Your kiss was a total ambush. It reached in and grabbed every sense, holding my whole being ransom. Not sure what drew me in enough to overcome my resistance. Alien species, lipless mouth, and forked tongue is no turn-on – but, oh that tongue. What are those twirly bits on the end? Every secret pink part of my body was brought to attention with that tongue. How on space-station did it do that? So when you whispered your offer of next base, the surrender was already signed and archived. This sort of boundless pleasure usually needs a battery-pack
Real live words taken over by cats. A febrile frenzy of feline Words.
Strictly Not suitable for dogs …
Cats eating each other – and themselves when they’re hungry … After all, what are nine lives for?
Cats on a high wire, cats on trapezes – it’s catabatic!
No cats are baptists. They hate water remember? Why on earth would any cat allow themselves to be fully immersed just to be reborn? Much more fun to just leap off a tall building.
Humans call this a disaster. Cats say no word can mean disaster if it starts with CAT.
Sounds emitted by two cats fighting. Known to strike a sweet spot outside any bedroom window at 3 am.
These don’t exist. Cats will only allow brushing.
Oh please. As if a human could relegate a cat to a corner.
That’s all for now folks!
I watched from the tree as they loaded you in the car to take you back to the pound. Kids were bawling their eyes out. You were still yap, yap, yapping as they buckled you in. They still couldn’t see me. Well, that’s the end of you now. Too much barking. Neighbours complained. Even got a letter from the Council about it. Ha! I hadn’t achieved that before.
You weren’t even a bad sort of dog – as far as canines go. But, these are my humans to ignore. I don’t want them fawned over by some yippety, yappity dog. I was always just out of sight, right until they’d put you outside – then I would slink back in ….
Wonder if they’ll bring another one back? Probably, but I’ll be ready. Got all the hiding spots nailed. And if this one doesn’t go off its ‘nana barking at me? Well, I have other ways…Hmmm …. Better sharpen my claws.
Harry gazed at the back of his hand. Nothing. No changes. No claw, no hair, just normal human hands. He glanced up at the full round face of the moon. It was evil, taunting him, as it did last month, and the month before that. Next month was the Werewolf convention. He’d be the laughing-stock. The young ones already made jokes about Wolfagra. What will they do with someone who it didn’t even work on?
No, best stay put, make his excuses. Hopefully he can still get a refund on his Transylvanian tickets. He’ll go to somewhere bright and sunny instead – then he can really feel sorry for himself.
My Mum is mad. Crazy mad. I’m twelve, right? And I wanted to walk round to my mate’s place. Her response, “Sure, I’ll get the dog, she needs a walk.”
“Na, its fine,” I say. “I can just walk there.” And her response? Any other Mother, if she wanted to make a thing of it, might mention the possibility of some local pedophile. tempting me with lollies. BTW, my mum thinks that’s completely absurd. So what pushes her button? “Aliens, you could be abducted by aliens.” She tells me in all seriousness – if perhaps a little a hysterical. How can you argue with a mother like that?
Anyway, I managed to convince her that there had been no recent sightings in the area – besides I would carry the Alien Repellent I found inside the ‘Mr Strong’ cup in my Christmas stocking. After a quick spray of repellent that was strangely reminiscent of my Dads musk deodorant, I was on my way.
Well, wasn’t I surprised when an alien spaceship landed right in the middle of Armstrong Way. I was beamed straight inside and confronted by two grey aliens with almond shaped eyes. The repellent was completely useless. I mean they got up close and personal, so they would have copped a good whiff of it. It didn’t even register. What a rip! We joked about it later in the Alien tea room. They really cracked up when I showed the spray bottle.
Well, the greys turned out to be really nice Aliens. They called themselves Mork and Martin. They said they’d spend hours researching American sitcoms to come up with non threatening alien names. Mork did a brilliant Robin Williams impersonation. Really I can’t believe what Mum was so worried about.
When we got down to business, they offered me one wish. Of course I tried the old trick of asking for further wishes, but they wouldn’t buy into that one.
Next I asked for some piece of technology that would make me rich. They shook their heads, sorry, they’d already given the Americans all they had. Everything’s already patented.
In the end, I asked them me to help with an ongoing problem, namely my mother. Was there anything they could do about her alien obsession. I told them about the hours she spent on the Internet checking out sites about Roswell, Area 51 and God knows what. They commiserated with me, and agreed the sites were appalling. Mork said they only had the sketchiest of information, and while mostly the stuff was true, it wasn’t even half of it. So they emailed me a link to their own Earth Alien Intel databases (AlienNet). Then they asked me if I could set up and run an Alien PR website. I could Skype them whenever I wanted at Mork.Martin.
Well, its been awesome. I have so many followers, the Google Ad money is literally rolling in, and the YouTube clips spontaneously go viral. My Mum is my biggest fan. We now live in a ginormous house at the top of The Outlook. I have an entire floor for my mates to come round for endless game playing and Role playing games. Our favourite is Aliens and Dragons – Mork and I created it. LIFE IS AWESOME. Mork and Martin have their own room there when they visit – there’s even a special place for them to park their spaceship on top.
My Mum is still mad and obsessed, but she’s pretty cool – just as long as she stays on her own floor and doesn’t hack into my Skype account, or get too chummy with Mork and Martin… Not so sure about her Thai cosmetic surgery to make her eyes almond shaped. Maybe it’s just the ridiculous grey make-up she wears.
You know how it goes. The morning’s a frantic blur of shower and gulped down breakfast in the car. The muesli bar wrapper is still in your hand. You finally make it to the station, and just as you get out and lock the car, you hear that solemn, annoying male baritone announcing, “Airport train arriving platform one in two minutes”. You break into a flat out run, praying that there is sufficient balance on your Go Card to let you do a flying swipe through the gates.
You get to the entrance, swipe, and a strange message appears on the digital display,’Entering the SciFantOr zone‘. You figure it’s some movie promo, and move through the open gates … Only there are no longer any gates, and the world appears as if you are wearing your flat- mate’s inch thick reading glasses. You blink, the train rumbles above, so you keep moving. You are no longer clattering along the tiled station flooring. You are running through space, no space suit, just you and the endless star spangled blackness. You keep going, because, weirdly, you can still hear the baritone announce, “Airport Train, arriving platform 1 …”
You see a round yellowish light ahead. A flashlight? You are moving towards it at a rapid pace. It’s getting bigger and bigger … It’s huge. It’s not a light. It’s the moon – that full wonderful friendly face. You stop running to admire it. The familiar face is comforting. All is silent.
Suddenly, giant red pixilated letters start scrolling across the moon’s face. You slowly read … ‘S C I F A N T O R A R R I V I N G P L A T F O R M 2 N E R A N G
G O L D C O A S T. S T A N D C L E A R P L E A S E, S T A N D C L E A R‘.
Confusion. A shimmering sensation passes through your body. Once more you are standing on the platform. You stare uncomprehendingly at the arse end of your train as it leaves the station. You look across to platform 2. Empty. You glance up at its digital display, ‘Missed your train? . . . No one can miss Scifantor … Now boarding.’