Have you ever been using a scooper to clean out the cat box, and missed the bag, dropping a potato on the floor?
Ugh.
Her
Noises awoke Thomas.
He was a little embarrassed by that. He’d been pleased to find “Unforgiven” on the streaming offerings. This dovetailed with his recent thinking that being an alien’s pet wasn’t that much different from being retired. There were some restrictions, like he wasn’t allowed to travel, and he missed his coffee shop and going to the movies and concerts, but on the other hand, he had no money worries, and his health seemed better than it had in years.
Yes, there were no people around, but he’d never been a people person, as the phrase had been popularized. People seemed like energy vampires, draining him of some essential, personal essence. The trend had grown worse as he’d aged. They seemed so shrill, and had such flawed thinking and expressed it poorly. That trend developed a new practice for him of avoiding people. So the lack of people now was…not…bad.
Bottom line, this life wasn’t that bad. He’d decided to enjoy it.
So he’d broken open a bottle of California red wine, found some Colby cheese and crackers from the supplies they’d given him, and watched “Unforgiven,” in the middle of the day. And he’d fallen asleep, right when William Munny was coming into town after Little Bill because Little Bill had killed Ned Logan. In other words, close to the end.
The movie was over. Now, there was this. Noises.
The noises were coming from above. Disconcerting. He’d never heard anything like them. He went out into his yard to investigate.
What he saw was two of the grey-green aliens with yellow eyes. His master — or mistress, if the alien was female — or should he bother with such sexist distinctions? — was standing to one side. “Thomas,” she said.
Thomas nodded, and waved. “Hello.”
She and the others made the noises that Thomas had indexed as laughing.
She held up her hand. In it was a female.
A young one, by appearances. Perhaps a teenager. He wasn’t competent when guessing others’ ages.
“Oh, no,” Thomas said. Understanding was rising. They were removing the top to deliver a new person to his set. The new person was a female.
Yes, on the cusps of that understanding, the top was raised, and a small, white girl was hand-delivered to the yard not far from him.
“No,” Thomas said. “No. I’m gay.”
Laughing and talking, the aliens returned the top to the cage. Fucking alien morons.
Thomas looked at the newcomer. She looked as angry as a feral cat.
This was going to be fun.
Mr. December
Hello,
Welcome. Come in. I’ve been waiting for you. Come on, all of you. That’s another room. Just don’t stop at the door. Is everyone in? Good.
I don’t want to keep you, so I’ll be succinct. I know it’s early, but many of you have been thinking about me. Yes, I am Mr. December.
For some of you, I’m the last month of the year. Others consider me the holiday month, a holy month, or the start or winter, or summer, or some other season.
I took this time out to meet with you early because I know many of you have been thinking about me. I just want to reassure you that if you treat me like any other month, we’ll get along fine. There really is nothing to worry about.
Now. Go back to Ms November, and have a wonderful time. She’s a great month, if you just slow down and spend a little time with her.
See you next month.
Counts
words
dollars
wins
losses
hours
minutes
days
calories
grams
thoughts
It all counts,
one way or another.
Sucking
Ever been in a room full of people, and feel like they’re just sucking the energy out of you?
His House
Comfortably furnished, he was starting to like his house.
He was less certain that he liked his host. (Hostess?) He didn’t know her and little understood her, or even if it was a female, or if they had sexes. In his words, she was grey-green with yellow eyes. Unlike the invasion’s early day descriptions, though, he saw that they weren’t all the same color. One of his host’s frequent visitors was very light grey while another was forest green. Grey, green, and in between, that’s what they seemed to be. They all had yellow, parietal eyes, and were hairless, of the parts of them he saw. They liked watching him. In the early days, he’d sat motionless, glaring back at them. Once in a while, he shouted at them. He quit shouting at them because he thought they enjoyed that. Now he treated them with indifference and went about his day as if his captors weren’t present.
