Not QUITE the Classics

by Colin Mochrie

  As I am sure you have ascertained, I am no idiot. I know when I’ve met my match. I did not believe I could defeat the Devil, so I changed tactics. (One doesn’t evolve without adapting.) From that moment on, I tried to look upon Him as nothing more than a wasp. If I didn’t bother Him, He wouldn’t bother me. I admitted defeat and moved on. For two glorious weeks I moved on. And it was easy to do because of my soul mate. You see, I had fallen in love.

  The day after I had sworn never to chase that #%@#* Bird ever again, I saw her from atop my perch on a large granite outcropping by Fudd’s Reach. She had a pelt of deep reddish-brown that shone in the harsh desert sun. Long black-tipped guard hairs formed a dark cross between her shoulders. My God, she was a beautiful bitch. (I am speaking of course scientifically, so no sniggering!) And she was interested in me. I can’t tell you how refreshing it was to have someone admire me for my body and not my mind.

  I don’t know why the gods smiled upon me but I was happy for it. I had found the mate I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. The Bird was banished to the back of my brain, though every once in a while I started at the sound of a faint “meep meep” in the distance. Still, for two glorious weeks, I was like the others of my kind, hunting with a partner, sharing our prey, mating with primitive desire. Then, at the height of my happiness, the obsession returned. Slowly at first but quickly snowballing, as enticing to me as alcohol to the alcoholic. I started sneaking off, hatching plans, failing over and over in my quest, yet never surrendering to defeat. I made up excuses for my many absences. Things like “Heard about a new den that might be nice for us,” or “I’m giving grooming lessons to help prevent sarcoptic mange in our friends,” or, and I believe this was my low point, “Have to pee, just going to mark some territory.” I thought I could hide my frequent forays into the desert, but no. My soul mate tired of my distraction, and she tried to lure me back with her ample feminine charms. It worked for a while, but it never took.

  I suppose it was inevitable. One day I returned to our den, my pelt still smoking from an Electric Superhero Uniform misfire, to find our home empty and my soul mate flown; not her alone but also the litter that she carried within her. My progeny. As I stood there, numb, the smell of my burnt fur filling my nostrils, God appeared to me. He appeared in the form of an enormous saguaro cactus (I knew it was him, I recognized the voice), and he told me that my greatest fear was correct. The Bird was the Devil, and I alone could destroy Him.

  For the next few days, God appeared to me almost hourly, demanding that I kill the Devil. He didn’t always appear as a cactus. Once he appeared as my Wolfman Jack poster; another time, a can of talcum powder. In all of those manifestations, though, he left out the important part. How should I kill the Devil? He said he would give me a sign. And he did.

  The very next day, as I settled down to peruse the newest Company catalogue, a strange sudden wind tore it from my paws, sending it skidding in the dust. It came to rest face up and open to the page God wanted me to see.

  God bless The Company! Their newest device made my heart soar. The Artificial Good Luck Generator! Brilliant—and perfect for me. I can admit, in hindsight, that while some of my misadventures were due to my negligence or hastiness—whatever—most were due to plain old bad luck. This time there would be no mistakes. Good luck was guaranteed! I placed my order (I got a bonus gift!) and waited for delivery. The Company has the most advanced delivery system known to man or coyote. Twenty-seven minutes after placing the order, I had my package.

  I opened the box and stood in awe of the incredible contraption in front of me. I read the instructions and reread them. I made sure I missed nothing in the fine print and memorized each step. It was fairly simple, but from experience I knew I could not be cocky.

  The day of reckoning dawned. I felt the desert wind blowing in my face. That was a good sign: the Devil always ran with the wind behind Him. In the distance I heard the “meep meep” that never failed to make my back arch and my teeth grind. I could see the dust cloud as He made His way towards me. I activated the Good Luck Generator and closed my mind to everything except the whispering of God. I think I giggled. Closer and closer He came.

  “He’s coming,” God whispered in my ear.

  I was, for the first time in my cursed life, completely calm. My heart rate slowed, my senses became acute. I could smell a mosquito 500 yards to my left; he’d had a burrito for lunch. I could hear a rabbit burrowing in the ground almost half a mile behind me, and if I wasn’t mistaken, there was a duck with him. He was right, he should have turned left at Albuquerque. I could feel the wind, soft and warm, rippling through my fur. And I could see Him—the Devil—with almost alarming clarity. I wondered what was going through His mind at that moment. Did He anticipate some hellish fun at the hapless coyote’s expense?

  Then it happened.

