Carl (standard:Fan Fiction, 11295 words)
Author: Reid Laurence	Added: Dec 19 2005	Views/Reads: 3676/2822	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The story Carl centers around a case of mistaken identity and asks the question...Are we really who we think we are, or could there exist some other force, much greater then we, compelling us to do the things we do? Read on and find out.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

bathroom like racers on a track, I stumbled to locate my toothbrush. 
Putting a dab of toothpaste on it, I returned it to the shower stall 
where I regularly brushed my teeth twice a day. But just then, as I 
stood at the open shower door, methodically setting the toothbrush down 
near the soap dish - as if I were suffering from a mild case of 
Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder - I heard the ever so faint cry of my 
older daughter's voice, seeping its way though closed doorways, turning 
corners and traveling through nearby walls, it traversed its way to the 
recesses of my inner ears. “Mom, dad,” we heard, straining to hear her 
plea. “Come here!” Grudgingly closing the shower door - thinking that 
this so-called emergency would only serve to slow me down from my 
morning chores and make me late for work - I opened the bathroom door 
and walked out into the dim morning light of the living room with my 
wife to find out what could be so troubling at this early time of day. 
“Look,” said Natalie, pointing at Cat as she spoke. “Look at her.” 
“What?” I replied. “Looks like Cat to me. Is that it?” I continued. 
“Can I take a shower now?” “Of course it's Cat,” said Mary. “But look 
at her.” “What about her?” “Don't you see?” answered Nat. “Her belly is 
sooo much bigger already, in just twelve hours.” “Oh my God, Natalie,” 
said Mary in disbelief. “How in the world? Maybe she has a really big 
litter to carry?” “But mom,” questioned Natalie. “How could it be 
showing so soon? We only just realized it yesterday.” “She's probably 
got worms,” I added. “And all this worry is for nothing. I gotta go,” I 
continued, looking back and forth from Mary to Nat. “I'm gonna be late 
if I don't get mov'in.” As I turned to leave the living room, Ellie 
walked out of her bedroom with some of her school books in hand as 
usual, and couldn't help but wonder what the focus of attention was. 
“What's going on?” she innocently asked. “It's Cat,” replied Natalie. 
“Her belly looks like she's at full term and its only been a matter of 
days at most.” “Wow,” she answered. “Maybe she's got worms?” “Don't be 
silly Ellie. That's what dad said. How could she have worms, she stays 
in all the time. Besides, worms need time to grow and we just looked at 
her yesterday. I didn't see a belly like that yesterday did you?” 
questioned Natalie, of anyone who was listening. “Nope,” replied Ellie. 
“You got a point there Nat, but I gotta go. Mom, are you gonna drive 
me? I'm late.” “God, mom,” asked Natalie, looking more frustrated by 
the minute. “Am I the only one who cares or what?” “They care honey, we 
all do,” said Mary. “We just can't drop everything for her right now 
though. If she has trouble with this pregnancy, you know I'll be right 
there for you. But now then,” continued Mary. “You'd better get 
dressed, or you'll be late for school. And Natalie...” “Yes mom?” “I 
wouldn't worry about it. Everything has a way of working itself out.” 

Days passed, and went by as normally as they usually did - normal for
our household anyway - except for the growing concern behind Cat's 
growing width. Natalie was of the opinion that Cat should be checked 
out by our neighborhood veterinarian just as soon as possible, but we 
delayed - as we usually did - for budgetary reasons. Between ourselves 
and all the pets we had, doctor bills added up to more then a minor 
amount of money. But Natalie's persistence payed off, and we made an 
appointment for Cat to see Dr. Douglas, at Angel Animal Hospital here 
in Springfield, Missouri. When he finally laid eyes on her, he had a 
hard time believing how big she'd already grown in such a small amount 
of time. “She looks as if she's about to give birth on the table,” he 
said, gently squeezing Cat's girth. “Do you have an idea when 
conception may have occurred?” “She's only been outside once in the 
last few months, and that was only because she ran out by mistake when 
I opened the door. She's an indoor cat,” continued Natalie. “She's been 
declawed.” “And when was that when she last got out?” inquired Dr. 
Douglas. “Last month some time?” “No,” answered Nat. “Not even last 
week. Just about, two days ago I'd say, wouldn't you mom?” “Yes,” Mary 
replied. “I don't even remember the last time before that. Let's 
see..., this is February. I think I recall her getting out in August 
some time, but we got her back inside before we went to bed, remember 
Nat?” “I think so.” “That's impossible,” interjected the doctor. “She's 
at least half way into her term, you can see for yourself. I don't 
understand. You're sure there's no other male around?” “Positive,” 
answered Nat and Mary in unison. “Hmm,” uttered Doctor Douglas, as he 
mulled over the strange problem we'd brought before him. “There's 
something I'd like to do. As far as conception date is concerned, we 
have a drastic deviation from the norm, which leads me to believe that 
something's either gone wrong - or to put it quite simply - our dates 
are incorrect. I don't mean to offend you or your mother,” he said, 
calmly watching the expression on Natalie's face for any sign of panic 
or alarm. “But someone must have made a simple error. I'm thinking that 
she must've gotten out sometime around the beginning of last month and 
everything is fine, but just to make sure, I'd like to take some X-ray 
images. It's something I don't normally do, but this may be an abnormal 
case, and my curiosity has gotten the better of me.” “When can we?” 
asked Nat. “The sooner the better.” “What's wrong with right now?” 
responded the doctor. “It shouldn't take me too long. You can leave her 
here if you have some place to go.”  Turning to look at each other, 
Mary and Natalie made the mutual decision to stay and wait for Cat 
until the doctor was through. Whatever the news was, good or bad, they 
both wanted to know as soon as possible. A good half hour had gone by, 
and Natalie's concern for Cat had caused her to fidget in her seat. 
