Cat Proposes to Speak on my Behalf
“This is a Sequestran sorting station,” said Cat, “you see the Sequestrans are a benign ethereal like civilisation. They mean no one any real harm. However to survive, effectively to breathe, they need molecules and atoms to flow continuously through their quark holes. You see once upon time their home planet ‘Sta’ provided enough of the kind of energy they needed to take in for their ‘bodies’ to function properly. When their planet started to fail their scientists discovered that by harvesting the functionality of quark holes, and through moving inanimate matter molecules through such holes, they could artificially generate the energy type they needed to live.”
“Ok so basically what you’re saying is ‘what’ exactly in relation to how I get my Willy back?” I enquired.
Cat stared back at me with an incredulous slant to his whiskers saying,
“Have you not been listening at all you tailed moron? This is a quark hole sorting station. It’s where the Sequestrans do their best to sort out any animate objects or twits like you that happen to get sucked into one of their quark holes by mistake and jumbled up.”
“Ok,” I said, “I sort of understand the mixing up of bits because I remember about Fastmove on Earth. But I didn’t fall into that hole with a Mudlizard did I?”
“No you didn’t,” said Cat. “My guess is that their quark holes all connect up in one massive complex network and that a Mudlizard got sucked in somewhere else at around the same time as you did. Then unfortunately, your respective molecules got mixed up a bit at some junction point in the network. The Sequestran monitors picked this up and have brought you both here to try and sort you out. Personally though I would say you’re way past sorting out. And actually, you look alright with a tail,” added Cat.
Cat hovered rapidly upward as I swished my new appendage around my body in his direction, before saying,
“Look, just tell me what we do next. I want my bits back.”
“Surely it’s obvious isn’t it?” said Cat, “we need to ask the Sequestran sorting attendant at this station for help. Simple.”
“Right. So where is he, she or it?”
“All around us boss, all around us,” whined Cat.
I screwed my face up and said, “What do you mean, all around us?”
“I told you. The Sequestrans are an ethereal civilisation. They exist dispersed in what we perceive as the space around us,” said Cat in an exasperated tone.
“Right. So basically I can’t see them.”
“Nope,” said Cat.
“Well how the sprokus am I going to speak to them then if I can’t see them you mangey machine?” I grumbled.
“I cannot and do not therefore get ‘mange’ you twerp. And you cannot speak to them which in my view is very lucky for the Sequestrans. I shall speak to them on your behalf.”
Oh good grief I thought. Now I’m really in trouble……
End of Chapter 3
Cat at his irritating best…….
As Cat had gone on speaking my face had gradually screwed and scrunched more and more up as I struggled to take it all in. With what must have been by then a classic look of almost abject horror and bemusement on my face I half shouted,
“Sorry, but that just sounds like total Ogredonoshit to me. You’ve just made that up. I mean what measurements have you made, what data have you collected? How could you possibly be doing anything but making it up. For the last ‘however long’ we’ve been moving through a Quark hole and although we’ve just arrived somewhere how could you possibly carry out scientific experiments and analysis in less than 5 minutes. You really are the most irritating, pointless, useless artificial intelligence assistant anyone could possibly have!!”
“Had you actually let me finish you brainless halfwit I would have gone on to explain I am just repeating what I’ve been told.”
This was even more irritating and I made it plain that it was by yelling at the top of my Muzlizard voice, “TOLD!! TOLD!!!….” which actually came out ‘Goorarp, goorarp’.
“Yes,” said Cat, “that’s right. Told.”
“TOLD BY WHO!!!” I screeched.
“Well by the Sequestran responsible for this sorting station of course.”
I clapped my hand, ‘slap’, to my face and found myself swishing my tail as I said “buludderdadah’ which loosely translated from Mudlizard to olde English is ‘WHAT?, without ‘the’ and any following intergalactically recognised expletive.
To be continued………
Cat shook his head slowly whilst clapping one front paw to the top of his head before saying,
“Ok, so really you want to know what all this means in practice? Well, I suspect it means that somewhere in this sorting station there is a Mudlizard wondering where its tail is, why its speaking like someone from Earth and what the useless appendage, dangling presumably between its legs, is actually for.”
“Sorting station? Sorting station?” I repeated, “What do you mean, sorting station?”
Cat sighed a very heavy sigh. It was one those sighs that I knew he reserved for occasions when he considered that there was very little chance that I was going to understand what he said next. Which, actually thinking about, was in fact most of the time.
