Strange Tails

Squirrel padded back to his room, damp from his morning’s exertions. He longed for artificial light and the promise of a dry towel. Instead he found Potbelly, curled up on his bunk. One eyelid opened to greet him, then closed again. She wheezed something he could not quite hear, followed by a high, sobbing whimper.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, bounding onto the bed.

Potbelly didn’t move save for her shallow breathing. Squirrel stroked her, her matted bristly fur revealing puncture wounds to her neck.

“Oh dear Potbelly, what happened? Is this from the hunt? You know you’re not a hunter. You’re not even much of a gatherer. What bit you?”

Still she didn’t answer.

“I have to get help. First aid. Someone round here must know something of actual use.”

“No,” she wheezed finally. “Just rest.”

“Rest? But you look like roadkill.”

Squirrel turned around. He had been interrupted by a shuffling in the doorway, a crow, the same one that eyed him so unnervingly before. The crow stopped at the mention of roadkill and scrutinized the stricken Potbelly. A few choice expletives from Squirrel shooed it away.

“Let me at least get you something,” he said, turning back. “And by something I mean hard liquor. We can kick back and you can regale me with your failure-to-hunt stories.”

Potbelly looked up. In her gaze were signs of life.

“I blame that Cujo. You young pups are so impressionable. Nothing but Lassie for you from now on young lady.”

Potbelly whimpered again, but this time it sounded more like a rueful laugh.

“Trouble with nature is it’s not keen on being eaten. Tends to fight back. I’m going to get you some help.”

She protested feebly. Squirrel put one small claw to his lips and left.

***

“She’ll be fine,” said the capuchin, his nimble fingers working a bandage around Potbelly’s neck, ignoring the uncomfortable croaks emanating from just above.

“Does she need one of those speaker cones? You know, to stop her licking it?”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“Oh go on. I’ll make it worth your while. You accept bananas?”

“As much as I enjoy a good monkey stereotype, I decline. Come see me if things aren’t healed in a few days.”

“We don’t plan on being here in a few days.”

“It’s a free country.”

“Really? I don’t think you’ve been paying attention.”

“I don’t get out that much,” replied the capuchin, looking Squirrel up and down. “Not much to see.”

The medical doctor, if that’s what it was—Squirrel, having not been able to locate Michel bumped into the returning Siobhan, who directed him, grudgingly, down the hall to this guy—collected together his remaining first aid items and clip-closed his bag. The wiry black creature, with its small, almost-human face, gestured a goodbye. Squirrel returned a rather different gesture. When the door closed, he sat back down with Potbelly.

“Tell me who did this to you,” he said.

Still Potbelly lay silent. After several moments of avoiding his stare, her neck began throbbing and she relented. “I just want to rest,” she said. “We can talk about this tomorrow. When we leave.”

“Leave? So you like the idea now?”

“Compared to your usual standard, yes.”

“Nice. We can find a computer, get the address of every Walmart in the state. Imagine it, we can complete our entire collection.”

Potbelly grunted a despondent grunt. Squirrel smiled his toothachy smile in return, and leapt for the pull cord on the blind, using his small weight to draw it to. He hopped out, leaving her in peace.

***

“I’m sorry about earlier,” said Squirrel, tapping on the half-open door while keeping his face half-hidden behind it. He could see enough of the room to know Siobhan had settled in, rolled in a towel to dry off. As usual, she was smoking.

“Don’t sweat it, tiger. You’re not the first nor last. Though for you, I’d wager I’m both.”

“I’m just not into that sort of thing.”

“I think you love your friend more than you realize.” She stubbed her dog end into the last free spot in the ashtray. “The ass is always leaner on the other side of the fence,” she laughed, ruefully, slowly mashing the filter into nothing.

“Cigarettes,” she continued, “they’re just like you unreliable men—things that I cannot seem to quit. Coralane told me once those human scientists forced animals to smoke, as an experiment, just like they made mice run around those little mazes. The smokers were dogs, though, mostly, so I guess the only thing I have to blame for my cigarette habit is my own weak, addictive nature. The same weak addictive nature that has me drawn to furry assholes.”

After a pause, she added: “By furry assholes, I don’t mean the actual holes. I mean little furry time wasters. Like you. Schmucks. Jerks. Douche—“

“Yes, yes, I get the picture. Look, I know I’ve burned a bridge here but I just wanted to apologize.” His face emerged fully from behind the door. “Potbelly was injured, and then you helped me, and then it made me think … maybe I did the same to you. I don’t want to feel guilty about it.”

“Nice apology. I’m glad I helped you salve your conscience. Maybe I should prostrate myself in the bathroom in case you run out of floor mats.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Don’t sweat it. You’re like a fly ’round sugar, there’s always another.”

“I thought it was like a fly ’round shit.”

“Such a sweet talker this one.”

“Sorry, I’m just … “ Squirrel didn’t know what he was just. “I think pillow talk is another thing I’m not very good at. I have a list somewhere.”

“For once, I agree with you.” She moved slightly, and the towel slipped from her shoulder. “Unless, of course, what you really mean is that you’re looking to improve.” She blew him a kiss. “There’s many a clit ’twixt cup and lip.”

