Showing posts with label lost pet. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lost pet. Show all posts

5.12.14

Toxoplasmosis World

The mist was just beginning to clear, revealing more of the brown smear of trees by the road. There was no other traffic as we drove towards Tarnmouth in the jeep. Inside I was wearing a full body bioproctection suit made of the highest quality linen.
“It’s up here, about four hundred yards out.” Says 6. I give him the thumbs up as we turn up a muddy track, the tyres cracking the frozen mud beneath. Ahead of us are the first finished houses in a new suburb that had been partly built, the buildings a mix of yellow brick and concrete painted grey. Great care had been put into the design of the architecture as they each represented the perfect mathematical equation for what the most economic, eco-friendly building could be through being designed by a computer. Rather than stirring up any kind of interest or emotion, all that the new builds inspired was ennui.
“This is as far as I go.” Says 6.
“Thank you.” I say, getting out of the jeep. It’s cold outside. I begin to walk up the unfinished road.

The streets are empty, although I can hear noises coming from inside the houses. There is a strange atmosphere in the air, the same quietness as if out in new snow. I walk up the drive of one of the houses and let myself through the front door. The walls were decorated bizarrely, striped wallpaper patterns beneath pictures nailed to the wall at varying heights. I sat in a perspex globe suspended from the ceiling by a black chain when a horn sounded behind me. I jumped, spinning round to see a man dash out of a doorway. As he continued to run he seemed to step into his clothes and disappeared in a wriggle of elbows and knees twitching beneath a shirt and trousers. It was quiet again. I stood back up and went to the room he’d just emerged from and switched on the light. An enormous teenager was crouching on the floor. When he saw me he began to hop on all fours around the room, breathing heavily.
“Who are you?” I shout, clutching at the door frame in uncertainty. My gaze drifts down from his oiled forehead and into the blistering, violent red eyes of madness. Rabid like, he hopped around the room for a while until he finally stopped by the wall opposite me. He slowly began to stand, the breathing getting louder. He was trembling. I closed the door quietly and looked around for something to block him in. Even through the door now I could hear his breathing. Is he talking? I pull across a bureau and set it to rest before leaving the room.

In the next room I meet a middle-aged man dressed in a lab coat over his corduroys. He looks up from his clipboard as I enter.
“Hello. I’m here to talk about your discovery Dr. Douglas.” I said.
“Oh hello, it’s nice to meet you. Did you find us okay?” He said, we shake hands.
“Of course. This place isn’t on any map but your directions were excellent. And how could I miss the opportunity to talk about such a fascinating discovery? Potentially one that could alter the context of civilization.” I say, taking out my tape recorder to record such a dramatic statement.
“Well, you tell me, haha.” He says. “Please, follow me to the control centre.”

