Tuesday, April 30, 2013

The Human Pet

There was a human that showed up outside my door. They are very rare this far out in the ‘verse not only because they nearly obliterated themselves by polluting the planet but because they have so much trouble adapting to life this far out.

I had a human once before as a child. It followed me home, I couldn’t tell if it was male or female, with all it cloths and bashfulness. There’s only one way to tell if a human is male or female they don’t want you to know. They all look so much alike.

Humans are a lot of work. They get stinky so fast and have to be cleaned almost every day. They need utensils to eat and this imagination and worship of the Devine takes up so much time. Plus they get lonely so easily. I had to give mine up because I couldn’t afford to get another one and mine just moped all the time and played with its self. Mom said that meant it needed a friend.

I went out in the back yard to see what this human wanted now. Its cloths were all tattered and it was trying to rip blankets off my clothes line. It had its dirty paws on my clean silk sheets. I tried to chase it away, perhaps it would get on a ship and go to someone else’s planet.

But is sat on the lawn and made a horrible sound, it was what my friend who breeds humans, on a planet with more oxygen, calls sad; such a simple word for such an annoying sound. I just wanted it to stop that noise

I reached for its hand and brought it inside I took it to the dinner room and offered it some human food I had from the time I looked after a friends pair about a month ago. It was a little stale, but humans eat anything. On their own planet they eat animals. Bacon?

This one ate what I gave it and it burped a bit, for a moment I remembered why humans could be so cute, that little burp after they eat. I went over to the neighbours to get some cloths and let the human soak in the tub. This one insisted on bubble bath so the neighbor guessed I had a female on my hands, said they could be moody and gave me and extra box of something.

My neigbour’s human, that just passed away, they have such a short life span, was quite overweight, but she said until we find something better these cloths will do in a pinch.

At home I cracked the door open slightly and threw in the cloths, it squeaked a bit and then made the laughter sound, and started to babble to itself. You either get the really quiet ones or the talkie ones, and I assumed I had a talkie one on my hands.

Our friends and I go out to the bar and spend hours guessing whether or not human chatter means anything. They have a whole world they created cities and towns so their squeaks and hen scratch must mean something.

It came downstairs and looked at the TV. It seemed to have no idea how to turn it on. So I walked over to the wall and pressed a code that picks up old TV signals from earth and it fell asleep on the floor watching a show where they bite each other in the neck. They’re such a violent kind.

There was something cute and simple about it sleeping on the floor so I decided for now that I would keep it and call it Misha.

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