Shoe aerodynamics aside, this is not altogether a crazy occurence...shoes are falling all the time. Sometimes they're little and don't make much of an impact. Sometimes they're combat boots, and the steel toes can kill you.
Still, you can't go around dodging shoes that might drop. You'd drive yourself crazy. You'd crimp your back up. It would be bad for your spine and posture. Your friends will find you odd.
Maybe I'll just walk on my hands. Catch those shoes on my feet where they belong. Or maybe the euthanasia shoe is coming, and I should just smile and wait.
You never know. Maybe this time it will land on the other foot, and I'll get to watch.
(Reserved for Mader)
ReplyDeleteIf they made her disappear, she worried most about the cat. The slender young calico, the runt of some litter gone feral, had chosen her front porch to make his home. She’d named him Oliver. She left food for him. Sometimes by the end of the day it remained untouched, other times it was gone by noon. But she always made sure to refill the bowl, to watch out for him, to try to care for him if he’d hurt himself out on some night prowl. She’d pulled out prickers and bought him a collar to ward off pests and with great patience and care, got close enough to bring him to the vet. Once because he needed ten stitches in his side. “That’s no cat fight,” the vet had said, looked at her long and hard as if to say trying to domesticate a wild animal was crazy and would only lead to trouble and vet bills.
ReplyDeleteShe was glad to pay the money. Oliver had become her friend. Her only friend, really. She’d sit on the front porch waiting for him, and eventually instead of leaping away he’d stick around. Eyeballing her from a distance, growing closer. She smiled, thinking at the progress of his trust. She always waited for him to come to her. She knew from a flick of his tail, the wideness or narrowing of his sage green eyes, if it was a good day or bad.
Today was a good day. Oliver ate with gusto, groomed himself, then came over and rubbed his cheek against her calf. Slowly, every so slowly, she reached down to offer a hand and he marked that, as well. She frowned. There was a tiny notch missing from his ear, a bloodied crust. “You fighting again, boy?” Oliver looked up, smiled. As if to say “You should see the other guy.”
Tears came to her eyes. Who would take care of him?
Not her neighbors, certainly. They all thought she was nuts. She didn’t trust any of them not to turn around and call animal control.
But it was getting too dangerous to stay. A colleague told her about a safe place, only they didn’t allow pets. It was too much of a risk. Sometimes they’d have to relocate with little if any notice, and there wouldn’t be time for people to get their animals together. It could harm them all.
Two people she used to meet up with in the library basement vanished one day. Just didn’t show up to their meeting, and when she called them, their phones didn’t answer. That’s what happened, some said. You were there one minute, then…gone.
Some say it was too dangerous even having a phone. They were tracking people. But she tried to be careful. She knew things about technology, about GPS, about covering her movements. She’d been very good at her job. Until she got the email that she wasn’t needed anymore. They cut off her access, but she knew the back doors. Because she’d built them.
It was only a matter of time until they came for her. Again, with their offers. To come work for the new government. “With your talent,” the odd South African man said, “you could write your own ticket.”
The idea used to tempt her. Not anymore. It would be a healthy payday, but the cost was far too high. “You can take him, can’t you, Oliver?” She scratched under his chin. He lifted his head, closed his eyes, and purred. She didn’t have his claws to defend herself, but she had a gun. Maybe she’d go feral, too.