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He
took
the
cat
out
of
her
room
and
carried
it
downstairs
,
trying
to
breathe
through
his
mouth
.
There
were
worse
smells
;
shit
was
worse
,
if
you
wanted
to
be
perfectly
blunt
.
A
month
ago
they
'd
had
a
go-round
with
the
septic
tank
,
and
as
Jud
had
said
when
he
came
over
to
watch
Puffer
and
Sons
pump
the
tank
,
"
That
ai
n't
Chanel
Number
Five
,
is
it
,
Louis
?
"
The
smell
of
a
gangrenous
wound
--
what
old
Doctor
Bracermunn
at
med
school
had
called
"
hot
flesh
"
--
was
worse
too
.
Even
the
smell
which
came
from
the
Civic
's
catalytic
converter
when
it
had
been
idling
in
the
garage
for
a
while
was
worse
.
But
this
smell
was
pretty
damn
bad
.
And
how
had
the
cat
gotten
in
,
anyway
?
He
had
put
it
out
earlier
,
sweeping
it
out
with
the
broom
while
all
three
of
them
--
his
people
--
were
upstairs
.
This
was
the
first
time
he
had
actually
held
the
cat
since
the
day
it
had
come
back
,
almost
a
week
ago
.
It
lay
hotly
in
his
arms
,
like
a
quiescent
disease
,
and
Louis
wondered
,
What
bolthole
did
you
find
,
you
bastard
?
He
thought
suddenly
of
his
dream
that
other
night
--
Pascow
simply
passing
through
the
door
between
the
kitchen
and
the
garage
.
Maybe
there
was
no
bolthole
.
Maybe
it
had
just
passed
through
the
door
,
like
a
ghost
.
"
Bag
that
,
"
he
whispered
aloud
,
and
his
voice
was
slightly
hoarse
.
Louis
became
suddenly
sure
that
the
cat
would
begin
to
struggle
in
his
arms
,
that
it
would
scratch
him
.
But
Church
lay
totally
still
,
radiating
that
stupid
heat
and
that
dirty
stink
,
looking
at
Louis
's
face
as
if
it
could
read
the
thoughts
going
on
behind
Louis
's
eyes
.
He
opened
the
door
and
tossed
the
cat
out
into
the
garage
,
maybe
a
little
too
hard
.
"
Go
on
,
"
he
said
.
"
Kill
another
mouse
or
something
.
"
Church
landed
awkwardly
,
its
hindquarters
bunching
beneath
it
and
momentarily
collapsing
.
It
seemed
to
shoot
Louis
a
look
of
green
,
ugly
hate
.
Then
it
strolled
drunkenly
off
and
was
gone
.
Christ
,
Jud
,
he
thought
,
but
I
wish
you
'd
kept
your
mouth
shut
.
