God's Gift of Grace
an excerpt

On the evening in question, Darcy’s journal was turned to the blank side of a financial aid interest letter and the turquoise bookmark pen was hovering around the blank pause which would either lead to an analogy about her brother, Dean’s, mustache growth pattern or a blanket statement about men in general. Where would she go? She figuratively dipped her pen into the dark seas of Darcy dreams and pulled out a stinger about a U-shaped worm that shits from both ends. And that’s when it happened. The first rumble.

The first sounds, as Darcy’s dark seas might have described it, were rather similar to the guttural repeated pushes followed by that sickening low bad moan that a cat makes when working to get rid of a hair ball. Now think of a cat the size of a playground rocket, sit it in the room next to you with your ear at about throat level – close enough so that you can hear all of those organic muscle movements as the ball of mucus and clotted hair moves like a slow train through the cat throat cavities – and you might have an idea of the unnatural (and yet so natural) sounds that Darcy heard that night.