Honey, I Shrunk the Cat
A short story about a feline nightmare.
You know what’s worse than a cat?
A micro-cat. That’s what.
It happened five months ago, and every morning at 4:27, I’m reminded that there are consequences to marrying my brilliant Einstein prodigy.
I’d say “Oh well, love is love,“ but when claws thinner than a sewing needle trek their way up my nostril every single night at 4:27... I just wish she’s something a bit less world-shattering.
Shrink rays lose their cool after the 140th session of mornings with nosebleeds laced with micro-litter (because of course, Mrs. Einstein shrunk some Tidy Cats for that bastard). If I wanted a dermaroller, I’d get one that didn’t give me strange rashes after a trip around the climbing gym known as my face.
The creature’s name is Hank. He’s too small to hurt when he falls, and he’s faster than a spider.
I have never hated a creature more than I’ve hated Hank.
He was a nightmare even before the Shrinkening. Mrs. Einstein had never neutered the boy and forgot the smell of cat piss over the years of marking. I was diplomatic, but my wife was also Hank’s wife, and he would never let her go. Now that he’s the size of a soldier ant, her body has become his entire territory.
I’ve looked for tragic accidents, but he dodges fly swatters like he’s Mario and they’re Thwomps, and my wife’s caught on that I’m not aiming for a rogue mosquito. She knows how he treats me—she’s commented on how sick my rashes look—but it’s all for science.
Does your rash feel like it’s interrupting the natural state of the universe? Have you felt an odd pull on the quantum level around those puffy spots?
No, Einstein. It feels like emotional neglect and inflammation.
Hank can’t run this house any longer. I can’t smell bloody litter any longer. I haven’t had a mosquito-meowless sleep in months and I am tired.
But I’ll have my rest if all goes well tonight.
Here’s the plan. Mrs. Einstein and Hank spend most of her day in the attic lab. I don’t. That means, I have time to convert our spare bedroom into an outdoor/indoor micro-cat paradise. Fresh garden soil? Check. Cat grass, planted and ready for mowing? He’ll have a heavenly forest of it.
There’s only one more piece of this puzzle.
Our chicken coop. I need to shrink it. And all the chickens. If Hank has Hank-sized chickens, well... I’ll have my wife back. And my bed. And sleep. God, I am tired.
I just need to convince her we have a reason for micro-eggs. I’ll tell her we need to test reproduction. A chicken-and-egg situation.