“Ok you brain pauper, here goes,” said Cat,
“I have concluded from the readings I have taken and observations that I have made that someone or, put more precisely, some civilisation, has control over a process for the movement of objects through quark holes. I believe the process is linked to their well being and they need to use it to survive. Of course a quark hole can move living things as well but not perfectly, a little like Fastmove technology on earth which at first was not very good at reconstituting actual living organisms that had been disassembled at another point in space.”
“So,” Cat continued, “because this civilisation cannot control easily what they suck into their quark holes, occasionally living things get drawn in indiscriminately with non-biological matter and then reconstituted in a somewhat jumbled state. That is I think what has happened to you. You are jumbled up. That’s why you have a Mudlizard’s tail and that’s why you are speaking Mudlizard.”
To be continued……..
“I have been working on refining my Father’s work for some time and have concluded that he was almost correct in his proposals,” Cat began. He then continued after a short overly dramatic pause,
“It is very clear that worm holes can be used to move from place to place in the universe very rapidly though, as far as we know, no one has been able to do this in any fully controlled manner. However my Father was quite convinced that the Sequestran incursion on the moon in 2056 had something to do with worm holes. However he also detected during his experiments ‘quarklet’ energy bursts, previously never detected around any known worm holes. Based on the residual decay patterns of these energy bursts he was able to show some correlation between the disappearance of objects and people on the moon with peak quarklet energy levels. Unfortunate though he became too distracted by the Mudlizards to complete his work, which I picked up on about 2 years ago. My deliberations had led me to the point of submitting a collection of thoughts to the International Academy of Astroscience, postulating the existing of quark holes.”
Oh Saints of the Universe save me I thought. When Cat started to use words like ‘postulate’ I knew I was in for a long stream of ‘sciobabble’ as I liked to refer to it. I almost started to think it might be best just to forget about my Willy and begin to forge psycho-meaningful connections between my limbic brain and my new tail as quickly as possible. In an effort to head this to much postulation off, I said to be Cat,
“In the interests of getting us the heck outta here, wherever here actually is, do you think you could get to the point?”
I then quickly added as a cleverly disguised but largely disinterested afterthought,
“I mean it’s really terrific of course that you are publishing scientific thoughts , especially at your young age, and the astroscientific world will I know be thrilled by your latest publication but, what does a quickhole mean in practice my dear Cat?”
“Quarkhole you moron. Quarkhole.” replied Cat drily.
“Yes, yes of course. I meant Quarkhole,” I said, “but what has one of those got to do with my missing will and new tail?”
To be continued……..
The Work of Cat’s Father, ‘Cat’
Just as naturally, as I expected, Cat positively bristled with joy as he realised he now had the ‘explaining’ stage. He began his explanation in his usual superior manner, like the Head Avatar at a private school. Head up, tail up, whiskers flared and at absolutely maximum length, he postured as the best would, before speaking his first words on the matter.
“This is more than a worm hole. There is a scientific, astrophysicology theory actually first put forward by my Father, Cat.”
“Oh good grief,” I said, having had a horrible feeling ‘he’ would be somewhere in all of this.
“Please do tell me about Daddy’s theory,” I continued ever so sarcastically.
Cat immediately bristled some more, sweeping his whiskers even further back before spitting, “If you’re going to take that kind of supercilious attitude towards the pioneering work of my Father, I will stop with any explanation right now!!”
As Cat paused I thought to myself that my recollections of Cat’s Father’s experimental work were ones that usually involved me in stress, anguish, embarrassment and all too frequently pain, as he tried experimenting to prove one point or another. However, I also thought that strategically it would not be wise whilst in my current tailed and ‘willy-less’ state, to rile Cat with my opinion of his Dad’s scientific prowess. So I lied blatantly and as expertly as ever, saying,
“No, no, no. Not at all. My opinion of your Father’s scientific prowess is of the highest order. I don’t believe though he ever told me about any theory linked with worm holes. I expect he was being typically modest and didn’t want to take up my time with long explanations of sciences which of course I couldn’t possibly understand. He was so considerate in that respect.”
Oh my, talk about tacky treacle tattle to get your way. I was laying it on thicker than the average asteroid belt. But it worked, as I knew well it would from previous experience with the ‘ego’ of the Universe.
Cat duly responded, “Well ok then. I shall continue. But please do not interrupt.”
“Of course not,” I said as seriously as I could.
To be continued…….
Cat Goes Flying whilst I think Worms
Meanwhile, Cat, who had ricocheted off the first wall into another before using his thrusters to brake, stood before me with all 4 legs splayed to steady himself. He shook his head in an effort to get his rubberised face back into a more acceptable shape. His first words to me sounded a little like the gibberish I now spoke so I wondered whether the blow had done something to his internal circuitry.
