The Secret Lives of Emails.docx (3 page)

Either that or he had a concussion.
 

It’s a lolcat’s life

~

Emal contemplated his options as he continued to stare down the tube. He could try to follow Brittany despite her apparent objections to the notion. Of course, he didn’t know if that would be helpful since he didn’t know where she was going. He also didn’t know if the direction she was going happened to be the direction he too needed to be going. Is there anything more frustrating in life than not knowing what you don’t know?

He stood there some more. When nothing exciting seemed likely to come from that direction, he turned back toward the brick wall.

Nothing continued to happen.

No one came to help him.

He peered at the hole he had pulled Brittany out of but saw nothing except more bodies. None of them moved as he watched, and he decided not to poke anyone. After all, he had already been kicked in the nose once, and he didn’t feel he needed any more of that in his life right now. The clogged opening likely extended to the other side of the brick wall, but it was packed too tightly with a jumble of limbs to go that way now. He thought about the bodies for a moment before remembering he had seen others, earlier when his brain hadn’t been ready to register them.

He looked around, finally noticing that there were a few people collapsed against the side of the wall. Closer examination of some revealed large bruises on their foreheads that would indicate they had run into the barrier like he had. Some had crumbled right there, while others had stumbled off the path to die elsewhere. Most of the bodies were naked like he had been, but not all. Some were dressed in apparent costumes; one in particular was wearing a long trench coat, a black fedora hat, and some plain white tennis shoes. He considered these clothing options for a moment before taking the hat and the shoes. White tennis shoes, plaid skirt, leather jacket, and fedora hat. He was dressed for success.

This brick wall had clearly interrupted whatever I was supposed to be doing. So I need to find a different way around, and perhaps then, I might remember where I am supposed to be going.

Emal walked down the tube, coming to the intersection where Brittany had disappeared. The path straight across looked the same as the one he was in—a little dark and a little dirty. Clean enough that you could live comfortably, but you might not invite guests over. He considered taking the road on the right like Brittany had, but he thought running into her again might be awkward. More importantly to Emal, the tube looked terrifyingly dark. A breeze from there gusted past, revealing a foul stench that made him gag. A wild animal sound followed the breeze as well, making the decision not to go in quite easy.
Something is almost certainly lurking in there, waiting for an easy meal.
The tube to his left meanwhile looked like it had been built by German contractors. The walls were whitewashed and clinical looking. He was pretty sure he could have an appendectomy done on the floor and not risk any infection.
Good thing I didn’t follow Brittany after all; she clearly isn’t right in the head.

He took the path on the left.

This tube was more like a very large hallway. It wasn’t rounded like the others, but square. It was a good twenty feet across and twenty feet to the ceiling; the whole thing appeared almost as though it had never been used. The lights above were so bright, reflecting off the white walls, that it meant he couldn’t see very far in front of himself. Emal continued on despite his blindness. He walked slowly around some mild twists and turns, encountering nothing. He was nervous, ambling blindly through this unknown world and didn’t like this new feeling. It was better than the feeling of running into a brick wall, but not much.

After walking for fifteen minutes, a scraping noise caused him to jerk to a stop. His heart attempted to keep moving without the rest of his body, and he felt it begin to pound. Bringing a hand to his chest to keep his heart from its apparent escape attempt, he cocked his head to the side in an effort to hear better while placing his other hand over his eyes to shield the light.

Gracefully and with a loud purr, a large cat leapt into view from nowhere in particular.

Emal opened his mouth, emitting a quick scream in a much higher pitch than most men would’ve liked. His heart took his open mouth as another opportunity to escape. He dryly swallowed it. The cat spoke, and Emal peed himself a little.

“i can haz cheezburger?”

The cat was an orange tabby of indeterminate breed, and it was staring at Emal with bright eyes that seemed to reflect every light in the ceiling. Emal bravely edged further toward the cat, eyeing it warily. He had no reason to mistrust the animal, but since this was his first interaction with another species, and it was asking about food, he was rightfully cautious. Actually, this is a universal mistrust when all animals encounter an alien species for the first time.

In these new encounters, lunch questions always arise.

The first question is “Can I eat this new thing for lunch?”

      
1. (a) Does it taste good?

      
1. (b) Will I want to eat it again?

      
1. (c) Does BBQ sauce mask its flavor enough that I will continue to eat it even though it tastes like wet cardboard?

The second consideration is “Can it eat me for lunch?”

2. (a) Does the other animal have a BBQ sauce bottle in its pocket?

2. (b) Can I outrun it?

2. (c) Can I outrun my friend?

c. (1) When did my friend get so fast?

1. (a) Should I pull a Shane-shooting-Otis move on my friend?

If none of these questions result in someone having someone else for lunch, the other questions are inevitably:
“Would you like to go have lunch?” And, of course, upon agreement, “How do you feel about BBQ sauce in relation to the lesser condiments?”

“Excuse me, just passing through,” Emal said, wishing to avoid any discussion of BBQ sauce. The cat sat about ten feet ahead, and its eyes followed Emal as he attempted to tiptoe around it.

“i can haz cheezburger?” the cat asked again as it began walking toward Emal. The cat rubbed up against Emal’s legs and purred its cutest purr.

“I’m sorry; I’m afraid I don’t have any cheezburgers. I doubt I would make a tasty one either, BBQ sauce or not,” Emal chuckled in a misguided effort to deflect any ideas the orange tabby had.