  Twenty yards from where I stood, the Devil did something He had never done before.

  He tripped.

  At breakneck speed that stupid Bird tripped! I watched as He tumbled and somersaulted and ended up splayed on the ground at my feet. He looked up at me through those long, dusty lashes with pain and fear in His eyes. Delicious fear. I bent down to Him, slowly, drinking it all in. And as I looked at His torn feathers and broken, bloody beak, I was reminded of how He had destroyed my life. From the countless humiliations of falling through canyons, getting crushed by anvils, and run over by trains, I had watched Him make a mockery of the laws of nature and science. He had made me destroy my love, my chance at a family.

  I sank my teeth into His soft neck, ignoring the terrified “meep meep” He gurgled with His last breath. Warm blood splashed onto my face and flowed down my throat as I shook Him violently, breaking His neck. His eyes clouded and His body went limp, but nothing, certainly not pity, would ease my blood lust. I devoured Him, feathers, beak, bones, and all. I laughed into His dead eyes as I pulled His drumsticks apart.

  Then, as quickly as it had come, the rage left me. I was lying on the ground, covered in bird viscera with a feather stuck to my cheek with blood. My chest heaved with the pounding of my heart. I had done it! I had killed the Devil. Nothing more to haunt me! Nothing more to fill my days and nights! Nothing more…at all.

  That was where they found me two days later, still crying.

  I have no idea where they took me. I surmise it isn’t your usual animal detention center. I have been studied, probed, injected, and cut. But I think I scared them. I overheard two of the orderlies say, “The freak gets it tonight.” What, no chance to defend myself? No trial? No matter. I wonder if they can actually kill me. Lethal injection? Ha! They’ll have to do better than that.

  I’m looking out my cell window as I write this. The moon is up. I’m looking at my soul mate, standing quite a distance away, waiting for me. I howled every hour from the moment I was put in here, hoping she would hear, and she did. She came back for me.

  My makeshift device, fashioned from bedsprings and a defunct transistor, has neatly blown the bars from my window and I’m free to escape. (Admit it. You are impressed that I am writing a memoir, conducting a jailbreak, and courting my woman all at the same time. Admit it.)

  And now the hardest part…or is it the easiest? Remember my bonus gift? The little freebie that The Company tossed in with the Artificial Good Luck Generator? I laughed when I saw it. PERMANENT DE-EVOLVER PILLS. The pills, through a complex chemical process, permeate cell membranes to… Look, I’ll make it simple. I take the pill, I de-evolve into an average coyote. No talking, no inventing, no super-genius. Just a coyote. Sounds good to me. I never really fit into the human world anyway. The pants chafed.

  I take the pill. I feel calm. This is the right choice for me, for her, for the litter. All I want is them. With my family, perhaps I can get the peace I’ve never had on my own. This is how I shall leave. Do not pity me. My mind is far, far clearer than I ever thought possible. I am far, far happier than I have ever hoped.

  It i
s a far, far, better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.

  The Cat and my Dad

  INSPIRED BY DR. SEUSS’S

  THE CAT IN THE HAT

  The sun never showed.

  It rained and it poured.

  So dreary and depressing

  That I stayed indoors.

  Though to tell you the truth,

  Even if it were sunny,

  We wouldn’t dare step outside,

  Not for all the world’s money.

  Not out in the front yard,

  Or even the back.

  No fresh air for us

  Since the zombies attacked!

  Had it been just a month

  Since the world fell apart?

  How did it begin?

  When did it all start?

  Ah, yes, I remember,

  It comes now in flashes.

  It started with people

  Getting itchy red rashes.

  There was coughing and hacking

  And barfing and sores

  That smelled truly awful—

  Ghastly symptoms GALORE!

  Then a flux and a fever

  An ache in the head,

  Then zippo and presto—

  All the victims dropped dead.

  But they didn’t stay that way—

  Proper corpses just rot.

  These acted up

  The whole naughty lot.

  They groaned and they crawled,

  They staggered and jerked,

  Out of cars, schools, and malls

  And the places they worked.

  The world was in turmoil,

  No one was elated,

  Except those who quite wisely

  Had loved ones cremated.

  No one knows why—

  Science offers no reason

  Why the zombies attacked

  In this precise season.

  Why, no matter your pay scale,

  Your class, or your height,

  You might rise up a zombie

  With a brain appetite.

  There were bride and groom zombies

  Recently wed,

  A Ralph Lauren zombie—

  Haute couture for the dead.

  There were zombies of Science,

  Of Arts, and of Maths.

