Boots without Socks
It had been a few days since I set the tiger free from its cage, and I was starting to get worried. A tiger is a big animal, it needs a lot of meat, what if there weren't enough deer in the forest and the tiger starved? What if it got too cold at night and the tiger froze to death? What if someone decided to go hunting, and shot it? What if the tiger killed someone and the cops are tracing the crime back to me right now? All these thoughts and more were racing through my head as I tried to go about my daily business. I felt responsible for the animal. After all, I was the one that released it into this cruel world (not that its situation before was much better), I should be the one to take care of it, but how? I'm too old to take care of a tiger, and besides, it wouldn't fit in my apartment. What I needed was an expert. Someone who would come rescue the animal and take care of it. Which is why I made up my mind to start a zoo. Before you say that being in a zoo would be just as bad as being in a circus let me remind you that zoos don't have clowns, and besides zoos have come along way since their days as animal prisons. Anyway, the only problem was my complete lack of experience making zoos, which meant that, to my great displeasure, I was going to have to talk to people. I had already tucked Socks into my sweater vest and walked into the hallway when I realized I had no idea who to talk to. Undaunted, I walked out into the town, saw happy couples strolling down the avenue, and walked right back to my room. Listen, I may like cats enough to talk to people, but I draw the line at having to watch couples and their hand-holding and their smiling at each other and their, you know, existing. Instead, I pulled my yellow pages from under my sink and started looking through the Zs. I ran a shaky finger down the entries 'Zelda's Zany Emporium, Zachary's Shack (you won't come back), Zebrahaven' and then, finally "Zoo of Colombia." Perfect. The next step was to call them and ask them how they did it. I walked over to my house phone, feeling grateful that the guy I called to uninstall it never showed, and was about to punch in the numbers when I realized that my sweater vest was empty. "Socks?" I called, "Are you there?" There was no answer. I had lost Socks.
"I must talk to Boots about this knavery," Jack muttered as he stood on the roof of his small roof-top apartment. The tiger was circling the pool and occasionally glancing up to Jack. It was just before sunrise and the rather large cat caused the mist from the pool to form tiny swirls in its wake.
ReplyDelete"I thought having his own creature would quell his mischief." He moved slightly back from the edge of the roof. He started the chant quietly at first, then as the cat paused in his pacing, Jack's voice rose a bit and he continued his chant. "...Come booba yalle, come booka tambee, come konka yalle, come..." "Come on buddy," Jack thought. "It's time for you to go."
As he continued his pacing, his eyes wandered toward Jack then he paused sniffing the air. His gold flaked eyes were no longer sad. Now they glowed with interest in Jack. "Great. The chant isn't working." Jack said to the tiger. "Now what?" Suddenly, the tiger turned back toward to the pool. He looked in as if searching for something in the water.
Jack straightened-up, "Oh, okay, okay, that's a good sign." Then he shouted, "Be off you beautiful one!"
The tiger leaped into the mist and was gone.
Jack's job wasn't complete. There was still poop to clean.
"Yes, I must speak to Boots about this. Perhaps I should have him clean-up the mess. Then maybe he'd think twice next time." Jack muttered as he scrubbed the pool deck. The smell was horrendous.