wildcat

It didn't move like Harry's husband. It looked like him, sure, if a little more abstract. Less like a person and more the idea of a person. It moved awkwardly -- not stiffly, more jaggedly. It hadn't worked out yet, exactly how to smile, and Harry was grateful for that. He wasn't sure how he would have taken the thing smiling at him while he ate his Nutella on toast at the little kitchen table that his husband built not six years ago. During his refurnishing craze. But the thing did speak, managing a voice that approximated his husband's old one. "Are you still hungry, hon? I can make you some eggs." Like that. Like nothing at all. He waved the thing off while he rinsed off the plate and put it in the dishwasher. They used to argue about how often Harry left dishes lying around like it was beneath him to put them in the washer. He made an effort to straighten that habit out.

On the way out, Harry stopped and placed a chaste kiss on the thing's cheek, more out of habit than anything deeper. The thing was not his husband, but he was expected to go through the charade. They'd only been going through the motions for six months now -- according to most studies it might take as long as a year before things felt like normal again. Ha. The very notion. The thing waved at him from the front door and then shut it once he was in the driver's seat with the keys in the ignition. He had to sit through seven hours of work plus an hour's lunch. The thing didn't work. His husband worked, before, at a publishing firm downtown. His husband had been ostensibly good at his job, but the thing felt no need to continue his work.

What did the thing do while he was off at work? The topic never came up at dinner, when the thing was more interested in Harry's day, what had come up at the office. The thing kept the house clean and cooked -- a kind of barter, he supposed -- so he wasn't expected to complain. Even when the thing made strange, "exotic" things for supper, Maybe the thing went and met up with other things during the day, stockpiling more seed-pods and negotiating with the people in power.

He tried not to think about it.

Harry tried to make it through traffic without running into anybody while his mother droned on over the speaker-phone, wondering when they were coming for dinner next. She seemed to get along with the thing just fine, even referred to it by his husband's name like it was his husband and not a thing. "I'll have to check our schedules and confirm with him," he said, changing lanes with barely a pause to look over his shoulder at his blind spot. "I'm on my way to work, Mum, I'll have to call you back later." She told him she loved him and he said the same, hitting the end-call button on the steering wheel.

The office was typical, boring, repetitive. Everybody wandered around with the same haggard, dismal look upon their faces, though some were better at emoting than others. Everybody had a thing at home. Single adult stats were way, way down. Breeding -- inter-breeding -- was suddenly very important, like it was wartime, and maybe war was coming. The government was very careful about what information was available regarding the naturalization programs or what was going on outside the country.

They hadn't wanted children, not really. Talked about it, sure, and his husband had been adamant that they adopt if they wanted one. He didn't really want to think about the thing breeding with him. But all the posters said FOR THE GOOD OF THE NATION, although most people looked a little confused about which nation was under discussion, these days. Harry stopped by Accounting on his way upstairs to flirt with Kenneth, who looked good in spite of the orange tie his thing had picked out for him. Harmless flirting kept him going some days, because at least Kenneth could make a full range of facial expressions and had normal body language and it sounded good when he laughed. Not like the thing's hollow chuckle. After that, he made it the two floors up and ran into Jane coming out of the women's washroom. They made lunch plans. Nice to have a meal with a person. Jane referred to the thing back at her apartment by her boyfriend's name, Jack, because they'd made it to a year and a half now. She wasn't very convincing, but it was prescribed by relationship therapists.

© Ben Rawluk, 2008, all rights reserved.