or whatever other drug, he became Smack Death. I do not forgive Smack Death. In fact, I’d like to kill him. But Chad, well, Chad was this really great drummer with a big heart and a wonderful sense of humor. He was like my brother. I have to forgive Chad. How else can I forgive myself?”

            Miss Kitty, perched on the bottom step of the stairs leading to the attic where Harold was murdered, nodded her head.

            Miles swallowed a sob. He knew that if he started crying, he wouldn’t be able to stop. Why, he thought, my tears would flood this house and become a weapon of mass destruction. He wished he were a really big packrat, so he could embrace both his friends in a warm and fuzzy hug. Plus, he thought, my little body simply isn’t equipped for these really big emotions.

            Miles, satisfied with his rendition of Harold’s signature, dipped his tail in the ink one more time, and then signed the letter that they both wrote.

            Harold, leaning over, admired Miles’ work. “Why Miles,” Harold said, “that’s perfect. You are a packrat of many talents.”

            Miles, flustered at the compliment, started washing his paws. Miss Kitty brought a bowl full of water for Miles to clean his tail in. “Thank-you,” Miles said. “Thank-you both.”