“SHUSHHAFFASHHA WII PUFFI AS HIC,” he spluttered before recovering his composure, looking up at me and saying very clearly,
“Even if you applied to a learning space for amoebae you still wouldn’t pass the entrance thoughts would you, you,….. you sub-sub quarkic particle brain!!”
“Look I really am sorry,” I said. “I honestly didn’t do that on purpose. I really want to get out of wherever we are and get my bits back you know.”
“Well, slapping me across the room absolutely isn’t going to help is it?” Cat harumphed before continuing with, “fortunately for you I had worked out pretty much all that I can before you whopped me with your ruddy appendage.”
“Right. Good,” I said. “So when and how do I get my willy back?”
“I have no idea,” Cat said rather sardonically, “surprisingly your missing penis has not been top of my list of priorities.”
“Well what in the ‘Meteorites of Mericles’ have been your priorities then?” I asked somewhat testily.
“Well for one thing working out, or trying to work out, exactly where we are,” responded Cat.
“And?…” I enquired from the very edge of my uncertainty.
“Right,” said Cat, “as far as I can tell we are approximately 72.7798 light years away from the hole.”
Now, I had never been terribly good at converting light years into a distance unit that made sense, like miles or metres or atamites. However even my limited arithmetical capabilities knew that 70 odd lights was a lot of any of those. We’d come a very long way in not a lot of time. How was this possible? I’d heard of worm holes of course, who hadn’t? Of course I had no idea how they worked but could we be in one I wondered? Cat must know I thought so I asked him, thinking how much him being able to tell me would stroke his monstrous ego. I didn’t care though, I needed to know for obvious reasons.
“Cat,” I said, are we in a worm hole?”
To be continued……
Controlling my tail…..not
“Indeed it would,” responded Cat, “and so glad to see and hear that you are finally able to look at this situation somewhat rationally. Now, please try to stay quiet and still. I need to think.”
I tried to do as I was told as I knew that Cat was my best chance to get out of this. He floated down to the floor of whatever space we were in and sat first on his rear legs, before stretching out his front paws as he slowly lowered his upper body to floor level. Shortly afterwards he lowered his head until his chin rested on his front paws. It was almost as if he was going to sleep only his eyes didn’t close. He lay there motionless. I knew that he was setting in to deep thinking mode. His eyes, which remained wide open, flashed alternately blue and green. He was obviously computing and was not be disturbed.
It was most unfortunate therefore, that as I slowly shuffled the feet of my now somewhat ‘bottom heavy’ body, I momentarily forgot about my new appendage. Despite the quiet slowness of my turn the whiplash from my tail was enough to sweep Cat from his thinking position on the floor and fling him across the space we were contained in. The ‘murkiness’ of our surroundings had made me wonder whether the space we were in was actually contained. Now I knew, as about 5 metres to my left Cat’s rapidly accelerating body ‘splatted’ against what I presumed was some sort of wall.
“Oops. Really sorry about that Cat. Really sorry. I know you wanted peace to process and I was trying to be very quiet but I’m still not used to this tail of mine.”
‘My God, ‘My tail!!’ I’m taking ownership’ I thought. This is getting serious!!!
To be continued………..
Calm, I must be Calm
I then realised that this distracting discussion was doing nothing really but exacerbate the fact that I was apparently morphing into the savage extra-terrestrial species that had, for some time now, been intent on dismembering me. Perversely, dismembering had sort of started without direct Mudlizard intervention with that bit of me I held most dear, for obvious reasons to any deep thinking male. Accordingly, I drew a line under the ‘willy debate’ I had been having with Cat and returned instead to a state of uncontrollable wailing.
At that, Cat hovered up close to my face and having reared up onto his hind legs, proceeded to slap me repeatedly with his front paws in an attempt to calm me. This worked quite well as, although made of Rubanon, his paws were ‘well hard’ and the slapping hurt quite a lot. I raised my rear end and swished my newly acquired tailup and sideways in his direction in an attempt to swat him away and stop the beating I was receiving. I managed to get the desired result, though my swipe actually failed to make contact with him as he moved up and away to avoid my intended blow. Suddenly I was quite impressed with my tail. I could get used to using it as a counter to irritants like Cat. It was of course no substitute for a willy but nonetheless impressive in its flexibility and obvious strength.