The control centre was the entire second floor of the house knocked through to reveal a state of the art laboratory mixed with a state of the art security system, all decorated with state of the art meme paintings. HD monitors were fastened to poseable telescopic arms that descended from the ceiling. In the centre of the room was an enormous white table. Dr. Douglas went over to it and smudged his finger, unlocking the huge touch screen computer.
“What I have to show you may alter the future of human history…forever.” He says. He looked back down at the screen and opened up a menu bar and selected a folder, then a subfolder, then a file.
“Say hello to Toxoplasma gondii, a sporozoite that is capable of infecting more or less all warm-blooded mammals, although only breeding inside a feline. Immediately it appears to cause flu-like symptoms, although my research shows that there may be a slightly more insidious side to this microscopic creature.” Says Dr. Douglas. On the table there is a magnified video of the parasites making their way through space.
“Damn.” I say, slowly standing up after leaning against a desk.
“Damn is putting it lightly. Gondii has a 50% infection rate against feline to sapien interaction. We’ve found the average person has a twenty to one chance of carrying the disease.” Says a woman who’d just walked in.
“And you are?” I say, raising one of my eyebrows.
“Her name is Dr. Douglas. This is my daughter, Dr. Amanda Douglas.”
“A pleasure to meet you…doctor.” I say, raising my other eyebrow.
“As I was saying, Gondii is so prevalent in our society we ran studies on the actual effects of this parasite in humans beyond the immediate symptoms.”
“And?”
“And we’ve found that the parasite can affect human behaviour. It increases dopamine levels, shrinks grey matter and engorges the mendula oblongata.” She says sternly.
“In English?”
“Basically it alters the parts of the brain that effect behaviour. Fear, rationality, reasoning…it can even go on to alter sexuality. People with the infection are more likely to drink, more likely to swear…even more likely to have sex with each other.”
“Whoa whoa whoa, now you got my attention.” I say, holding my fingers up to my head and pretending as if my mind was exploding.
“For instance, once Gondii has infected a man it lays its eggs in his semen, which can they go on to infect a foetus before travelling up the mothers spinal column. It also has the added effect of increasing the sex drive of people with the parasite, who then go on to spread it further and further through…intercourse.” Says Dr. Douglas.
“Does that word make you…uncomfortable?” I say, smirking slightly as I create a steeple shape with my hands.
“I’m not sure if you’re taking this seriously.”
“Seriously? Seriously. You know, let me tell you about serious. I once knew a guy who’d worked all his life selling apples out of a cart, he had his own orchard that had been passed down through the generations but this guy had no kids. One day his horse dies and he has to start dragging the cart from his orchard all the way into town by himself, it’s not long before he takes a slip and breaks his ankle. A local kid comes up and finds him, puts him in the back of the cart and then drags both the old man and the apples all the way in to town to the local doctor. And you know what happened when he got there? The old man had died with a smile on his face and an apple core in his hand.” I said. Everyone was quiet for a moment.
“What happened to that kid?”
“His name was Steve Jobs, maybe you heard of him?”
“Even if Steve Jobs were here, he wouldn’t be able to do anything. Gondii makes people take more risks, become more narcissistic and more sexually active.”
“Sounds like the right ingredients for an Instagram superstar.”
“Not only is it transferable through bodily fluids, it is zoonotic. You can get it from eating rare steak for example. It’s potential for infection is enormous.”
“So what? Sounds like this Gondii is a good deal.”
“Cats.”
“Excuse me?”
“The parasite only breeds in cats. Mice that have Toxoplasmosis show almost no fear of cats. People who carriers on the other hand tend to have pet cats. I’ve been tracking the number of times cats are mentioned on the internet and the numbers are increasing at an exponential rate. Our society is becoming almost wholly obsessed with this animal.” Said Dr. Douglas.
“The cats themselves are benign. It’s the parasite that is the driving force behind this. Like Ophiocordyceps unilateralis, the fungus that infects ants that alters their behaviour, Toxoplasma Gondii offers just as much a threat to humans. Our entire planet could become slaves to cats before the century is up.”
“So what you’re saying is we should destroy all cats?”
“It is difficult to think of how to deal with the disease. On the one hand it offers relatively little danger and in fact can make the host happier to some extent. On the other hand, the parasite could change over time…evolve to alter human behaviour further. The rabies virus makes the host attack others orally when it wants to propagate, what if a mutation of this virus makes people engage in…intercourse?”
“Does that word make you uncomfortable doctor?”
“Nevermind that. This little enclave is our test centre. We can run simulations, modify the parasites DNA and test its possibilities. We’ve already discovered that this parasite can cause schizophrenia in babies. You ever seen a schizophrenic baby?”
“So everyone living here is infected with brain parasites? Whose idea was this?”
“Mine.”
“Doctor…do you have Toxoplasma Gondii?” I ask.
“Of course. I accidentally caught it off my cats.” Says Dr. Douglas. He walks over to a cupboard and opens it up. Inside it is stuffed with cats. Hundreds of cats squashed together, mewling and hissing, a wall of fur and claws. The surface tension breaks and the room is suddenly filled with cats running across every surface. I start to run. Out in the next room the teenager has started hopping again, although he is set upon by cats. I knock over a table on my way out of the door and back onto the street. And I am greeted by a sea of cats eyes.

