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unnamed story (Part 20)

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

The sound of claws on a tile floor.

With everything going on it’s easy to forget about Bruce. If you remember I told you he was a dog but didn’t even tell you what breed or anything physically distinguishing about him. Typical human writer.

Well, to catch you up … he is fine. Truth is that as long as there is someone to feed him and pat his head now and then he’ll continue to be fine. He couldn’t identify his former owner if he was looking at a sketch of him done by a police artist.

Especially if that sketch artist was a dog. The lack of opposable thumbs is a real detriment in that line of work. I don’t want to exhibit bias towards humans but there is a reason you don’t see many canine sketch artists in law enforcement.

Bruce was pacing back and forth, eagerly anticipating the return of Samantha and Jennifer. He associated their return with getting fed.

You can see why the less said about Bruce the better.

I was disappointed to see Abby get eaten because there were some really funny things that could have happened with her desire to set animals free. A whole book could no doubt be written about nothing more than the hijinks that would ensue trying to take care of a giraffe. The male giraffe sports a 40 inch penis. You think I wanted to just walk away from that?

The point being, not all animals make for dull reading. Just Bruce.

The question that Abby would have ignored would have been what would have happened a few months after she released hundreds of dogs and cats and ferrets into the wild. Nobody is going to worry about packs of feral turtles crashing around neighborhoods hell bent for lettuce but a dozen hungry dogs, or even wolves or bears, would be an entirely different matter. One could even argue that it was for the best that she got eaten so early in the story… as long as the ‘one’ isn’t one of the countless animals doomed to starve to death inside houses and apartments and zoo cages.

On the positive side, at least if you’re a member of the family Cervidae, the number of deer that were hit by cars in the United States that day will tie the all-time record low, which was set the previous two days beforehand and, of course, before the invention of the automobile.

 

As the early evening began to sink into mid evening Denise cornered Clay in the kitchen.

I described the evening as sinking to bring you back to the fact that the mood all day had been grim. Evenings don’t necessarily have to sink, they can meander or even barrel from early to mid depending on the company.

This one sank.

“I want to get a monkey” she said flatly.

“I see” he replied. “By any chance do you have plans to name it Abby?”

“I hadn’t thought about it” said even more flatly.

Now some of you will jump to the hurtful conclusion that this is just my way of trying to inject more animals into this story, having worked myself up with descriptions of giraffe penes, but I swear I didn’t see the monkey thing coming.

“I thought about it and the keys to the cages have to be somewhere. I’d like to try again.”

Clay was about to respond when a commotion at the front door interrupted.

“Oh my god!” Donna shrieked as you came crashing into the house. It took a second for Clay to identify it as a shriek of joy as opposed to the other shrieking that had been going on as of late.

That shriek was topped by Samantha, hot on the heels of Donna; “You’re not the only man still alive Clay!”

Clay finally made his way into the hallway to see what the fuss was all about. Although he knew exactly what said fuss was about.

“Jennifer led Cindi into the house like she’d won her at the fair. Assuming, of course, that there were fairs where you could win people. Probably frowned on I realize but it’s too late to change it now.

“Clay” his name said as if there were eight or more syllables, held out for a long time, dripping with some hidden news she couldn’t wait to impart, by Jennifer “You’re no longer the only male de jour.”

We both know that makes no sense but it’s what she said.

This last comment had Clay a bit puzzled. Another man? This was outside the script.

“Her name is Cindi. Her ex boyfriend is still alive as well. It’s not just us” said Donna.

“So where is he?” inquired Patti, the only one not jumping up and down the way girls do when a second man is added to a planet’s population.

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