When the doctor finally walked into the waiting area, he could hear the 
sound of Nat's foot tapping to the beat of the falling rain she'd been 
watching through the windows, but when she caught sight of his white 
hospital smock through the corner of her eye, all of the tapping and 
fidgeting she'd been doing suddenly came to an abrupt end. Holding Cat 
in one arm, while running his free hand through his hair, Mary and 
Natalie could see the concern in his face and for a brief moment, there 
was no need for him to even speak. Obviously, the news was not going to 
be good, and both mother and daughter braced themselves for what they 
expected to hear. “I'm afraid I've got good news and bad,” he said, 
sitting down in the empty chair between Mary and Nat, stroking the dark 
brown fur behind Cat's ears as he spoke. “Oh nooo,” cried Natalie, 
about to burst with emotion. “I knew there was something wrong mom, I 
just knew.” “Now hold on a minute,” added the doctor. “Lets not go all 
to pieces. Sometimes things happen and there's just not a whole lot we 
can do, but just listen to what I have to tell you. Often, after coming 
to terms with issues like these and confronting them, we find we can 
better deal with them. You just have to keep a cool head.” “What?” 
asked Mary. “What issues?” “Let me explain,” said Doctor Douglas. “In 
fact, why don't you follow me down to my office and I'll show you Cat's 
X-rays. I think the whole thing will be easier on you if you know 
what's happening beforehand - before she actually delivers her litter.” 
Seated in the doctor's office, Mary and Natalie couldn't help noticing 
the many X-ray images hanging on the walls surrounding them. Wondering 
which of the images were of Cat, Natalie's eyes searched from picture 
to picture, hoping to get some early idea of what her beloved cat's 
problem might be, but on seeing this, Doctor Douglas calmly called her 
attention to a large manilla envelope he picked up off his desk. 
Removing two views of a dog who required an operation to an injured 
leg, he stacked them neatly in a pile on the edge of his desk, opened 
the envelope and inserted the top edge of each electromagnetic image 
into the two, now vacant clips. “As you can see here,” he began, as he 
pointed to the transparent image on the wall. “Cat should be the proud 
mother of four healthy kittens, as long as everything goes as it 
should, and normally, things do. Bear with me now, the tiny embryos are 
hardly more then dots and are very difficult to see here, but trust me, 
they are there.” “Then what are we worried about?” questioned Mary. 
“What was the bad news you had for us?” “Well...,” he continued. “It's 
difficult to see if you're not used to reading these things - they're 
kind of like blueprints to a building, but if you look closely, you'll 
notice this image here that I'm outlining with my pen.” “Yes,” replied 
Natalie. “I see it now. It's much bigger then the other tiny dots 
around it, isn't it.” “That's right, it is, and that of course is what 
the problem is. This area here, that I'm pointing to now,” he said, 
running the point of his pen around a large, bulbous shape deep inside 
Cat's womb. “That's why I thought you should see this. It's obviously, 
an anomaly.” “You mean a defect?” asked Mary. “A kitten with a birth 
defect?” “Mmm, I suppose you could call it that, but as of right now, I 
can't tell how extensive this deviation might be, all I can tell for 
sure is that this embryo is developing at a far greater rate then its 
siblings. Also, the head is unusually disproportionate to its body. Do 
you see here,” he went on to ask, drawing their attention to a shape 
roughly the size of a quarter. “If he keeps going like this, the poor 
thing will have a hard time just holding its head up.” “Oh God,” 
exclaimed Natalie. “What should we do? Wouldn't it be cruel of us to 
bring it into the world? I mean..., the way it is and all, it's not 
normal. It won't have a normal life.” “I agree,” answered Doctor 
Douglas. “But I can't go in and surgically remove one fetus from the 
womb without endangering the others, even though the kitten could turn 
out very strange in appearance. Even worse, it's ability to function 
may be so hindered that it may not even be able to play, or feed 
itself. Whatever the case may be, you can always make the decision to 
euthanize it after Cat has given birth. That is, if we've determined 
that it would be the most humane thing to do.” “And in the meantime 
doctor,” asked Mary. “What can we do?” “Not much we can do,” replied 
Dr. Douglas. “Just take her home and try to make her comfortable until 
she's ready. If you can see that she's having a hard time though, by 
all means, bring her in. I may have to perform a cesarean section on 
her if that kitty keeps growing the way I think it will, but that's no 
reason to press the panic button. She'll be fine, I'm sure.” “Thanks 
Doctor,” answered Mary, as Natalie reached for Cat and persuaded her 
back into the cat carrier she'd brought her in. “I've got a strong 
feeling we'll be seeing you later.” Smiling, Dr. Douglas looked back at 
Mary and Natalie as they walked through the open doorway of his office 
and replied, “I've got a strong feeling you're right.” 