Hundreds of cats. Perhaps thousands. Some are sleeping, some clean themselves, others join flowing roads of cats that move this way and that. A few have already noticed me and are already rubbing themselves around my legs.
“Remove yourself!” I shout, beginning to run around the house. There is a couple copulating in the back garden, the low winter sun illuminating a pair of hairy buttocks rising and falling in the air as steam comes off the sweating bodies. I pull myself up over a garden fence and into the next one. A few people are gathered around a dead cat, they look up from their meal at me at the same time. All of them are wearing white contact lenses.
“Can I get a doggy bag?!” I wisecrack as I leap in with a karate kick, delivering the blow in slow motion to the forehead of an old man. Not breaking stride I continue to run, jumping, rolling, moving. Behind me thousands of cats are chasing over each other to get me, the microscopic worms in their brains wanting to enter mine. I run.


18.4.14

Aliens Of Kepler 186-f



The National Associated Space Agency (NASA) has recently discovered life on another planet. The planet, Kepler 186-f orbits the Kepler star, an M dwarf that is roughly 44% the size and strength of our sun. Scientists are already deciding on renaming the planet something more memorable, such as Tarkus or Izitso, due to its importance in the history of human civilization.

The planet is composed mostly of rocks and ice due to being a lot further out than Earth relative to Sol. Because of the weakness of Kepler at high noon it gets as bright as a nightclub toilet so therefore the vegetation of the planet is enormous. The leaves on the trees are each as big as satellite dishes, and of a similar shape. Fungus is also prevalent, as on Tarkus the ice gets mouldy. Due to the spectrum of light thrown from Kepler, the flowers are all ultraviolet and lack any visible colour. Kepler 186-f also has no moon and so its oceans are still. These enormous ponds are home to shark frogs and leech whales, above them fly flocks of giant flies that have the ability to sing like birds, although they do this through their proboscis and so create a sound similar to a wet trumpet. On the plains of ice live a variety of strange alien creatures that are reminiscent to some of the animals on our planet; wooly pigs, two headed cat monsters, tortoise spiders and mirrors that walk around to name but a few.

Kepler 186-f is 600 lightyears away, so we are seeing the planet 600 years ago. If the aliens living there had good enough telescope technology and were watching us, they would see the world in 1414, perhaps watching the Battle of Agincourt and wondering if we were imbeciles who ate mud and slept in chimneys. With this intergalactic empathy in mind, the supposed most intelligent being on Kepler 186-f are the Kepleroids. These strange beings look a little like us, although with eyes the size of basketballs standing on highly veined stalks. They appear to live in a village that spans entire continents, often walking for miles to visit their neighbours with what must be meat pies. They also play a variety of night sports and ride around on dead horse things with the legs replaced with wheels. The Kepleroids seem like a benign and peaceful race, and it would be ethical to eat them should the opportunity ever arise.

A NASA spokesman suggested that we build a spaceship and send it off to explore this planet and exploit it for any fossil fuels they may not be using. This alien petrol would be made from alien dinosaurs and would power a car to drive from Paris to Beijing on a single tank! NASA is currently looking for a crack team of astronauts to go on this mission and have styled the crew requirements to mirror that of the characters in Star Trek: The Next Generation. Although a 'Wesley Crusher' isn't required.