His house had running water and electricity. Located in a cage that presented him with a large yard all around it, his house was built for a family of five. About twenty-one hundred square feet, the split level featured three bedrooms and two and a half baths, along with a two car garage. There wasn’t a car. A full complement of appliances, dishes, and cookery was made available to him. They liked it when he cooked and ate.
The house’s front had been removed and replaced by a fine screen. He guessed that was so they could see in and watch him all of the time. Food was delivered in a shopping cart once a week. It was funny to see these creatures, twenty times larger than him, push a shopping cart his size into the little secure delivery area. They only opened the outer door on it when the inner door to his area was closed. It was a prison.
Besides frozen pizzas and dry cereals, they gave him cartons of milk and juice, bottles of wine and cases of beer, and fresh meats, snack foods, and produce. He didn’t know where these goods came from.
He didn’t have a phone, but he had two televisions, and a laptop, and he was connected to an Internet. Streaming shows were available, but nothing new. At times, ruminating about his existence, he mourned that he would never know how “Game of Thrones” ended. He posted on a blog every day, and others commented, and he shared emails. None of that helped them understand. All were in cages like him.
From the scenes and events described by others, he was beginning to picture entire human cities in cages.
Rules
He believed in following rules, and had one for everything. Rules helped expedite life by reducing the time and energy needed to think about things, freeing him to relax. His number one rule was not to get close to anyone or to have a pet. Number two was, only wash items he felt like folding.
He ended up buying a lot of clothes, and was forced to create a rule that he would buy only used clothing. Others didn’t seem to understand, but then, they were operating under a different set of rules.
Floofisode
Floofisode (catfinition) – a brief event or group of events in a cat’s life that helps shape its relationships or define its personality.
In use: The cat knocked a lamp to the floor in pursuit of a bug, breaking the lamp, a floofisode that cemented their wary, but loving, relationship.
Pet
She’d never had one before, but she thought it was time. Everyone else had one. That made it time. Otherwise, she was not part of the norm. She liked being part of the norm.
They were so tiny, they amazed her. She walked past their cages, looking down and studying the inhabitants. A few made noises at her, but most stayed back, wary and watchful. It was one of the latter that attracted her.
Stopping before his cage, she knew he was the one. White, with brown hair and a beard, he looked older than most. Older ones were rarely adopted. His clothes smelled; she would need to buy him new clothes. They took care of themselves, but often needed supplies. Besides food, he would need grooming materials and clothes. The Center sold it all, goods the Forces had captured and brought back with them for the pets.
“Open the cage,” she said. “I want to see this one.”
He seemed to realize something was going on because he stood and stepped forward. His tiny hands were balled into fists. The inhabitants of the other cages began making noise as his cage opened. He stared up at her as she leaned in and picked him up.
“Careful,” the slave said.
“I am,” she said, resentful of the other’s tone and words. “I know what I’m doing.”
The slave scuttered back.
The human fit in her hand. He was so small, delicate, and light. “He has blue eyes,” she said.
“Yes,” the slave said.
She liked his blue eyes. “How old is he?”
“He’s fifty, in human years.”
“How long will he live?”
“He’s been treated. I’ll probably live another hundred human years with proper care, which is about twenty-five of our years.”
“I know. Do you have clothes for him?”
“Yes, I think so. He’s average. I’m sure we can find something to fit him.”
“Then I’ll take him.” She held the human up so he was level with eyes. “I will call you Riajin,” she said.
He squeaked back.
He was so cute.
Risky Business
It’s a risky business,
this writing business,
trying to make stories out of your thoughts.
It’s a risky business,
this writing business,
putting the words in the write way.
You have these images,
these sounds and scenes,
Floating up through your head.
Yeah, and if you’re not fast enough,
not alert enough,
that stuff all fades to dead.
You know, it’s a risky business,
this writing business,
and all that it entails.
But if you keep trying,
and you never stop writing,
They can never say you failed.