When it came time for Cat to give birth to her litter, we were all home
sitting around watching t.v. - relaxing as we usually did on a Saturday 
afternoon, laughing at sitcoms; eating popcorn and doing chores, but 
when we realized Cat was missing from the scene, we nervously jumped to 
the conclusion that she'd somehow gotten out and began to search for 
her. Ill suited for the great outdoors which she so longed to be part 
of, even though she was declawed and half the size of other cats in the 
neighborhood, we expected to find her where we usually did, hiding in a 
shrub in front of our house, watching for birds and other interesting 
signs of life. But to our surprise, we found no trace of her and 
gradually resumed our search on the interior of the house. Finally, we 
found her in one of the bedroom closets and couldn't help noticing how 
strange and funny it was to see another of our female cats watching 
over her, acting as midwife as Cat birthed her young. She'd already 
given birth to two of her kittens and was busy tending to them when 
suddenly, another new arrival began to squirm its way from her body and 
out into the world. “I've never seen anything like this,” whispered 
Natalie, as the four of us looked on in wonder from the open closet 
door. “This is the second time around for me and your dad,” replied 
Mary. “But it's just as cool as the first.” “Yeah,” I admitted. “It's 
really neat. I just hope we can find homes for all of ‘em. It's not 
everybody who likes cats as much as we do, ya know? Uh-oh, wait a 
minute now,” I remarked, as the third darkly colored kitten arrived to 
reveal itself to the world. “That's three down and two to go, right? So 
far, so good.” “Right dad,” said Natalie. “I just hope she keeps going 
the way she is. Doctor Douglas said we might have trouble, remember? 
Maybe we should get the cat carrier ready just in case.” “Good idea 
Nat,” replied Mary. “I'll help you get it off the shelf in the garage.” 
But almost simultaneously - as Mary and Natalie left for the garage - 
the fourth kitten also began to emerge from its mothers womb, to the 
soft carpet of the closet floor. By the time they'd arrived back with 
the cat carrier, most of its diminutive body had already become 
visible. “Here comes number four,” I said, as Mary and Nat reappeared 
beside me. “God, mom,” whispered Natalie, trying to avoid startling 
Cat. “She's almost done. It won't be long now.” “Hopefully,” replied 
Mary, but even as she spoke, the tension around us began to grow. With 
nothing to do but watch, we witnessed our other female cat lick the 
remains of placenta from each kitten, cleaning them, giving them a 
sense of closeness and intimacy - nurturing them in the way an 
intelligent mammal will instinctively do. But as time passed, it became 
apparent to us that Cat was not going to birth the last kitten on her 
own, and leaving Katrin in charge - our other female cat who'd 
performed her duties so well as mid-wife - we picked Cat up, put her in 
the carrier and swiftly left for the doctor's office. “How is Cat 
today?” asked Doctor Douglas, as we set the carrier down on the shiny, 
stainless steel examination table. “I think she's okay,” answered 
Natalie, “but she can't seem to squeeze out the last kitten by 
herself.” “Why don't we take a look,” reasoned the doctor. “I've got a 
new ultrasound machine we can use that should answer our questions.” 
Turning around, he pulled a large cart on wheels closer to Cat until it 
stood firmly pressed against the exam table. On it, rested the new, 
impressive, state-of-the-art piece of electronics. Switching it on, the 
monitor lit up in a generous display of color and activity, and 
standing there waiting, we wondered what it would reveal as Dr. Douglas 
lifted the handheld transducer from its holder, pressed it to the bulge 
in Cat's abdomen and ran it around and around in a small circular 
pattern. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” muttered the doctor, as he observed 
the two-dimensional picture on the monitor. “I haven't seen anything 
like this in all my years of experience. Look at the size of this guy!” 
he exclaimed, excitedly pointing to the computers interpretation of the 
ultra high frequency sound waves. “And his cranium, my God. It's almost 
...” “Almost what?” asked Natalie. “It's almost human. It's amazing.” 
“But Doctor, I feel terrible about this whole thing,” explained Mary, 
holding on to Natalie's hand just as hard as she could, showing her 
emotion in the strength of her grasp. “There must be something we can 
do for it. What do we do if it can't feed itself? What if it's born 
retarded? We'll be feeding it, and who knows?...changing its diaper for 
the next twenty years!” “That may be true, but at this point, it's just 
too soon to tell.” “Are you going to do the cesarean you mentioned,” 
asked Natalie, wondering what the doctor had in mind to do, now that 
he'd had a look inside Cat's womb. “No,” he answered. “At least not 
yet. From what I can tell, believe it or not, this fetus is still in 
growing stages. If we birthed it now, it'd be premature and its chances 
for survival would be slim to none. My advice is to let Cat continue on 
just as she is, but the minute you notice any changes in her, bring her 
back immediately. We can make our decision at that time, but for now, 
as I've said, just let her continue on. This is new ground to all of 
us, I'm sure. I've never seen a cat fetus like this, nor have I seen 
gestation last beyond, say...seventy-three, seventy-four days. All we 
can do is wait it out. I'm sorry if that doesn't answer your questions, 
but there is one thing I can tell for sure by examining the image on 
the monitor.” “What's that?” asked Natalie, eager to learn at least one 
definitive thing concerning the strange unborn cat. “You can start 
thinking of names for a boy. It's definitely a male cat.” 

Passing days turned into weeks, as the doctor's vague prognosis gave us
no clue as to when we could expect Cat to give birth this one final 
time. All we knew for sure was that the developing fetus was no where 
near ready to enter the birth canal, but Cat didn't seem to mind. She 
played as she usually did and nursed her young as we hoped she would. 
Katrin, our other female cat who'd acted as mid-wife, also shared the 
responsibility in taking care of the newborn kittens, and became a kind 
of aunt to them. We began to call her Aunt Katrin and the name stuck 
for a good long time. Throughout all of this though, Natalie's main 
concern was Cat's health and well-being. In fact, we all wondered if 
Cat would make it through this alive - since there was no similar 
previous case on record we could draw on - so we scheduled regular 
check-ups with the doctor, and after three more long, stressful months, 
Cat was finally determined ready to give birth. Early on a Tuesday 
morning, in the first week of June, we loaded Cat into her carrier and 
brought her back to the animal hospital - since her kitten was much too 
large to be birthed naturally. Kiki - as we named him - came struggling 
out from the confines of a tiny, narrow birth canal and ended up in a 
ball in the doctor's hands. He looked very much like his four siblings 
who were birthed naturally just three months before, with one clear 
exception that stood out like a sore thumb - he was a lot bigger. 