11.9.13

Jim Bischotti And The Case Of The Missing Cat

San Dimas, San Gabriel County. You can hear the 210 roaring away to the north, the acoustics of the mountains reflecting everything back as it had done since the landmass was formed. Maybe on a quiet day you could still hear the echo of sound waves repeating themselves for the last one hundred years. Bill had dropped me off in the middle of the suburbs before going to visit his family, leaving my afternoon free to meet with one of San Dimas' more notable people; Jim Bischotti. I stroll along the white sidewalk, admiring the pre-WW2 era suburb. San Dimas felt like a small town somewhere else in America, though off towards the East I could make out the twitching reflection of Central Los Angeles. Two women went past me, power walking and lifting one kilo weights. We exchanged smiles and I walked a little further up the street, my bowels requiring me that I drop my trousers and evacuate into a drain. As I did so I couldn't help but be reminded of the film 'Bill And Ted's Bogus Journey' that was set in the quaint little town. Perhaps there would be a themed restaurant somewhere, where I could play air guitar and say 'Excellent!', guaranteed for some big laughs. I myself began to giggle at the thought.
“Excellent!” I said. But nobody had heard me. I continued walking.

Jim Bischotti lived on East Juanita Avenue in a beige bungalow. There was a well kept garden outside in which a Black Willow grew in it's centre, shading his house in the midday sun. I knocked on the door and it was answered quickly, almost as if he had been waiting behind the door for me.
“Come in, come in.” he said. We shook hands and I entered. His home was impeccably tidy yet there was the odour of dog hair faintly, catching the back of my throat when I took a deep breath.
“Can I get you a soda?” he said. I accept and make myself comfortable on the sofa, looking at my blurred reflection in the fifty inch television across from me. Jim returns with a large bottle of Dr. Pepper and two glasses, pouring out the two drinks then sitting in a leather recliner facing the window. The shadow of the Black Willow branches cut across his face like camouflage.
“So tell me about your detective agency.” I ask after sipping the over-carbonated beverage. Jim laughs, waggling his eyebrows about.
“It all started off when I was out of high school, looking for work. I was desperate for money, couldn't even get a job delivering pizza. But as I was walking round I noticed all these lost pet posters. Cats, dogs, a parrot or two. Some of these had big money rewards, especially towards Hollywood, you know? And I was walking round so much I ended up seeing half these pets, so I started returning them to their owners. In a month I'd claimed nearly two thousand dollars in pet bounty.” he said.
“So that's when you started to do it full time?”
“Sure. My papa was in the rangers, he taught me how to track animals and that kind of thing. I combined that knowledge with a good work ethic and found I had a knack for it.”
“How many pets would you say you've found since you started?”
“Oh, I'd say...maybe...five hundred or so? Mostly cats, but plenty of dogs and then there's the exotic animals. Snakes, ferrets, even a few turtles.”
“Could I come along with you, see how you work?”
“Sure.”

We are driving in Jim Bischotti's van as he explains to me his most recent case.
“American shorthair, two years old, owner lives on West 2nd Street. Cats are natural explorers, sometimes they get lost by accident, especially the young ones. But I take the time to go round the owner's house, see if there's any evidence that might lead me to wonder if the cat's lost or if it left home, you know what I mean?”
“Sure. Cat's are dicks.”
“Well, no, not really. Out of all the animals cats are the least domesticated. They have a lot of pride. Sometimes they don't like the cleanliness of their home or if the owner got a baby, a new pet, that kinda thing.”
“Don't a lot just get run over?”
“That's sad, but true. I only charge half my fee if I find a pet has been R.K'ed...that's roadkill.”
“Got it.”
“I'm in touch with the police and sanitation guys, they let me know if they find something. I even go and collect unidentified animals, keep them in a freezer at home in case anyone calls up. Anyway, here we are.” he says, pulling up outside a house. I follow him as he walks around the side of the house and stands in the yard.
“Aren't we going in?”
“No, I already went in. I'm scrying at the moment.” he says, breathing in heavily and closing his eyes. He murmurs to himself. “Overflowing trash can...barbecue...road nearby, busy...fifteen cats on this street...”
“What are you doing?”
“I'm scrying...I'm accessing my memory for pet information and comparing it to present variables, like maybe it's hot so the kitty can smell someone cooking barbecue down the street.”
“Yeah, or maybe because it's September the cat is lonely.”
“Exactly. Anyway, I got a feel, now to do the leg work.” says Jim. He walks to the end of the yard and climbs the fence. I follow.

