Nine Lives

Chapter Five

………Rapt attention I think is the most appropriate phrase to use at this point. I had Boris’ head gripped firmly between my knees, his little pink nose millimetres from my own larger pink nose.

“You do understand that they have put us in a box?” I asked.

Uh huh.

“With no windows?”

Yup.

“Nowhere to pee?”

Mmm hmm.

“And no beetles?”

WHAT?!?

“You listening now?”

Yes…but you’re kinda scrunching my ears.

“If I let go will you keep listening?”

Oh yeah. Uh huh. No beetles. I gotcha loud and clear.

I let him go and he shook his head so vigorously that he fell over. He recovered admirably and bounced back up into my field of vision.

So…what’s the plan?

“Plan?”

Yeah, like in the movies. You take the one on the left, the one on the right and the one in the middle and I’ll…cover you?

“With what!?”

I was thinking along the lines of a projectile hairball followed by some well aimed running away.

“You leave me alone with those things and you’ll never eat mouse again.”

Ah. Mouse or death mouse or death mouse or…umm…I’ll take death.

“So are you ready to do something about the ropes yet?”

Fuck you.

“!”

Sorry. I have noooo idea where that came from. I think I’m naturally programmed to be unhelpful and selfish.

“Don’t worry, I’m used to it.” I sighed, my last hopes of being able to scratch the end of my own nose fading away. I amused myself for an unknown period of time by pressing my kneecaps against my closed eyes and counting the bright spots left behind when I took them away again. Having gotten accustomed to the darkness of the container we were in I could see a little and found that Boris took on a slightly psychedelic, haloed appearance whenever I glanced his way.

………Boris, in his own inimitable fashion, whiled away the time by snorkelling in his nether regions like a sea lion with a grave mucosal problem. I tried to distract him by poking him with my toes but I have to say his concentration was quite impressive. I should have learnt by now never to distract a guy when he’s sorting his bits out; all you get is an eyeful and a string of grunts. Still seeing Boris spots, I wondered if angels were ever seen in quite that position or engaged in that particular pursuit. I thought perhaps not.

That line of thinking got me wondering about just how…civilised…our captors truly were. Could I expect similar behaviour from them or were they socially advanced enough to have mastered the art of bathing with H2O instead of tongue? If the latter I really hoped I wouldn’t be called upon to bathe anyone. If cats got furballs from licking themselves, what would one get by licking a seven foot alien with reptilian skin and dreads that would make Bob Marley weep with envy? This possibility shut my mental processes down to the level of ‘fire hot, sky pretty’.

And, ooh, bumping around hard on the butt cheeks.

Mine, not Boris’; he’d exhausted himself with his genital excavation and was snoozing through what Captain Crash and the crew must call a landing.

………The fact that my box was dragged rather than carried gave me an inkling that I was not being taken somewhere to be made queen of their people, dressed in finery and fed grapes. I thought perhaps fed to the queen was more likely at this point. I wondered what I’d taste like. I practically live on fruit juice so I think I’d taste quite nice and oh my god why am I thinking this stopitstopitthinkofsomethingelselikerosesandrainbowsandsalsaanddipandmarinadeohfuckthey’regonnaeatme.

This is not their home planet.

That was my first thought on squinting out through the suddenly open side of the box. The medley of creatures that looked like everything from poop to devils to Care Bears with flamethrowers was a big clue, but the dead giveaway was the fact that they were all staring at my captors in stunned silence. The saloon doors were swinging metaphorically to and fro behind our asses and it is incumbent upon me to tell you that this kind of greeting is just as uncomfortable at this end of the universe as our own. I think I’d like to be eaten now.

HEY ??!!????!???!!????!!???? PAUK-DE ???!?!???!!! was all I caught of what Pecs said to them, but “What the fuck are you looking at?” is pretty universal in any language. Nothing, appeared to be the unanimous response as the gawpers hurried in many directions.

………I was pulled a little roughly out of the box while Boris was allowed to remain dreaming of mice and other things that scurry. Pecs dragged me around the bar and ignored my feeble attempts to dive headfirst into the cocktails held by most of the…errr…folks there. We stopped and he pointed.

My knees almost gave way and my belief in a rational universe simply crumbled to nothing. Before me was a stage. There were lights. There was a floating metal beetle which I’m guessing was the microphone and there was a screen with weird characters scrolling across it. He grabbed the stage’s present occupier by the ‘leg’ and hurled it halfway across the room, earning himself a round of applause at the same time. He pointed at the stage again.

SING.

“I’m sorry? You kidnapped me and my cat, hauled our asses halfway across the known universe, made me eat off the floor and watched me pee in a bucket just so I’d sing karaoke? Are you fucking kidding me?!”

He pointed to the other end of the room where the guy he’d pulled off the stage was being graciously helped onto a long spike over a fire pit.

BAD SONG. BARBEQUE.

Oh cock it.