Cat and Mouse

In another parallel universe, or another dimension, Ted might have been reincarnated as a cat. His human demeanor was catlike. He was quiet, mostly. He drank a lot of milk. He was not unlucky, his hair was not black—it was blonde. He made sounds akin to purring whenever anybody rubbed up against him. He was neat and orderly. He seemed like he had a task to carry out, but none of his acquaintances, friends, or family would have been able to tell you what that task was. The only aspect of his life that differed from that of most cats lives were his fingernails. They were kept very short. You could say he was almost exactly like a cat that had been de-clawed.
Sitting around his apartment, now clean after last night’s party, he decided it was probably a good time to call Penelope. But he was nervous. He almost wanted to just let it slide, to wait until work on Monday to talk to her. But also, if he didn’t call her, he’d be spending the night alone. He had to choose between loneliness and awkwardness. He didn’t know which was preferable. The problems inherent in each situation leaped out at him. How would he spend his time alone at the apartment? He was not a solitary drinker. But, what would he have to say to Penelope? There was nothing important he had to say. But he didn’t want to be alone. He’d have to be affable, and things would work themselves out.

In the same parallel universe, or in the same other dimension, Rory might be a mouse. There were not many ways in which he was mouse-like. He was not a tiny creature, nor did he eat a stereotypically high amount of cheese. He was like a mouse in that he was openly disparaged by everyone around him. They all disapproved of his life. They would rather catch him in a trap than allow him to thrive. He was like a mouse in that he would burrow his way into other people’s lives, and stay there until they realized he was of sufficient annoyance.
Here he was now in Luther’s life. They had been friends for over a year now. Luther didn’t find Rory annoying. The reason for this was, Luther was even more annoying than Rory was. If you were to take a survey of all the people in the United States, have them jot down all the annoying things they did—babble on endlessly, horde goods, play music too loudly, eat without manners—Luther and Rory would finish near the very top. In fact, they were so annoying that the only people who would actively seek them out were their families and each other. There was Luther, sitting a few couch cushions away from Rory, sucking on a bong. Rory was contemplating things. Normally, they might be talking about what they were going to do and where they were going to go, but tonight, before they went out, there was a silent rapport between them. They both knew what was at stake. Rory was the one who had been given the metaphorical basketball. In his mind he was dribbling past the half court line and he was looking around for someone to pass the ball too. His teammates weren’t looking to take any shots though. Strangely, they had turned against him, and now instead of having just five opposing players, he had nine opposing players to deal with. Luther was the only one on his side. He would have been a teammate, except he was a terrible shot, couldn’t dribble, and couldn’t play defense. So he was reduced to being a sideline cheerleader.