Shirts were something Beltane, in all of his existences, in all of his lifetimes, always struggled to get into. He hated them. He hated any kind of them.
They had to be facing in the right direction to get them on without having to take them off and tangling through the whole process again.
And, after he finally struggled to get his head through the neck hole, then came the arms, one at a time, invariably making him twist and turn his torso in directions torsos were never meant to turn or twist.
“Kali begone!” he cried.
And then pulling the damn thing down in the back, where it always got rolled up, especially if he was sweating. And he was always sweating.
And then there were the damnable socks! Whomsoever invented socks should roast and burn upon the relentless pyres of Hades for the rest of eternity, was what Beltane thought!
The toes curled and the heels ripped and socks always stunk to high heaven no matter how many times they were washed!
Brutski, the cat, mewled up at him.
“Yes, Brutski,” Beltane said, as he bent down to scratch between the cat’s ears. “You’re the most goofiest kitty all around. There’s never been a kitty cat as goofy as your goofiness.”
Lord Beltane looked down at his socked feet and the awaiting shoes. Once the shoes were were donned, the dressing was all over save the outer garments, which were a trifle in comparison.
“What do you think, Brutski? You think I can get these old socked devil dogs into these torturous hightops without busting a nail or breaking another toe?”
Brutski mewled again.
“Well, I for one disagree, feline friend. Today things will go much easier.”
Beltane gingerly placed the toes of his right foot, the one that gave home the most grief, into the awaiting shoe. He lifted its heel up and pressed down. Then he bent down and grabbed the laces and tied. No problema!
“You see, Brutski? Easy Peasy as the modern wags say. Now for the other.”
He was about to slip his left toes into the remaining shoe when he felt it. A jabbing pain in his big toe, like he had stepped on a nail in a board.
He yelped and dropped the shoe, but by then it was too late and the centipede’s heinous claws were locked on his toe. He could see the venom glands throb.
Its red, flattened head seemed to be looking up at him.
“Kali fuck!” he cried.
Brutski leaped forward, his paws grabbing the foul insect as the cat bit down on the head and antennae. This ripped it from Beltane’s toe along with a piece of navy blue sock and a spurt of the Lord’s blood.
“Damnable shoes!”
Beltane examined his toe and found that it was starting to swell. He dabbed it with some iodine and again put on a sock. Finally, after shaking it out thrice, he managed to get his shoe on.
The cat was still playing with the centipede.
“Brutski,” Beltane said, “have you banished the vicious vermin?”
Brutski looked up at Beltane in a manner Beltane had never experienced before. He looked almost cautious, or even rebellious.
The centipede was still, but in Brutski’s paw was a strange disc-like object about the size of a cherry pit with a white spot in the center and yellow material dripping off like melted butter.
Brutski had dug it out of the head of the creature near the base of its antennae, Beltane could see.
“What have you got there?” asked Beltane.
“Huzzbaaaaaaaaaand!!!” came a frenzied shout from above.
“Oh, sweet Kali’s buttocks! The Lady Beltane is in need!”
Beltane grabbed his cape and crown and said to Brutski before he hastened away, “You take care of this, buddy. I have Lordly affairs to tend to. It is May Day, after all!”
Brutski watched his master depart and then looked again at the white spot on the disc in his paw. It was vibrating again. And when Brutski brought it near his face, he heard something. He pressed his claw into the disc’s center.
And then a humming began that made Brutski fall over on the floor, relaxed and open, playful.
The humming stopped for a moment, and Brutski sat up.
And then it started again, getting louder and louder and louder.