Surprisingly, the different parts of his body were proportional to each 
other and normal in appearance but his head, as the doctor had warned 
us, was much larger then normal. Even so, in the days to follow, we 
could see that the muscles in his neck were doing their best to 
compensate, and building to an appropriate size and strength, they 
allowed him to pick up this overly large mass with relative ease. What 
worried us mostly in the passing weeks, was his inability to walk - as 
his four siblings stood on their wobbly limbs soon after birth - Kiki 
was either reluctant to try them out, or simply, he was physically 
unable. Like a human toddler, we tried to stand him up on his feet and 
help him to find his balance, but in every attempt - even when it 
appeared that he might stand for a while on his own - he fell, back to 
the hard, unforgiving ground he'd started from. Then one day, with his 
eyes wide open, he suddenly decided to grapple with the situation and 
to our amazement, not only stood for a brief period on his new legs, 
but took his first few steps. Slowly, he left the supportive hold of my 
hands behind him and walked toward Mary - who was a few feet away from 
me - like a proud, baby boy. I could've sworn at the time, I saw what 
looked like a smile on his face, but then, at the time, Mary assured me 
that it just wasn't possible. “Every one knows,” she said. “Cat's don't 
smile.” 

In time, we learned how much Kiki liked to go outside. In fact, he
practically lived outside and since we were in such a quiet 
neighborhood with very few passing cars, we let him out nearly all the 
time, unless it was freezing cold. I put two heaters on one side of our 
garage - a side we used for an exercise room - and made him comfortable 
with a cat bed and some pillows. That way, he could come and go as he 
wished and didn't have to consult any of us. It seemed that the first 
months of Kiki's life were going along as normal - except for the fact 
that he barely played with his brothers and sisters and when it came 
time to put ads in the newspaper to find homes for them, he acted as if 
he never noticed they were missing, as some cats might. Some lonely 
cats have been known to walk around the house “meowing” in protest, but 
not Kiki, he was unaffected. What was most noticeable to all of us at 
the time was the fact that anyone who came over to look at the litter 
decidedly and obviously passed up Kiki. It seemed as though he was just 
not going to get adopted by anyone and on several occasions, I couldn't 
help but ask, why? - as if I didn't know. As it turned out, the most 
popular reason for not wanting to adopt him was the size of his head. 
“I'd take him,” said a young college bound girl one day, “but he's so 
different. I think he's too big for my apartment, and besides, his 
head..., it's not normal.” To me, all this didn't matter. Although we 
already had a few cats, I just thought we'd make room for one more, 
especially one as unfortunate as Kiki, who nobody seemed to want. One 
by one, in the weeks to follow, Kiki's siblings were adopted and sadly, 
disappeared from the household. It was a necessary evil though, as 
three dogs and two other cats besides Kiki were more then enough to 
keep us busy, and the neighbors hating us. At the time, as things 
settled down and got back to normal, the only thing that bothered me, 
or I should say, made me wonder about our new cat friend Kiki, was that 
as time went on, he played less and less in the great outdoors and 
spent more of his time in the garage, lonely and without any of the 
outdoor stimulus so many cats hunger for. Not only that, but the 
exercise room had always been a good spot to store old school books and 
other paper back novels we'd read through the years and had become 
bored with. Stored on shelves and old tables, I kept some of the books 
for reference and study guides for my two college bound daughters, and 
never thought much of them until I began to find them on the floor, or 
in other places of the room, in the way, or otherwise out in the open. 
After questioning my wife and kids to find out if they were the ones 
responsible for the out of place books and after having them tell me 
they didn't know what I was talking about, I began to question myself. 
I knew I had problems, but I always thought I was in control of my own 
actions. I knew, or I thought I knew, that if I'd taken a book down to 
look at it for some reason, I'd have sense enough to return it to its 
rightful spot. I'm middle aged, I thought to myself one day, when I 
walked down the steps to the garage and found an old encyclopedia open 
to some color photos of the animals of the African Kalahari, but I 
don't have Alzheimer's yet, do I? I knew I didn't take that book down, 
but if I didn't, and neither did Mary or the kids, then who did? That 
was a question which eluded me for months. A few days after I found the 
encyclopedia on the floor, I found it again, but this time was 
different. This time I found Kiki, hunched over the book, looking as 
though he were really taking it in. The whole thing was comical to me 
when I finally realized what was going on. For some odd reason I 
thought, Kiki had been pulling books down on the floor, or leaving them 
strewn about on tables, but I was used to the kinds of trouble kittens 
and other young mischievous cats get into and didn't think much of it. 
I had to laugh out loud as I walked up to him and asked, “what the heck 
are you doing? You're the one who's been tossing books down all along 
aren't you. You really had me go'in there. I thought I was going nuts. 
Okay,” I said. “Time to clean up now...,” but as I reached for the 
book, something very strange happened. Kiki - who was by now about the 
size of a twenty pound Wildcat - put his left paw down over the open 
book as I started to take it away. “What the heck's go'in on here?” I 
remember saying. “What in the world would a cat want with a book 
anyway? Fork it over buddy, lets go.” Insisting on getting my way - 
after all, Kiki was just a cat, just a pet messing up my exercise room 
- I snatched the encyclopedia away from him, closed it up and started 
to put it back where it belonged. But as I turned my back to him, to 
put the book back in place, I thought I heard my wife calling to me 
from inside the house...”Hey... Reid,” were the words I thought I 
heard, very succinctly, but softly spoken. “Mary!” I shouted up the 
steps of the garage. “What did you say?” “Hey buddy, psst. Down here. 
