then not only would my plan become reality, but more than that it would even outdo itself.
Loaded and dressed like the most stupid tourist ever, Gustav was back in the hallway only about half an hour later and looked at me full of phony pity. On his back I saw the backpack, probably left over from his blessed times as a hitchhiker, when as a young blue whale he had senselessly tramped through the world. Of course it wasn’t locked at the top. A stage win! He was wearing a golf cap and multi-colored shorts as if he was leaving for a concrete castle at the Costa del Sol. When the Roman scholars saw him, they would probably push him into this early Christian catacomb and fill it up again.
After he had ordered a ticket over the airline’s check-in hotline, he used his foot to push the basket, which was usually used to transport me to my annual check-up at the nice doctor, from behind the doorjamb. I acted like I didn’t have a clue about his intentions. Satisfied about the fact that apparently I wasn’t about to bolt, he came towards me, grabbed me around the waist and put me into the box. A last checking glimpse at the turned off gas range and the turned off lights, and off we were in our old Citroën CX-2000 to our purportedly oh so different destinations.
I have to admit that the place, which was situated in a former bakery, didn’t quite look like the dungeon of Dr. Fu ManChu from the outside. Through a big showcase, passing pedestrians were able to assure themselves of the proper care of the prisoners and enjoy their sight with endless »aww-how-cute«-whoops. That boundless boredom counted as a form of torture wouldn’t cross their minds.
Inside at the welcome counter stood a skinny, graying old woman who was dressed totally in black and might have a good chance to win »Ms. Knotweed« at the Night of the Witches. She smiled the smile of a marionette, at which her lower jaw jerkily flapped up and down while the rest of her face stayed absolutely fixed. For the one-month-care the animal lover told Gustav a price, which easily might have bought 80 hectare of the best spruce forest in Canada. While my false friend battled against the hypertensive impact of the price shock, he opened the grill of my box in passing so I could have a look at the dungeon and, in his belief, was able to acclimate.
Everything was exactly like I had expected it to be – just as fatal. It was a big room with a terrace-like, gradient wooden platform divided by several barriers. On that there were doll’s beds and pillows, in which about thirty fellows (in misery) dozed towards delirium. Those who were awake stared ahead apathetically. Food and water bowls as well as litter boxes lay about everywhere on the floor so that the smell in the air reminded of a giant just having thrown up here and simultaneously having answered the call of nature. Almost depression-triggering appeared some »toys«, which were dangling from the ceiling like bells and looked as new as on the day they were bought. Those who resided here didn’t play anymore.
I walked by a gray-headed Persian who was standing in one of these cute doll’s beds and was keeping the ceiling in view.
»What attracts your attention like that, brother?« I said, likewise fascinated by his strong grimacing that ranged between fear and great expectations.
»They’re coming closer«, he replied.
»Who?«
»Well, the mice.«
I raised my head and inspected the ceiling for anything mice-like. Without any result.
»But I don’t see any mice up there.«
»They aren’t normal mice.« His white whiskers vibrated in tension like they were carrying power current, yeah, his whole matted head shivered so much in fever as if he was to explode any second.
»They come from Planet Nagor-X and can stay invisible – and penetrate solid matter.«
»Got it«, I said, nodded compassionately and intended to leave himself completely to his studies of extraterrestrial mice.
»Don’t listen to the nutcase!«
I turned around and faced an attractive Egyptian Mau. Her green eyes seemed to reflect the seaweed fields of all oceans. Her dark patterned tail, which grew out of a sand-colored, cheetah spotted body, brushed my face.
»They should have showed this guy the rope a long time ago«, she said, approached me very closely and acted most conspiratorially. »There’s no Plant Nagor-X. Actually they come Planet Harfohr-X. And they aren’t mice but