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Thursday, October 18, 2012

Buckminster & Amber - 3

News Flash!

It’s happened again! I can’t believe this! I knew what was coming up. I saw the prison boxes come out. Amber’s is canvas, black with two small meshed windows, sort of like a burka. Mine is plastic with chrome steel bars across the top. They know I can fight my way out of a paper bag so they’re playing it safe. I was also playing it safe. The best place I could find to hide was behind the big easy chair in the living room. I was fun watching the humans look for me. Where’s Bucky? Bucky . . . Here kitty kitty. Forget about it!
            They nabbed Amber pretty easy. I could tell she was confused. She’d been upstairs and hadn’t seen the prison boxes. Then they found me. I made a run for it but got chased down . . . took both of them. Bipods are so awkward. Fingers are good, I’ll give them that, but I would rather have four legs and fur.
            Next thing I know we’re all in the station wagon again, then back in the doctor’s waiting room where I’m left sitting next to this stuck up Persian. Fifteen minutes later my male dumps me out on a white counter top and I know this will not be good. 
                                                        This Will Not Be Good.
            I’m never wrong. The torture maiden in white joins us and a minute later she’s up my ass again! Unbelievable! And Amber watching. Sheesh!
            “Hundred and one,” white coat announces. “Perfect temperature.”
            I was a hundred-and-one just two weeks ago, dodo! Does she think my thermostat’s broken? Or is she just some kind of pervert? I suspect the later. Next she scanned me with some kind of electronic gizmo, looking for the chip they put in last time. I hissed as loud as I could, which even a human can understand means—Back off bitch!
            “Nice kitty. Oh, you’re such a nice kitty.”
            I growled and took a swipe at her but missed.
            “Oh, he’s mad at me,” she says.
            You think? I looked at Amber and her eyes said, Get her, Bucks! Her eyes can say a lot of things. I’ll tell you more about that someday, but for now. . . . The Geiger counter or whatever found the chip. Doc read the number off and wrote it down: “Five, nine, seven, eight . . . These humans are totally nuts! Then she plops me on a scale.
            “Nine and a half pounds,” she says.
            Brilliant. Exactly what I weighed two weeks ago. Why are they doing this! I don’t have time to think before she’s jabbed me with a needle. I went catastraphobic , but my human took me in his arms which was a small comfort. He offered me a snack, some kind of an apology I guess. I spit it out. Then I was back in the box. I could hear them putting amber through the same routine but didn’t watch. She’s a pretty tough gal when it comes down to it and went through the ordeal with quiet disgust until they put her on the scale. I looked the other way.
                                            “She’s gained three ounces,” Doc said.
            Oh boy. I knew Amber was going to freak out over that.  I also know I’m going to hear about if for the next two weeks . . . at least. Do I look fat? Does this fur coat make my tail look big? Whatever.
            What the hell, we’re home now. Amber’s hiding under the bed and I’m just wandering around looking for something expensive to accidentally knock off a table. There are boxes everywhere and they keep moving the furniture around. My cognitive map keeps getting revised. It was kind of fun at first, but no more. One of the cat trees has disappeared completely and I’m in a constant state of angst. I could escape if I wanted to. And maybe I want to . . . but I couldn’t take Amber with me. She’d never make it on the outside. I don’t know. I just don’t know.

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