Yo, It wasn't her, it was me.” Just then, opening the door that led 
from the house to the garage, my wife stuck her head through the 
doorway to find out what I wanted. “Did you say something?” she asked. 
“Uh..., I thought you called me. I guess you didn't. False alarm, 
sorry.” “Whatever,” she replied. “Dinner's in five minutes.” “Sure 
thing Mary,” I replied. Watching the door close, my attention again 
turned to Kiki, who seemed to be attentively observing the scene. “Down 
here mack. It wasn't her, it was me. I called you.” “What the hell? You 
can't talk! Cats don't talk. Oh no, I'm crazier then I thought,” I 
said. “This can't be happening.” “It is though. It is happening. Now 
pull yourself together dude, I can't talk to you if you're gonna whig 
out on me.” “But how? I don't understand. How in the world did you 
learn to talk?” “Well..., actually, it's not such a long story. I have 
ears ya know. I've been listening to the whole family on and off since 
I was born. And you know the encyclopedia, the one you so rudely took 
away from me a few minutes ago?” “Yeah.” “I learned the alphabet from 
it. I can write too. You know, in a way, I'm glad this happened. I've 
been thinking of asking you for an inkwell for awhile now, but I didn't 
want to shock you. If I put one of my nails in it, I can use it like a 
pen. Not bad huh?” “You gotta be kidding!” I exclaimed. “A talking cat 
who writes! What next?” “Now that you mention it. I'd like to check out 
those old math books you've got laying around. You don't mind do you?” 
“No Kiki,” I answered, confused and emotionally drawn. “I don't mind, 
whatever. I'm just wondering how in the world this all happened.” 
“Genetics I suppose. I've often wondered about it myself. I'd have to 
you know, after all, I'm the one going through all this. Don't you 
think I know I'm different then other cats. God, how should I know how 
it happened? A quirk of nature, a mix up in my DNA, I don't know. All I 
know is, as long as I'm here, I may as well make the best of it. I've 
got a lot of questions on my mind now, not just how I got here. I feel 
like I'm getting a little smarter every day. A few weeks ago, I could 
hardly write my name, now I'm ready for algebra. I wanna know what 
makes things tick, the world around me, everything. Not just me and 
you, everything.” “Great Kiki,” I said. Not wanting to appear 
conceited, I added, “I went to college, maybe I can be of some help?” 
“Maybe. I like to work alone though Reid. If I need you, I'll ask. Fair 
enough?” “Sure,” I said. “Fair enough.” “Just one thing,” said Kiki. 
“Can you quit calling me Kiki? It's killing me. I hate it.” “What would 
you like me to call you..., Einstein?” “Naw, you gotta be kidd'in. Way 
too corny. How about, Carl. Carl's a nice name isn't it? I think it 
sounds intelligent don't you?” “Yes, I do.” “Oh,” replied my insightful 
cat, as I turned to walk upstairs. “Lets keep this between you and me, 
okay? I'd just like to keep this quiet. Word gets out I can talk, 
you'll never see me again. Think about it, newspapers, photographers, 
the works. Most likely, I'd expect someone to steal me wouldn't you? 
And then what, who knows? Ransom, death threats, you know as well as I 
do what people will do for a buck..., need I go on?” “No, you're right 
Carl. I won't say anything. You have my word.” 

It was very interesting, watching Carl work down there in the garage.
Sometimes, I could tell he was working late studying because I could 
see the light from a small table lamp we used, shining its way under 
the door which adjoined our bedroom to the garage. During the day, when 
I'd walk down to exercise and talk to him, I could tell what kind of 
progress he'd made almost without asking, by the pile of used scratch 
paper on the floor, or the number of books he'd used for reference, 
still open and laying in various haphazard positions. In fact, the more 
time that passed, the less fresh air and sunlight he got and the more 
he stayed inside, trying desperately to answer some of the questions on 
his mind which plagued him, and kept him from sleep. “What'cha do'in 
Carl?” I asked him one day, on my way to burn off a few calories in the 
exercise room. “Integral calculus.” “Gosh Carl. What for?” “It's just a 
stepping stone, to get to where I want to be.” “And where is that?” I 
asked, a little surprised that he'd made so much progress so quickly. 
“It'll help pave the way to a better understanding of physics; 
planetary motion; celestial mechanics, things in general, things I 
don't want to bother you with,” he said. “I guess you're leaning toward 
the sciences, huh.” “Not necessarily. By the way,” he remarked 
casually. “I made a list of some things I need. It's there on the 
chair.” Pointing with a right paw, with one of the claws extended, Carl 
directed me to a list of things he'd compiled while working late. 
Picking it up, I read it out loud. “1. A laptop computer with word 
processing software. 2. A refracting telescope with digital camera 
attachment, minimum of one thousand times magnification. 3. A multitask 
printer 4. Twenty-five hundred sheets of heavy bond printer paper, 
ninety-five brightness, minimum 5. An artists easel and a set of oil 
paint...,Good God Carl!” I blurted out. “Are you nuts? I can't afford 
all those things. Where am I gonna get the money for all that. You know 
how much a telescope with digital camera attachment will cost me? 