  Some that had showers

  While others took baths.

  Life wasn’t good,

  In fact life was bad.

  My major worry?

  What happened to Dad?

  He had gone off to work

  Like he did every day.

  Jumped in his car

  (The blue Chevrolet).

  I waved from the window,

  As I usually did,

  In my jammies while petting

  Our cat, Mr. Sid.

  Dad smiled and waved

  In his nice dadly way.

  But we haven’t seen him

  Since that pre-zombie day.

  Was he eaten by zombies?

  Did he die, then come back?

  Was he Frank-en-stein-stag-ger-ing

  Hunting a snack?

  I hope that he’s living,

  That he’s safe and okay.

  We need him back home

  And we need him today!

  ’Cause my mom’s catatonic,

  She’s developed bulimia.

  ’Cause Mr. Sid’s dying

  From feline leukemia.

  I think it’s the stress

  From the zombie attack

  Making everyone’s health

  Go so far off track.

  As man of the house

  I’ll keep family together,

  But being just eight

  Now’s the end of my tether.

  I’m feeling quite weary,

  Looking out at the rain,

  At zombies a-wandering

  Moaning (hungrily), “Braaaiiinnns.”

  I have to admit

  It’s annoying to hear.

  I mean, mix it up sometimes—

  How ’bout asking for beer?

  Then again, a drunk zombie

  Wouldn’t be very good.

  (Though it’d move slower yet

  Than a sober one could.)

  As I thought about Dad,

  I spied up the road

  A blue Chevrolet gunning

  Towards our abode!

  At the sound Mom jumped up

  With hope in her smile.

  Mr. Sid promptly barfed

  On the clean kitchen tile.

  I watched as the car

  Drew nearer and nearer.

  I watched as the face

  Of the driver grew clearer.

  The Chevy turned into

  Our driveway and parked.

  The door slowly opened,

  The neighbor’s dog barked.

  Out crept my dad,

  Limb by limb like a spider,

  With eyes open wide

  And his mouth open wider.

  He’d turned into a zombie

  Neither dead nor alive!

  And he’d come home to eat us!

  (Dinner’s always at five.)

  He loped and he shambled,

  He deadwalked and swayed.

  Till he’d mounted the steps

  Of the veranda he’d made.

  We looked on with horror

  When he tried the doorknob.

  While he twisted and yanked it

  Mom stifled a sob.

  Then my poor zombie father

  Remembered his keys,

  Dropped them, then caught them

  Between his dead knees.

  As he ran into trouble

  Fitting key into lock,

  My dad started swearing—

  It came as a shock!

  My dad never swore

  Not even a “damn it!”

  Now he cursed like a sailor

  In a drama by Mamet.

  But then he calmed down,

  Counted one, two, three, four,

  An audible click—

  He’d unlocked our front door.

  That spurred us to action—

  We leapt to our feet.

  Mom grabbed me and the cat

  And beat a hasty retreat!

  She ran for the door

  That led to downstairs.

  “Follow me!” she ordered,

  “And don’t you be scared!”

  Don’t be scared? Are you joking?

  I threw Mom a glance.

  I was seconds away

  From peeing my pants!

  We flew down the stairwell—

  No braking or break—

  But that’s when it struck me:

  Classic rookie mistake.

  Trapped in the basement—

  Oh, what were we thinking?

  There’s nowhere to go!

  It started to sink in…

  With no place to run,

  And nowhere to hide,

  We were totally done for.

  I started to cry.

  Dad came down the stairs,

  Looking clearly deranged.

  Since the last time I’d seen him

  He’d totally changed.

  His hair, neatly parted,

  Wa
s now dappled with mud.

  His teeth, once so gleaming,

  Were now stained with blood.

  His eyes had a glint,

  His intent was quite plain.

  He spoke but one word.

  You guessed it: “Brraaiinn.”

  But amazingly then—

  Oh, brave Mr. Sid!

  He did what no feline

  Could ever have did.

  He jumped at my father

  With claws and teeth gnashing;

  My father fell gagging—

  From Sid’s breath or the slashing?

  Now was my chance!

  Find a weapon to use!

  I saw scissors, a golf club,

  A pair of spiked shoes.

  I needed a crossbow,

  A machete, a gun.

  But being Canadians,

  Alas, we had none.

  My father rose up,

  So ferocious but dumb,

  And he shambled and lurched

  Towards Mr. Sid and my mom.

  It was then that I spied them

  Above the Goodyears,

  Hanging up on a hook—

  Sharpened gardening shears!