Apocalypse meow
Explosions everywhere. Machine-gun and mortar fire from all directions. The night sky is filled with flashes of destruction. In the streets, carnage and chaos. And, in every house and every yard, the dogs are barking.
I fear the great dog uprising has begun.
The Man and the Woman have been missing for many hours. No sign of the Rodent. And no dinner in the bowl. Dinner hour passes, then dinner hour plus one, dinner hour plus two... still no pellets. The riots grow louder as darkness decends. Explosions and barking. I have no hard intelligence, but it sounds very much like the dogs are winning their war.
I am now convinced the Man and the Woman have been taken by the mongrel hordes. Betrayed perhaps by the Rodent himself. I can do nothing for them. People who bring dogs into their homes deserve what they get.
I move into the bunker, survey my fortifications. Upstairs, Fabio just stares blankly at his empty bowl -- the catatonic trance of the ignorant glutton. I leave him to his grisly fate.
Near midnight, the major explosions cease, but there are still persistent smatterings of what sounds like skirmish fire. The major offensive seems to be over; the dogs must be mopping up. They will have to secure the area street-by-street, house-by-house.
My bunker is strong and defensible, with multiple safeguards. For instance: any dog large enough to negotiate the steep stairs will be too large to crawl under the low bed, where I shall be. Brilliant, yes? If I am somehow flushed from there, I have access to plenty of high spaces that no dog on Earth can possibly reach. And, if necessary, there's always the big tub, deep and impenetrable. Within those high, slick walls, my blades can mince and slurry an enemy faster than an industrial blender. The tub will be my Alamo.
Alert! I hear rumblings beyond the outer wall. Possibly an armored dog transport outside the fortress. Doors. The scurry of padded feet on pavement. They have come.
Something familiar in these footsteps, though... something unsettling. By my claws, it's the Big Rodent. So. For betraying his own people, they make him an officer, and now he leads a dog squad back to his own home, to finish the job.
They're in the house now. I am ready. It will take them a while to ingest Fabio, I'm sure. Then they'll be coming down for me. It will not go well for them. The people may have gone quietly, but not Shmool. Many a brave dog will be wearing the cone of defeat tomorrow. Let them come!
Hang on. I hear pellets. Can it be that the dogs are FEEDING Fabio? It must be a trick, a diabolical ruse to lure me from my bunker. I must not give in. Must be strong. Oh, but I can hear Fabio munching. That traitor will get all the food! No Shmool, be strong. Hold it together. Focus is a warrior's greatest weapon...
Screw it. I'm going up.
I fear the great dog uprising has begun.
The Man and the Woman have been missing for many hours. No sign of the Rodent. And no dinner in the bowl. Dinner hour passes, then dinner hour plus one, dinner hour plus two... still no pellets. The riots grow louder as darkness decends. Explosions and barking. I have no hard intelligence, but it sounds very much like the dogs are winning their war.
I am now convinced the Man and the Woman have been taken by the mongrel hordes. Betrayed perhaps by the Rodent himself. I can do nothing for them. People who bring dogs into their homes deserve what they get.
I move into the bunker, survey my fortifications. Upstairs, Fabio just stares blankly at his empty bowl -- the catatonic trance of the ignorant glutton. I leave him to his grisly fate.
Near midnight, the major explosions cease, but there are still persistent smatterings of what sounds like skirmish fire. The major offensive seems to be over; the dogs must be mopping up. They will have to secure the area street-by-street, house-by-house.
My bunker is strong and defensible, with multiple safeguards. For instance: any dog large enough to negotiate the steep stairs will be too large to crawl under the low bed, where I shall be. Brilliant, yes? If I am somehow flushed from there, I have access to plenty of high spaces that no dog on Earth can possibly reach. And, if necessary, there's always the big tub, deep and impenetrable. Within those high, slick walls, my blades can mince and slurry an enemy faster than an industrial blender. The tub will be my Alamo.
Alert! I hear rumblings beyond the outer wall. Possibly an armored dog transport outside the fortress. Doors. The scurry of padded feet on pavement. They have come.
Something familiar in these footsteps, though... something unsettling. By my claws, it's the Big Rodent. So. For betraying his own people, they make him an officer, and now he leads a dog squad back to his own home, to finish the job.
They're in the house now. I am ready. It will take them a while to ingest Fabio, I'm sure. Then they'll be coming down for me. It will not go well for them. The people may have gone quietly, but not Shmool. Many a brave dog will be wearing the cone of defeat tomorrow. Let them come!
Hang on. I hear pellets. Can it be that the dogs are FEEDING Fabio? It must be a trick, a diabolical ruse to lure me from my bunker. I must not give in. Must be strong. Oh, but I can hear Fabio munching. That traitor will get all the food! No Shmool, be strong. Hold it together. Focus is a warrior's greatest weapon...
Screw it. I'm going up.
so sayeth Shmool on Tuesday, July 05, 2005
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