Tag: just goofing around

Prove It

The first thing he thought of, after recognizing where he was, and what he was doing, was the Rolling Stones song, “Get Off of My Cloud.” Not really correct. Does correctness have degrees? Sure, they give partial credit to partially correct answers. Yes, but not in this situation. So, he corrected, not correct. He wasn’t on a cloud. He was on a contrail, as he’d learned they were called, a chemtrail, as others called them in the second half of his life.

Poisonous air vapors, they were. Surrounded by blue sky, he was walking on them. As he didn’t know how he’d reached them (nor how he could be walking on them), he believed he was dreaming. How high was he? Well, very high. He’d read that commercial aircraft generally fly over thirty thousand feet in the U.S. He assumed he was in U.S. air space, although nothing supported that assumption.

Physically, then, he wasn’t doing this, couldn’t be doing this, unless it was a dream or virtual reality. There was no way he could otherwise be surviving so comfortably at such an altitude. At this altitude, if it’s over thirty thousand feet, he was higher than Mount Everest. The air would be too thin for normal breathing, he was breathing normally, he ascertained with tests. At that altitude, the temperature would be forty-nine degrees below zero, or worse. He wasn’t dressed for that kind of cold.

But here he was, in his Lee jeans, knit shirt, Nikes, and Columbia Wear fleece, striding along without issue. Which presented the idea that maybe these contrails were far lower than they should be. That was absurd, of course; that’s not how they worked. Nevertheless, he stopped walking, turned, and looked over the side.

Big, big mistake.

He’d been able to see mountain tops and distant horizons of clustered buildings and farmland when walking along. But now, looking down, he found a true sense of his altitude, and it freaked him out. He was so freaked out, he should awaken at any moment now.

He waited.

Nothing changed. He looked back and forth along his contrail. It stretched on for a long distance. He could do three things now. One, step off the contrail and see what happens. Two, follow the contrail and see if it led anywhere. Three, he could stand there and do nothing until the contrail faded away.

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Rapport

The dark-haired feral girl’s name was Courtney, a tidbit discovered via computers when she stormed into his office.

“I should have a computer, too,” she said. An edge of angry tears quivered in her tone. “I have friends. I miss people. That’s not just your computer. It belongs to both of us.” She smirked. A tear rolled down her face. She wiped it off. “We’re both pets.”

This was a change. He’d seen her three times since her arrival. Once when he was eating, she stamped in and started going through the cupboards and refrigerator. The second time, he saw her prowling the cage’s perimeter. Guessing she was looking for a way out, he watched her a bit. When boredom crept in, he drifted away.

The third sighting was a little later. Cleaning in the kitchen, he looked out and saw her trying to shimmy up a cage bar. Idiot, he thought.

“Of course, you’re right,” he said, standing, trying to be reasonable, friendly, and diplomatic. “My name is Thomas, by the way.” He put out his hand.

She pushed past him to the laptop – his laptop. “Whatever,” she said.

Je-sus. “Do you need help with anything?”

Stopping everything, she said, “It’s a computer,” as if that answered and explained everything.

She typed in her name. Courtney. 

“Your name is Courtney?” he said.

“No, that’s my alias,” she said. Swinging around, she said, “Do you mind? Can I have some privacy?”

“Yes. Of course.”

This set up the constant battle. She was always on the computer, getting on the computer, or asking him to get on the computer. He liked his computer time . Now he had to share it with her. Courtney.

He knew he was being irrational and selfish. Didn’t matter. He used the network for porn, games, and searching for news. His friends weren’t on Facebook. All those accounts for the relationships built through the years were listed as inactive. Many emails bounced back. None of his friends tweeted back to him.

Must be something the aliens are doing, he figured. The aliens were damn cunning.

Like the language thing. He was pleased his owner (God, he hated to think of that) had learned his name was Thomas. He remembered, though, the aliens were using a device to speak the languages of Earth when they arrived. That included English. Where were those devices now? Apparently people authorized to have human pets were not allowed to openly communicate with them. Bet it’s worries over the Stockholm Syndrome, he figured.

They didn’t want the masters and their pets to develop a rapport.

****

Previous Pet stories

Pet

His House

His Name

Her

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History

You ever wish everything that you said and heard was being recorded, and that you could access those recordings to see what was said because the other person(s) involved have a completely different take on the situation?

Not me. No, sir. Nope.

Never….

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String Theory

Once again, he found himself trimming the strings that attached him to others.

snip, snip 

he tried cutting off their strings of negativity energy

snip, snip

rigidity, judgement

snip, snip

anger, resentment, hostility

snip, snip

karma

But he’d learned by now that the strings were like hair,

always growing back, and eventually requiring a new trim.

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Black Friday

You’re not going to believe it, Michael, she said. I went shopping on Black Friday, last night. I never go shopping on Black Friday. I did this year.

I just wanted a “Wonder Woman” DVD. I love “Wonder Woman.” I’ve seen it twice. When I like a movie, though, I like watching the same ones over and over again. I don’t know why. I have this huge DVD collection. I wanted “Wonder Woman.” Walmart had it on sale for five dollars. Five dollars. My girlfriend was going to Walmart. I didn’t want to go. Just get me the “Wonder Woman” DVD, I said. No, she said. Come on, she said. Come with me. I finally gave in. Okay. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t need anything. But I went.

I got in the store, and I got my DVD. Five dollars. But, OMG, there were so many nice things there. I didn’t need anything, but I saw these things, and the prices were so good.

Still, I didn’t need them. I didn’t want them. But everyone was so nice. They were so sweet and polite. So I stayed, and walked around the store.

And then, I came face to face with my dream camera. Digital SLR. I’d been thinking about this camera for three years. Three years. But it’s five hundred dollars.

Well. The one on display had two extra lenses, and an extra card. Four hundred fifty dollars.

I didn’t want to buy it, but my girlfriend was like, you should totally buy it, you never buy yourself anything, you deserve it, you’ve been wanting it for three years.

So I picked it up and got in line. I thought, I can think it over while I’m in line, go over my budget, and think about it all, so it wasn’t an impulse.

Yes, I bought it. I spent a lot more than five dollars.

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Statement

He didn’t think his cat thought much of the holiday and his plans, because the animal went out, caught and killed a bird, and brought it to him.

Yes, his cat had given him the bird.

It had to be the holiday.

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Eating

You ever have the good fortune to eat so much that you think, I am never going to eat again?

Yes, I’ve been lucky enough to do that many times in my life. Yesterday was one of those times.

2

Omens

Do you ever get up in the night because you heard a noise, or need to pee, or want a glass of water, and step into a pile of cat puke, and think, (after some disgusted cursing), that’s not a good sign? Do you ever then walk barefoot outside to admire the sunrise and breath in the fresh air, and step into another vomit puddle, and think, that’s not a good omen for the day?

Anyone know a good hairball remedy for cats?

0

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.

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