For the next two hours I follow Jim Bischotti as he climbs over fences, walls, crawls under bushes, sniffs at the soil, asks people questions. It's quite exhausting work, not to mention embarassing. All the while Jim keeps giving me titbits of information about his work:
“Sometimes pet's are kidnapped. We had a gang operating in this area last year, taking dogs and holding them ransom. I worked with the sheriff's department on that one.”
“You know, missing pet posters are so outdated? I encourage people to e-mail their neighbours nowadays, everyone has smart phones so...”
“I once went down in the sewers to look for a puppy. All I found was human shit.”
“Now and then the pets don't want to go home. They attack me, they run away again. It's so sad when that happens.”
“I'm a virgin. I'm not ashamed of it either, too many people are having sex nowadays.”
“It's amazing some of the stuff I've found whilst searching around. I thought about setting up a side business of just finding anything, but that's too big a piece of pie for me too chew on. I'll show you my treasures when we get back to my house if you want.”
“At midnight after crawling around in the dirt for fifteen hours I call it a day. Sometimes a pet just doesn't want to be found.”
“I usually carry round a bit of raw meat in my pockets to attract all sorts of animals. I'm lucky now and then.”
"I love cats."

Surprisingly we come across the missing cat, having only taken us the better portion of the afternoon. Jim holds out a hand to stop me.
“Wait here partner. This is where it can get messy.” he says. I nod, leaning against a chain-link fence and tapping a cigarette out of the packet. I watch as he slowly crouches down and begins to talk in a high pitch voice as he moves towards the cat.
“Hey Atticus, come here boy. Come here. Come here Atticus, that's a good boy. Come here. Come here. Come on, hey there, hey, come on, come on. That's a good boy. Good boy Atticus. Come here. Come here. Come here. Good boy. Oh, who's a good boy? Come here, come on.” he says. The cat stared at him. It begins to walk away but the teenager pounces on the cat, immediately it shrieks and hisses, clawing at him. Jim tucks his chin into his neck and the sides of his mouth right down as he struggles clutching the mammal close to his chest as he runs back towards his van. The cat is now howling and moaning as Jim clutches it by the scruff of the neck, opens a side panel on the van and tries to push the cat in, all the while it hissing and scratching him. Eventually it's in.
“Wow...that looks to be quite stressful.” I say.
“Yeah, sometimes they come easy, sometimes not. But I found him, and that's the main thing.” says Jim, checking the cuts all over his arms. He lifts up his shirt to reveal even more cuts all over his torso, some look to be quite deep.
“Are you okay?”
“This? This is nothing. If you think this is bad, you should see it when I try to catch a dog.” says Jim. There are tears in the corner of his eyes.
“Don't vets usually have like...a stick with a rope on the end?”
“Oh those aren't humane. I think this way is the best.” says Jim. The cat is still howling in the back of the van as we get in and drive back to it's home, I wait in the cab whilst he manoeuvres the cat into a cardboard box. After giving it back to the owner he returns with twenty dollars clutched between his thumb and forefinger.
“Cha-ching! Come on, let's go to Taco Bell and celebrate.” he says.

As we sit in Taco Bell I ask Jim a question that's been on my mind since I met him.
“Why don't you just get a normal job? It seems like this is quite stressful and you don't get paid much.”
“That one didn't pay too much, no. But some of them do. And it's not just the money, I'm reuniting pets with their owners. The look on that woman's face as I brought her cat back well...nothing quite comes close to it.” says Jim. I look at him to see if he's bullshitting, but he seems to believe himself. Covered from head to toe in dirt, the cuts all over his body occasionally bleeding still, the slightly vacant expression on his face as he stares out of the window whilst eating a burrito. He was an idiot. But perhaps we needed more idiots in this world. I wished Jim Bischotti good luck as I left, hoping that he would continue to search for missing pets for the rest of his life.