Forget it dude. I'm not going into hock for your education. I've got 
two daughters who want to go to college right now, isn't that hard 
enough?” “You're whigging out again, calm down. Here,” he said. “Open 
this.” “What is it?” I asked, opening a thick brown manilla envelope 
he'd prepared for me and left on the floor where he was working. “It's 
a manuscript. A little something I've been working on while you've been 
hard at work, pounding your ear.” Removing the thick stack of papers 
from the envelope, I read the title out loud. “‘A Matter Of Money by 
Reid Laurence'. But Carl,” I said. “I never wrote a word of it. Why 
would you sign my name to it?” “You think people will believe a cat 
wrote it? Don't worry about it. We need money right? See what you can 
get for it. I don't care about rights to it either, I just want you to 
help me buy the things I need. They're important to me. Important to my 
work.” “Wholly smokes Carl, you wrote a whole damn book? I can't 
believe it.” “Believe it, I've got another finished too, over on the 
chair there. A murder mystery called, Jack's Mess. All you've gotta do 
is find a publisher, think you can handle it?” “I...,I don't know,” I 
remarked lamely. “I never looked for a publisher before. This might 
take some time.” “Don't let it take too long. I need the things on that 
list, and besides, I've got another manuscript nearly completed. I 
think Im gonna call it, A Killing Rain. Whaddaya think? Is that a cool 
title or what?” “Yeah Carl, I guess,” I muttered in a low monotone. 
“Hey,” he replied. “Don't cop out on me now. I need you to carry a 
positive attitude to see this thing through. Now lets get going, okay? 
We're a team now. It might expedite our situation if you think of me as 
a quarter back. I need a good running back on my side to help me get 
the job done, follow?” “Yeah Carl, I follow.” “Good. That's the spirit. 
Now get upstairs and get on the horn. We're not gonna find a publisher 
standing around chew'in the fat.” Armed with the two manuscripts Carl 
gave me, I poured whatever spare time I could into finding someone who 
would pay us for his work. It wasn't easy, and I must've contacted a 
hundred or so editors and publishers but finally, I found someone over 
the internet who struck a deal with me and sent me a contract. They 
purchased the rights from me, and in turn, sent us a check for 
two-thousand dollars. Five-hundred for;  A Matter Of Money, which was a 
small book of short stories and fifteen-hundred for; Jack's Mess , a 
book about a psychopath with a penchant for murder. (I didn't really 
understand how Carl came up with the idea for Jack's Mess, being the 
laid back, easy going type of cat he was, but who knows, everyone has 
some kind of mean streak in them and after all, a writer is only giving 
us back what we give him. A personal interpretation of what he sees, 
wrong or right with the world. Sometimes things we like to acknowledge, 
and sometimes things we'd rather not.) Anyway, I knew I couldn't buy 
everything on his list right away, but I had enough for the two most 
expensive items; the laptop and telescope, so I went out and made the 
purchases to try and appease him for the time being. When I went 
downstairs to give them to him, he seemed glum and disappointed, 
staring out the garage window into a grey, overcast sky. After all the 
hard work we'd been through, and after finally getting something out of 
it, I couldn't help but wonder why. “Why so down Carl?” I asked. “I 
thought you'd be happy about this. You got what you wanted didn't you, 
most of it anyway.” “Yeah, right.” “Hey,” I replied. “Just last month 
you were telling me to think of you as my quarterback. What happened to 
the old team spirit?” “Huh? Oh yeah, sis-boom-bah, rah rah rah.” “No 
reason to get sarcastic Carl. What put you in such a bad mood?” “Ah, 
I've been reading the newspaper. Nothing in it but bad news. Bad news 
on every page, practically. What the hell kind of world are we living 
in anyway? People say it isn't safe to walk outside anymore, was it 
ever? I swear, the human race will always be at war with itself, in big 
ways and small. People are even at war with themselves on a personal 
level, makes you wonder how they even got as far as they have.” “Hey 
c'mon, cheer up man,” I said. ”You just learn to live with that stuff 
after awhile. That's life, now help me set up your new computer.” 
“Yeah, life, right. You sure have an over simplistic view of things. 
Superficial,” he said, turning his head away from the window to look at 
me. “Wouldn't you say?” “Hey Carl, they're a bunch a things I can't do 
anything about. I don't wanna sit around depressed all day worrying 
about all the bad in the world. You gotta snap out of it. Hey, I got an 
idea,” I said. “I'll tell my doctor I'm depressed and I need something 
to help me out of it. People tell me Lexapro's a good antidepressant, 
why not give it a try?” “Naw, I got a better idea. You got any 
cigarettes?” “I think so. Mary smokes a little sometimes, why?” “Can 
you get ‘em for me?” “You're gonna start smoking? You know it isn't 
good for you Carl.” “I know, but please don't start bugging me about my 
health. There's another thing you can do for me too Reid.” “What's 
that?” “Booze, you got any? I could use it to calm my nerves. I'm 
nervous now, I don't know why.” “I suppose Carl,” I said. “But if you 
start drinking, how are you gonna go on learning and writing? You were 
gonna finish A Killing Rain remember? How are you gonna do it if you 
get tanked up?” “Don't worry about it. It's done anyway. Here,” he 
answered. “Take it. I hope it helps your money situation. College gets 
expensive, doesn't it.” “It sure does Carl,” I replied. “Now lets get 
down to business. What direction would you like me to point the 
telescope in? The moon, the planets?” “It's done, don't worry about 
that either. The computer software will do it for me. I'd write a 
program to do it myself, but I'd take up too much of my time.” “God 
Carl, where would'ya start with something like that? Sounds 
complicated.” “Not really. Just start by looking at star charts, 
programming coordinates. It sounds hard but it isn't.” “Okay,” I 
answered. “I'll take your word for it.” “I'll tell ya what you could do 
for me though, you could get me a few a those cigarettes and the booze 
we talked about. That'd make me happy.” “If that's what you want, I'll 
bring you down a scotch on the rocks, how does that sound?” “Sounds 
like a good start. Why don'tcha just leave the bottle so I won't have 
ta keep asking you for it?” As I turned to walk up the steps to the 
house, I could hear Carl muttering after me, ”There's gotta be 
something more to life then what I've seen so far..., gotta be.” 