He ventured to keep walking around the cat, but it began to slowly weave in and out of his feet. Emal did his best to avoid stepping on the creature, and they started an awkward dance. He would take a hesitant step forward, and the cat would weave around his legs forcing him to stand on one leg for a moment to ensure he didn’t bring it down on the animal. If Emal had had a gym teacher, one that taught dances in gym class for reasons known only to them, the teacher wouldn’t have been pleased with the dancing effort.

Emal decided to change tactics and knelt down, offering his hands palms up to prove he didn’t have any hidden cheezburgers. The orange tabby sniffed carefully for any evidence of BBQ sauce and rubbed its head on his palm.

“Well, hello there,” Emal said.
Maybe I needn’t be so nervous after all
; the cat felt nice under his hand. It was fluffy, warm, and the bright eyes appeared intelligent as they gazed at him.

“y r u wearing hat?” The cat asked politely.

“I thought it looked quite nice,” Emal said while adjusting his fedora.

“a no, iz not nice.”

Defensively, Emal again adjusted his fedora; he considered what this cat would taste like, but the instincts he had felt earlier kicked in. His instincts told him that people who ate cats had very few friends and were invited to even fewer dinner parties.

“Wer r u goin?”

“I’m not sure actually; I need to find that out.”

“Srsly?

“Seriously. You see, I ran into a wall a bit ago, and my memory is a little fuzzy.”

“Ur goin teh wrong wai.”

Emal quickly pulled his hand away from the cat.
Asking for a cheezburger was disturbing enough, but now it’s suggesting that it knows where I need to go.
Emal watched the cat very carefully, and it watched him back.

“Srsly, umm . . . I mean . . . seriously? Which way should I be going? Where should I be going? What am I meant to do when I get there? How do you know this?”

“i can haz cheezburger?”

“I really don’t have any cheezburgers,” Emal said more forcefully this time. “What were you saying about the wrong direction though? Can you help me?”

The cat ignored him, turning away slightly to begin licking one of its paws. Emal begged the cat for help again, and it ignored him. He even waved his hand in front of the cat’s face while making strange noises in a bid to re-engage the animal. It continued to ignore him.

Maybe I’m the one who needs a cheezburger,
Emal thought.
Here I am having a conversation with an orange tabby, expecting it to result in useful information. I don’t think cats are really known for their ability to provide directions to lost travelers. And now that I consider it, speaking to cats is likely one of the signs of starvation
.
I genuinely need to find some real people to talk to. In order to get both directions home and directions to a ham and cheese sandwich.

He stood back up and went to walk past the cat once and for all when he felt a sharp pain in his calf.

“Owww,” he said hopping onto one foot and checking out what was clearly a scratch mark. “What did you do that for?”

The cat began licking its paw again as if nothing had happened. Emal turned and started to walk away yet again when he felt a sharp pain on his other calf. This time a little blood began to drip out on the white floor. He let out another cry of pain and turned back.

“Now see here,” he said, taking an angry step toward the cat.

The animal suddenly flattened its ears, arched its back, and contorted its face into a sneer. Out came a hissing sound that clearly told Emal they were no longer friends. The sound was enough to suggest they had never even been friends. Emal took a quick step back, but more hissing came from behind him. He whirled around to see four more cats creeping into a semicircle. They were crouched low and moving ever so slowly. Emal leapt to his left only to find that more had arrived. He was now surrounded by cats of all shapes and sizes—all of whom seemed to hate him or want to turn him into a cheezburger.

“If I’ve done something to offend . . .” he offered, hands up in surrender, slowly backing around in a small circle within the larger circle of cats. He attempted to assess the situation.
Clearly I’m not allowed to go in this direction. Though, I feel a simple “no” would have sufficed. Maybe the lunch truck hasn’t shown up yet, so they are all cranky right now.
No matter the reason, Emal decided the best decision for his health was to retreat.

As he turned his back, a cat leapt forward and took a couple of quick and painful swats at Emal’s legs. It was out of reach before Emal could even think to kick it, but he wouldn’t have been able to anyways as he had already decided to abandon all dignity. He ran away holding his hat to his head. Pain and blood followed him as the clowder of cats relentlessly pursued him through the tube.

One particularly agile Siamese cat, whose name was Oscar FYI, leapt on the back of Emal’s head, swatting at his face as he clung to Emal’s neck. If Emal had been familiar with Oscar, he might have been on particular lookout for him prior to having him attached to his neck. This cat was well known for having an obsession with latching onto people’s faces. Cries of pain be damned. There was something quite appealing to him about the warm head of a human. It was really good for sleeping on, but the warm blood the head produced when properly scratched was quite appealing as well.

As Oscar cackled with insane cat glee, trying to tear out Emal’s eyes, Emal ran back the way he had come. His legs began to feel like bloody strips of meat as other cats continued to hound his every step, asking for cheezburgers all the while. He got back to the intersection in what he was sure was record time. More importantly though, he got back before losing any muscles that would have stopped him from running. Oscar dropped off his face, licking his bloody paws with purrs of happiness. The other cats fell back as well but only far enough to pace at the entrance to the tube, hissing whenever Emal looked at them.

Trying to catch his breath, Emal stood hunched over in the middle of the intersection still holding his hat in place. He was deciding which way to go when he noticed more angry cats were also appearing in the tube to his left. With a silent signal, the cats from both tubes wordlessly started to creep toward him with murderous intent. His routes were now down to two choices, and one of them was the tube that ended in a brick wall.