“No, no, that’s not what I mean—”

“Ha ha! Squirrel, I’m pulling your very tightly wound chain. If I was holding a barge pole you wouldn’t even be feeling the end of it right now.” She pulled up the towel and waved a paw in the air. “I’m happy to take this over whatever you can offer. Even if self-pleasure is such a sad business. S’why it involves so much Kleenex.” She attempted a toothy smile. “You’ll need to work quite hard to win me back.”

Squirrel stared at the floor, embarrassed again. He had no idea why he couldn’t go through with … it … and not just because of those magnificently off-putting teeth. He just … well … and here she was again, and on a bed.

“Bed,” he said, relieved finally to verbalize something. There was something about the sleeping arrangements that had been bothering him.

“Not your natural environment, lover boy, but go on.”

“I was wondering where all the humans slept before they were wiped out. We all have these converted cages, but they must have been reserved for us prisoners, originally. Unless this place is even kinkier than I thought.”

“Well done, it took you, what, three days to ask that question? Something of a record. Takes the average creature around twenty-four hours. You’re a special case alright.”

“I had no plan to stay more than a night so it didn’t really crop up. What’s the answer?”

“You’ll have to ask Coralane. She uses the human quarters as her private retreat. At least, that’s what I think, but of course no one actually asks her. I tried once but she brushed me off with some excuse about sensitive equipment and climate control. A likely story. The preds all follow her unquestioningly, the rabbits are too timid, and the sheep are doing nothing to enhance their reputation.”

“That’s outrageous!” declared Squirrel. “I thought you were all one big dippy commune here?”

“Ha, ha!” she proclaimed, again in her mocking, onomatopoeic way, like she was simply stating a laugh. “Your naivety is almost enough to seduce me. But not quite. No, the more Coralane is carried around like a Queen the more she acts like one. Same’s true with Littlewiener, and with Trevor, that lecherous old goat. And Gavin, too. Her little entourage of idolaters. I’m too amused by a bird being top of the pecking order to care. I live my life, they live there’s. What do I care about the humans? I don’t miss what I never had.”

“How do you know all of this if it’s so secret?” he asked. He was unfamiliar with the names but didn’t want to be distracted by them just yet. If Potbelly changed her mind about leaving, if that capricious mutt suddenly wanted to stay, this info could be useful ammo.

She winked. “Let’s just say I have someone on the inside. Frequently.”

“But why do they care so much about the humans?

“If you ask me, they want to be like them. They’re in love with the whole dominant species shtick. Why, God knows, look where the humans ended up. Doesn’t seem to stop them though. If you could find a human they’d probably be flattered, imitation being the sincerest form and all that. The penthouse suite is just a case in point. Got to have a pyramidal structure if you want to emulate the bipeds.”

She let out another one of those laughs, then stared intently at Squirrel. “Speaking of,” she said. “You might want to ask Gavin about Potbelly’s recent misfortune. A little birdy tells me he saw the whole thing.”

“I know what happened—she was attacked on the hunt.”

“Ah, yes, but by whom?”

“Are you saying Gavin knows who did it?”

“For a bright little tuft of fluff you can be quite dense, you know that? No, of course not, please refer to my opening statement.”

“Oh,” said Squirrel. “You’re saying Gavin did it?”

Siobhan lit a cigarette, took a long slow puff, and then placed it in the ashtray. Without replying she took up another tube, this time gray and translucent, a laboratory pipette containing a bright red ooze, and squirted it in a fat red line along her lips. She smacked them together, fluttering her eyelids in Squirrel’s direction.

“Do I look nice?” she asked.

“Like you just ate raw liver.“

“Not you, silly boy.”

It was then Squirrel noticed the shadow. It was quite something, considering the only source of light came from a window on the other side of the room, but then Snodberry’s bulk did seem to bend luminescence around itself.

Squirrel turned and looked up. Eventually his vocal chords, recognizing that the rest of him probably needed them to do something right about now, stretched into action.

“I was just, um, saying hello. Chatting. You know. Just that. Nothing else. Definitely nothing like that. No. Nor the other. Especially not the other. And not this, either. Well maybe a little this. But—“

“Squirrel was about to leave,” interrupted Siobhan. “Jury says he’s losing the competition for strong silent type. Unlike you, my big hunk of … “ She thought for a moment, an admiring twinkle in her eye. “Hunk,” she finished.

Snodberry gave her one of his shrugs. This time even Squirrel detected some meaning in it: a little nervous shyness. This dolt has a thing for her, he thought.

“Well, I’d better leave you to it. And by it, I mean, of course, it, so, with no further ado, and in the nick of time, and not a moment longer, and certainly without any—“

A great arm swooped down. Like he had wings Squirrel took to the air, flying through the doorway in a graceful arc and landing, ever so gently, in the hallway outside. He barely even felt the pressure of Snodberry’s grip. Then, just as gently, the door closed.

The preceding dream-like sequence ended with a nightmarish apparition. A crow, in fact the same scavenger crow from before, and before that too, quietly blinked its glassy eye at him.

“Jeeezus!” cried Squirrel. “What is it with you?” He pushed past the evil gaze and ran somewhere in the direction of Potbelly.

“You know what,” said the crow to itself. “I’m getting pretty damn sick of this.”