“I read what you wrote,” I said, walking down the steps to the room in
our garage. “Kinda creepy isn't it? I mean..., a guy who hacks off 
heads an talks to ‘em like they're still alive. Wow, where'd you get 
the idea for that anyway?” “Oh,” answered Carl, feeling compelled to 
listen to me but still immersed in what he was thinking. “You mean 
Raymond Mort, the psycho from A Killing Rain. I'll tell you Reid, I 
didn't have to think that hard to visualize someone like that. Killers 
in the past have done just about anything you can imagine, from body 
parts in refrigerators to ash trays made from human hands. I just got a 
little creative with it, that's all. No big deal.” “Well, I just wanted 
to tell you I liked it. I thought it was cool having him hold 
conversations with them like they were his friends.” “You hit the nail 
right on the head Reid. They were the only relationships he could 
maintain. That was partly my point. He was so far removed from the 
mainstream, the only friendship he could make last was one he'd 
fabricate himself, a lot like Jeffery Dahmer, remember him?” Yeah, I 
do.” “He wasn't the only one in his line of work though,” replied Carl. 
“I could go on.” “No Carl that's alright, I believe you. Anyway,” I 
said, thinking of changing the subject to something a bit more 
pleasant. “What's new? Is the universe still expanding? Will I see 
loved ones in heaven when I die?” “If you're trying to be funny, you're 
gonna have to work harder at it.” “I just wanna know what you're up to, 
that's all.” “If you really want to know, I took an I.Q. test on-line 
yesterday,” answered Carl. “It was disappointing. I thought I'd do 
better then I did.” “Oh yeah, why?” I asked. “What'd ya score? Can't be 
any worse then mine.” “One seventy-nine. It was timed and I was feeling 
rushed. I get nervous sometimes. I can't really apply myself when I'm 
feeling nervous.” “Wholly shit! You're complaining about a score like 
that! That's genius level Carl. You outta be working at NASA or doing 
heart transplants. Whatta they call those guys anyway, Cardiologist 
isn't it?” “That isn't where my interests lie Reid. Besides, who wants 
a cat working on them, performing surgery. It'd never fly.” “Yeah 
you're right, I forgot. God, I still can't believe it though. If you 
were human, there isn't anything you couldn't do.” “I suppose,” said 
Carl. “But you know what?” he started to say, laying down to curl his 
body up in a “U” shape, as any domestic cat would do to relax, given 
the right mood. “I find myself leaning more and more toward the arts as 
time goes by. I've studied your books, I enjoyed differential 
equations, I liked theory's of vibration, laws of physics and so on but 
honestly, after awhile, all that computation gets dry. I like to 
exercise my creativity beyond what those subjects have to offer. I want 
to be free. Free thinking..., do you know what I mean? Technology is 
stifling. I need to let my mind wander where it may. But that doesn't 
mean I don't want to be logical about it. Every good artistic endeavor 
has an interesting theme about it. The viewer or reader may not follow 
at first, but that doesn't mean it hasn't been planned out.” “You're 
losing me Carl. There's a big difference between making a painting and 
writing a book.” “Not really. That's where a lot of people go wrong, 
including those who've been in these fields for years. They like to 
separate the art forms into distinct fields as if they have nothing to 
do with each other. Some writers even believe there's a formula for 
writing good fiction, when in fact, there isn't. You just begin Reid, 
and you let it roll, just like the paint of your brush. Move the words 
and let them flow.” “That's a little vague for me right now Carl, but 
if I ever think of writing anything, I'll try to take your advise.” 
“You'll be a lot better off if you do,” he added. “And one thing 
more...” “What's that?” I asked. Interested in whatever else Carl could 
add that might someday help a regular Joe like myself. “Don't go to 
school. If you ever want to learn an art form, you won't learn it 
there. All you'll learn is how to handle criticism. That's about all 
the good it'll do you. Waste of time.” The next day I visited Carl, I 
walked down the garage steps into a room filled with cigarette smoke. 
The smell of scotch whiskey permeated the air, but what I saw surprised 
me so much, I didn't mention the offensive odors in the room. He was 
hard at work as usual, but this time, I found him standing on his hind 
legs, balancing on a chair in front of the artists easel he'd asked me 
to get him. He'd gotten an excellent start on an impressionistic 
painting and was finished sketching, beginning to paint and fill the 
canvas in with awesome colors - using the side of his right front paw 
like a brush - when I walked up behind him to ask how he was doing. 
“Hey dude, that is cool. Where'd you get the idea for it?” “Oh, Reid,” 
he said, never turning to look at me, poised carefully in front of the 
canvas with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. “I didn't hear you 
come in. How's it go'in?” “I was about to ask you the same question. I 
never knew you could stand on your back legs like that. Is it 
uncomfortable?” “Naw. I admit, It took some getting used to but its 
like riding a bike. In answer to your first question though, you 
remember when I had Raymond Mort copy from Monet and some others in the 
story I gave you?” “Sure.” “I did a little research at the time. Had to 
so I'd know what I was talking about. Anyway, one thing led to another 
and here we are. Whaddaya think?” “I feel like I'm back in France, in 
the eighteen-eighties watching a master at work. How in the world do 
you learn so fast?” “I learn from others, Reid. Learn from their 
mistakes, and the knowledge they've gained just like you do. Do you 
remember who said, ‘If I have been able to see further than others, it 
is because I have stood on the shoulders of giants.'?” “I think so. 
