The Woman Who Swallowed Her Cat by Rob Myers

Author:Rob Myers
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ECW Press
Published: 2011-04-07T04:00:00+00:00

25. CHICKEN LITTLE

Oblivious to the chicken’s journey from cage to slaughterhouse, Ernest bit into the succulent meat slathered in hot barbecue sauce. His shirt was already stained orange. Four pints into the evening, he barely had time to chew before swallowing his huge plate full of fast food.

There was nothing dainty about Ernest. Or his feeding habits. With 250 pounds on his six-foot frame, he was, let’s say, not much of a salad and lentil kind of guy.

Ripping meat from bone, Ernest suddenly choked as a pain stabbed his upper chest in the midst of his drunken feast. Coughing, he spit the mashed food onto a paper napkin then gulped the dregs of his beer.

He pounded his chest, trying to force a burp. The pain subsided but he could still feel a burn. To douse it, Ernest reached for his glass of lukewarm table water. He coughed again, chased the water with another glass of beer, burped, then repeated the cycle a few more times.

“You okay, man?” asked his buddy, Dylan.

“Swallowed funny,” Ernest rasped. “Feels like something’s stuck in my throat.”

Ernest threw some bills on the table, mumbled to Dylan that he had to get up early the next morning and left the bar. He walked the two blocks to his basement apartment, with the burn in his chest zinging each time he took a breath. Drunk and uncomfortable, he collapsed, fully clothed, on his unmade bed. Moments later, he was snoring, and drooling onto the sheets.

Three hours later, the need to pee woke him up. Ernest dragged himself to the bathroom but not before veering into the wall. Targeting the toilet, he managed to mostly hit the waiting water. But he still felt a nagging ache in his chest. He stumbled back to bed and awoke the following day just after noon.

As usual, Ernest rolled out of bed with a raging hangover, replete with a mouth that tasted like cotton, so he padded to the kitchen and tipped a carton of iced tea straight down his gullet. He popped a couple of aspirin tablets to clear his headache, then sat on the toilet, dumped his load, and stood up.

Ernest was surprised to see a black tarry trail in the water. What had he eaten? Obviously something that had turned bad. He flushed and washed his hands. Then, feeling lightheaded, he flopped back onto his mattress and snoozed. After finishing the night shift, Ernest had nowhere to spend his afternoons but the bar.

As days became weeks, Ernest continued to feel low so he called his family doctor. She said the black poop was likely the result of an ulcer, and after prescribing an antacid for the ache, she arranged blood tests. Then came the bad news: no more alcohol, no more drugs. Ernest figured he could live without crack cocaine, but beer? Well, that was a problem.

Later that day, a voice called out to Ernest from his answering machine. It was the doctor.

“I need to talk to you about your blood tests.

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