“And when we leave his house it’s back into those tiny cages you can barely turn around. Who knows how long we’ll be caged up inside the silver bird. I figure our odds of survival are about 50%. And if we do make it we’ll probably have post traumatic stress. Our lives will never be the same.”
“Oh Bucks, you’re such a drama queen. We’ll be okay. They’ll probably give us tranquilizers.”
“They should give us psychedelics. That would make the trip more interesting. We’d be double tripping. Get it? Double—”
“Good.” I give my tail a casual flip, then look into her starry eyes. “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.” I could have been another Bogart. “It’s been good,” I tell her.
Amber doesn’t listen to the classic movie channel. “Us.” I mean like, me and you . . . together—hanging out, chasing around, and having lunch. I mean . . . I love you, Amber. I just want you to know . . . in case I don’t make it.”
“Well, I love you back Bucks. Now will you get over it! We’re going to be okay. We’ll blog again, and I already know some Swedish.”
“Right. We’ll see. This blog could be our last.”
“It won’t,” she says.
Sometimes she’s right. But this time . . . I don’t know.
Now he’s got me worried!