Palm Heart

The ghost was present. She had a huge crush on him but couldn't let it show. She saw him in the wet prints leading out of the claw foot tub, the empty bottles of Dixie growing gnats. His shirts that she refused to wash were permanent bedding for the 6 cats she had acquired since his passing. The arm pits proved more feline ambrosia than the nip filled plush mouses abandoned in corners of dust bunny warrens. The cheque in his handwriting still half folded on the dresser of his room of the boarding house. Probably still good. She thought to cash it and buy a bottle of good bourbon.