Chapter Six
       page 22

Chapter Six

he poor little kitty looked half her usual size when Edna picked her up. Her belly had been shaved and she had tape over a bare patch on one of her front legs. She smelled of medicine and pee. Edna cuddled her and fussed over her before stowing her in her carrier. The cat was exhausted, staring silently through the wire door with unblinking eyes.
      Edna had suspected that Henry was going to have the negatives delivered to her car while she was in the vet's office. However, there was instead a large brown box on the back seat. Negatives would be in an envelope. Maybe it was a nuclear bomb Maybe it wasn't from the good guys, it was from the Bobs. It sure would be nice if Henry would tell her what exactly was going on.
      All the way home, she tried to get the cat to meow by making plaintive mewing noises herself. She was so busy watching it that she almost wrecked the car when she ran over a deer spattered over the highway. It was early in the morning. The highway department hadn't cleaned up the roads yet and there were road-kills everywhere. When she let the cat out at home, it bolted for the woods, ignoring the food she had specially fixed for it. She heard Henry rummaging in the car..

     “Edna, put this box inside somewhere.”
     “Move it yourself.”
     “I don't care if it stays in the car, but you won't have room for groceries. Also, get this thing out of the trunk. It should be upright.”
      What thing in the trunk? Curious, she took a look. Henry discreetly withdrew behind the house. There was a fat round thing that looked like an oxygen canister squeezed long-wise against the spare tire. It did look like it would be safer standing with its gauge upright. Edna lugged it over to the kennel. She took the box and set it there, too.
      When she went back to the house, the negatives were lying on the kitchen counter. She took them out of their glassine envelopes and held them up to the light one by one. They were all of mountain landscapes. Some were very wide views, showing long vistas. Others were quite close. Henry was right; there were no buildings or man-made things in any of them.

ince this had been Edna's idea, Henry didn't have to nag her to make the prints. He did, however, maintain his usual vigil below her.
     “What are you doing down there for two hours, Henry?”
     “I'm writing a letter to the Nutrasweet Company. Tell me if this is convincing.” He read her his letter. Henry was violently opposed to artificial sweeteners.
     “Well, I think you should say ‘kill’ instead of ‘exterminate’.”
     “I need some business size envelopes.”
     “I'd rather you didn't use the ones with my return address on them. Who else are you writing to?”
     “The supermarket people. They shouldn't stay open twenty-four hours. We need a chance to shop. Also, they need to put wrappers on their bananas and apples. And the entire fashion industry. Kids fashions are humiliating for us.”
      “Why don't you buy a company and get them to make things just the way you want?”
     “We don't make things. You guys make stuff.”
     “You would just have to hire people to run the company for you. You'd never even have to meet them in person.”
     “How would I buy a company?” Henry sounded very doubtful.
     “Do you have any money?”
     “I can get some. How much would I need?”
     “You would need to break into a bank.”
     “We don't ‘break in’.” He sounded indignant. “We get the key. We find the code. We can pick any lock if we have to, but that's so primitive.”
      “Where are you going to keep this money? How will you carry it around when you go shopping for a company?”
     “In a box!”
     “You would need a very big box.”
     “Fine. I'll get a very big box of very big denominations. Who should I get to run my company?”
     “I don't think this is such a good idea, really. I don't think you have any money sense.”
     “Money, shmoney, I can get all you want. We don't have any use for it, but if you want some, I can get it any time.”
cont. on page twenty-three

Copyright © 2000 by Jay Arraich. All rights reserved.
All photographs copyright © 2000 by Jay Arraich
jay@arraich.com