At that moment, as I found myself instinctively using my new appendage as a Mudlizard would, to basically try and kill something, I suddenly became calmer. What else could I do? I spoke to Cat in my new language,
“OK Cat. I’m calmer now. I get where I am. Now tell me, how do I get out of this? I want my willy back, I want to speak the language we speak on Earth and I definitely want to stop thinking that I should dismember myself to claim the Mudlizard leadership’s bounty on me!! Which of course, if you think about it, would be impossible.”
To be continued……
It’s not just about Peeing
“Excuse me,” I said rather indignantly, “I hardly think a rubber binary number cruncher can be expected to understand the significance of that particular item of equipment to a man. It isn’t just about peeing. There are other things you know, simply about ‘being’. A man without his willy is like a hovercar without the autopilot. And,” I added, “will you please use the correct anatomical term. It’s willy, NOT penis. Saying ‘penis’ makes it sound so, so….’functional’.
“Oh my apologies,” said Cat rather sarcastically, “perish the thought that any part of you, or rather, an apparently former part of you, should be considered functional.”
This exchange, as annoying as it was, had distracted me from the fact that I now had a tail but no willy. To think, when I had left home to go to the police Skystation, all my bits were in order. Less than half a day later I was a phenotypic mess.
“What are we do to Cat?” I implored of my artificial companion, “what are we to do?” I repeated pitifully.
“Well,” said Cat, adopting a rather superior and greater tone, “what we mustn’t do is panic. We must stay calm whilst I process and calculate.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I responded in apparently perfect Mudlizard. “You haven’t lost your willy.”
“How could I?” responded Cat, “I don’t have one.”
“Exactly,” I said somewhat triumphantly, “You don’t have one. So how could you possibly understand the significance of the loss? I mean, how would you feeliof you lost an antenna for example?”
“Oh for goodness sake,” spat Cat, I’m not a 21st Century digital radio you know. I don’t have antennae!!”
“AHH but if you were you would realise how essential an antenna was to you functioning,” I responded.
Cat struck a kind of hovering ‘front paws on haunches’ pose as he looked down at me and spoke,
“Look, if I were a 21st Century digital radio I am sure that I would regret, if I happened to be a digital radio with a brain, losing my antenna. I agree with you there. For the proper functioning of such a device, my memory banks tell me that an antenna was quite important. However, those same memory banks, looking back through the annals of human anatomical history, do not afford the same level of essentiality to the penis for effective human function.”
“Well that’s just nonsense and it would seem obvious to me that the annals of human anatomical history must have been largely put together by people clueless as to the contribution of a Willy to one’s well being.”
To be continued………..
Where’s my Willy?
Suddenly, something seriously scary struck me. Where was my willy? In the fastest reflex reaction since Spaceman Steve outdrew the OuterSpace Oktopuss in the Black Hole Battle for the Brown Dwarf, what a great movie that was, I clutched fearfully with both hands between my legs. I then cried out loud as I realised there was nothing there and sank to my knees holding what felt like a very very very pre-pubescent lower abdomen. Sinking to my knees was not the best thing to do in the circumstances as I was now kneeling in what was apparently my own puddle of extremely pungent pee.
As my nose screwed up in horror, the obviously bad news about my willy rattled around the limbic part of my brain, or at least I presumed it was still my brain. The emotional shock manifested itself in what can only be described as a glass shattering, almost operatic howl.
As I screamed, Cat hovered much higher than usual and moved back away from me, whiskers flared. It was unusual for him to exhibit shock but he seemed genuinely surprised by the noise I managed to emit.
“What on Planet Pzzxamix was that noise? I’ve never heard anything like it,” cried Cat, “honestly, that was enough to waken the Dead of Dardalus 14. Was it really necessary?”
I tried to speak a reply but even in the gutteral Mudlizard gibberish language I was speaking it came out quite screechily as,
“I’ve lost my willy. I’ve lost my willy. You’re a robot Cat of indeterminate sex, if indeed robots have sex, I mean ‘a sex’. You simply wouldn’t understand how vitally important a willy can be to a chap.”
At least, that’s what I heard in my head. As I say it all came out of my mouth as Mudlizard gibberish and I have no idea if there was a word in Mudlizard for willy, especially as I had no idea if Mudlizards had such items of personal equipment. If they did it certainly wasn’t obvious to me, at this point, where it might be.
Anyway Cat seemed to get what I had screeched as he responded,
“I think a penis can hardly be considered to be an essential. At least not in the 23rd Century on Earth. Ask any gynaecologist and I feel sure they would agree with me.”
To be continued……….