Needless to say…
Oh, sorry.
Rather…requiring reiteration…
Ugh. Let me just make
it perfectly clear, I started out…touched.
From birth, I carried a basest natural inability to differentiate and
control my emotions. My master’s arms,
hands, and head bear the scars of my psychological hyperactivity. I mean, he’d be rubbing my belly with his
hand and I’d be rubbing his hand with my face.
Happy, happy. Purr, purr. And then, SNAP! Purr, hiss!
Growl, claw, BITE! My pupils would
become saucers of hate. I was still
happy, I think, but in that rapturous, murderous way.
“M-er-F-er!” The
master would yank back his arm, claws and teeth tearing at tender epidermis,
and we’d be done.
What? That means I love you. Destroy…
The events of my sad tail, you know, the adoption, self-sacrifice,
operation, and Ghasm, only served to magnify my pre-existing ‘condition’. Yes? I was a cat.
I mean, I’m still a cat, but…I mean…Shut up.
All gone!
After a few ‘days’, my caretaker (master)…servant…you will bow, changed the bandages on my
forelimbs again. He’d been keeping me
pretty doped up to avoid a repeat of Ghasm’s exploding paws with me. I was still mostly unaware of my new
gadgets. He’d also been slowly decreasing
the dosage as I healed. This time, I had
focus; fuzzy, numb focus. He twisted off
the moist, yellow stained strips of gauze as if trying to add suspense. I’ll tell you this, cats aren’t much for
suspense, unless they create it. Get on with it.
Surprisingly, disappointment smacked me in the whiskered
nose the first time I laid eyes on my new hands. Swollen and inflamed, the ends of my arms
looked like a bunch of hairy caterpillars sewn together with fishing line. They didn’t have full mobility due to the
bandages and grafts healing. Foreign,
uncomfortable, unnatural; these constructs freaked me out a little. For the first time, I felt unsafe with my own
body.
Noticing my stressed reaction to the surgically implanted
tumors, Nurse Daddy shot a dose of happy juice down my throat. I calmed.
He tenderly drew my hands up to eye level and squeezed. Just a pinch on the top of the paw and the metacarpal
pad was all it took. With the help of
narcotics, anxiety turned instantly to amazement. From each hand, where my primary phalanx used
to be, extended four long, sharp claws; nano-composite, ceramic-tungsten alloy mini-rapiers. You heard me.
They’ll never dull, no matter how many lives they take, be it couch…or
man. And from each side of each hand
shot a thick, fully articulated, carbon fiber, silicon wrapped…thumb. I had four f***ing thumbs! Deus ex evolution, bitches!
I looked into my bitch’s…I mean master’s eyes. I mean really, intently, coherently made eye
contact with him, and with all sincerity thought…What the f*** you want me to do with these?
He started manipulating the artificial digits, testing their
connections and strength. I could feel
the flexors and extensors move back and forth.
My body remembered, mostly, but a myriad of new sensation arose. My body, my mind, processed novel connections,
sensory and motor inputs and outputs never before experienced. That’s when the change…really started to
change me.
He smiled with all conviction. The procedure had held, my body had accepted
his gift. He released my hands, patted
me on the head, and squirted some more of the cat-a-tonic under my tongue. He then pulled the harness tight under my
armpits, reducing upper body mobility, and stood above me. His gifts had been accepted, they would
remain unwrapped.
I lived and slept in that wheelie-hammock for…damnit…weeks? I give up.
Anyway, it was my personal carriage and I ran around in it like a
toddler on meth. My hands continued to
heal, and my being continued to evolve under their direction. The more I used them, the more they educated
me. Soon, the hands took their rightful
place in my new existence. I was Patton
2.0h-shit!
Finally, my master unleashed me from my mobile anti-gravity
sling. Did I forget to mention
that? Just kidding, but seriously, it
worked to offset the effects of gravity and keep me from flopping to the
friggin floor, so what would you call it?
Thought so…anti-gravity sling.
Say it! Thank you. Finally back on all...fives? Come on, tail, sitting limp on the
floor. I looked up at my incompetent surgeon. You’re
shittin’ me. Okay, tail, move! I hate
you.
I hope you now understand why I’m so…unbalanced. To be continued…
Now go away, I’m mourning my sad tail.
Jup, it's pretty much like that.
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