Little Nonsense put on his tuxedo, sat in a corner and felt sorry for himself. He was
not available for comment.
Weasel Eyes was hopping up and down on his bicycle. It was an ethnic dance with
deeper psychological consequences.
Shot Me, the dead black and white kitten, was testing the tread of all-weather
radials at the four way stop by the new tasty sawdust hot dog emporium. One of the
employees picked out the extraordinary bullet when the cat’s thickness no longer
exceeded the bullet’s. He put it in a medicine bottle with a little colored water and let the
sun find it on his windowsill.
Kick Me and Little Cloud Animal were playing in the dirt. They were making
muddy gingerbread and giving it to anyone who came by until they ran out of water and
the man at the gas station across the street wouldn’t let them have any more. Kick Me
wanted to kick that man and when he thought of it, it made him laugh because he was
developing a sense of irony. Cloud Animal thought it was a better idea to urinate on the
sidewalk. They didn’t have to be back at the detention center for another whole hour.
“My head made a mistake,” said Little Nonsense finally to Wet Willie Winkie.
Wet Willie gave Little Nonsense a furry ball and went away. Little Nonsense smiled and
smiled and waited for the furry ball to run across the room to play with him. Furry balls
don’t do that. “My head made another mistake,” said Little Nonsense.
Shoot Me Too, the dead black and white kitten’s little sister, was collecting fish
bones by the market when a prospector shot her with a tiny crossbow as part of a medical
experiment. She didn’t die, but she didn’t live happily ever after either.
Little Nonsense took his tuxedo off and refused to attend the interview. He
commented on his unavailability. Weasel Eyes insisted that kicking the interviewer in the
head was part of the dance.
Shoot Me Also, the dead black and white kitten’s sister’s little brother, looked like a
drowned rat, but nobody knew why. The hot dog salesman took him home, put him on
the windowsill and waited for the moon’s opinion.
Little Nonsense decided to avoid corners altogether. It was deep into summer.
The air was thick, the sun was pouring and the journalists were tired. Little Nonsense
noticed this and it wasn’t easy to feel sorry for himself anymore.
So he did this and he did that and he did this again. His implication’s were
astonishing. His implications were just beyond belief. So he didn’t believe them. And
that didn’t stop them. It didn’t stop his implications. The journalists dug them up and
detained them. They considered further implications of the implications and pretty soon
they left Little Nonsense behind, where he danced and danced and forgot all about his
implications, which had been given to attention seeking devices known as attachments,
which Little Nonsense refused to open although others remained fascinated by the
damage they could cause.
Rich Ives is the author of Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days currently being published in serial @ Silenced Press everyday in 2014 and forthcoming in paperback. Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.