He sits in the living room, peeling an orange. A candle burns in the window, letting off a yellow hue. The cat rubs against his leg. He offers a slice and rubs kitty’s neck. The calico licks at the piece of fruit. The old man places it in his mouth. Chews on it. And puts the bowl and knife on the coffee table. He sits back in his recliner and stares at shadows on a cracked ceiling. Close your eyes, he says out loud. Just close your eyes.

The old man dreams of when he was younger. Jet black hair and thin. He’s at a wedding. Kissing a girl in the garden. Roses have evening dew.

They kiss, and he places his suit jacket on her. The air is chilly and crisp. It is autumn. A thousand days hath September. He smiles while he sleeps.

The cat jumps in his lap. With eyes closed, the old man strokes him, talks to him.

I have a confession, he tells El Gato. There were many before you. He laughs. Many. The cat stares up at him and says, you’re forgiven.

The candle continues burning.