Newton wasn't it.” “That's right,” said Carl. “And that's all I had to 
do.” “Easy for you to say. I could stand on their shoulders and still 
be myopic. Anyway, whaddaya think of the booze, mind if I join you,” I 
said. “Help yourself. It's not bad for cheap stuff. As long as you're 
here,” he continued. “Why don't you pull up a chair. There's something 
I meant to talk to you about. Something I think you should know.” “Sure 
Carl,” I answered, taking his advice and pulling a chair up to the spot 
where he'd been standing, working. “What's on your mind?” “I've been 
thinking,” he said. “Thinking that, well, I don't know how best to say 
this, so I'll just say it. I have to go.” “You what? Gimmie that 
again,” I said, wondering if I'd heard correctly. “You have to what?” 
“I have to go. I'm not getting anywhere by staying here with you and 
the family. Sure, I appreciate the food and all the help you've given 
but I need to grow Reid. The only way I can, is to go out on my own. 
There's so much to see that I'm not seeing from here. I can't go on 
living my life through a book. I want to experience those far away 
places I've seen on the internet first hand. You only go around once in 
life you know, you have to grab at it while you can or it'll all pass 
you by.” “Yeah but, gosh Carl, this is all such a surprise. I had no 
idea.” “It shouldn't have been that big a surprise Reid. All cats have 
a territory, mine's just expanding a little that's all. Well, okay,” he 
admitted. “I really don't know the best way to explain it to you, all I 
know is, I'm still feeling stifled here.” “Stifled, but Carl, I've done 
everything I can to keep you happy and now your leaving. I don't 
understand. I haven't stifled you have I?” “No, Reid. I know you've 
been trying. It's not you. It's just what I have to do, that's all. 
It's a traveling itch that I can't really, fully explain. Maybe it's 
inherent to my genetics, who knows. All I know is, I'll be hitting the 
road soon. I'm sorry, I have to go.” “I'm sorry too Carl,” I said that 
day. “We'll all miss you.” 

At least he got us ready for this, I thought. He didn't just all of a
sudden, run off. Looking around the garage, the day after we spoke, I 
found a note on one of the chairs Carl used to relax in between 
projects, or when he was done studying. I read it out loud to myself: 
Hey Reid, I thought I'd write you a note before leaving. I wanted to 
tell you not to worry about me, I can take care of myself. I've been 
wanting to check out some of America's beaches for some time now, looks 
like now's as good a time as ever to do it. First stop - South Padre 
Island in Texas, after that, who knows where I'll end up? (I'd send you 
post cards but it's tough for a cat to get letters in the mail.) 
Anyway, this is going to have to be brief - I wanted to get an early 
start. I just wanted to say, good-luck with A Killing Rain. I hope it 
sells for you. You might want to continue on as a writer, now that I've 
given you a head start. Wouldn't it be neat to see yourself in the 
newspaper? Think about it. Good luck buddy, Carl I have to admit, I 
moped around for awhile after Carl left. He was really one remarkable 
guy, the likes of which I knew I may very well never meet again. Even 
more remarkable because after all, lets face it, he was a cat. How 
often does one meet a cat who not only talks, but explains techniques 
of advanced calculus like a professor.	Not often, I guess, unless there 
are others like him in the world who people just don't talk about, for 
the same reason we didn't talk about him. Oh well, it didn't much make 
sense to go on thinking about the whole thing, since I thought I'd 
probably never see him again, so I got down to the task of trying to 
find a publisher for the last few stories he left behind, and while I 
was looking, I decided to take Carl's advice and began writing the 
story your reading now. I know a lot of people won't believe that Carl 
could really talk and do the things he did, but that doesn't bother me 
much. It wouldn't bother Carl either, knowing he'd rather stay 
anonymous anyway. I think it would have made him happy to know that 
soon after he left, I did a book signing at a local bookstore for the 
novella he penned; Jack's Mess. I sold a few of them just sitting 
there, but on and off, I couldn't help feeling as though I were 
carrying on some strange masquerade, and that Carl should've been the 
one sitting there, signing those books. It should've been his day of 
glory, not mine I thought, but then, he may not even have cared. For 
him, the writing thing was just a means to an end. He did it to make 
money to buy the expensive educational tools he desperately wanted. So 
why feel guilty, I reasoned. He got what he wanted, and at the same 
time, set me on this very interesting path. I remember that day very 
well. It was the third book I signed, for a very wealthy lady named 
Laura Ravenswood. She decided to invite some of the local authors who 
were sitting at the book signing with me to a party she was having. 
Professionals from many different fields were going to be there, and 
she thought we might benefit from having met each other. I told her I'd 
attend, and on a Saturday night - about two months after Carl left - I 
showed up at her door in my very best suit and tie. Her butler answered 
the door, and after assuring him that I was invited to the party by Ms. 
Ravenswood herself, he grudgingly let me in. Walking around, I was 
impressed by her home and its beautiful furnishings. Rumor circulated 
that her husband - now passed on to the great beyond - was a very 
successful lawyer whose real estate and land development deals had made 
him a fortune. I wished I could have met the guy, but I was just a 
little too late. He'd been gone for nearly ten years, and Ms. 
Ravenswood, never one to miss a beat, never stopped the party, in any 
sense of the word. She loved to keep herself amused, I heard, and word 
was out that she'd taken many lovers since the old man passed on. And 
why not, I thought. Hell, whatever floats your boat. Whatever keeps you 
happy, I always say. If sleeping around kept her from putting a gun to 
her head, than why not? Besides, it was no business of mine and I was 
there just to have fun for the night and meet some people. In fact, I 
thought it was darn nice of her to invite me - being the practically 
unknown individual that I am. So I walked around and circulated among 
the guests and I have to say, I met some very interesting people. Some 
of which would have made good writing material for a new author like 
myself. I thought Carl would have been proud of me for feeling like I'd 
finally gained a grasp of what he was trying to teach me - when it came 
to writing anyhow. Other things he tried to talk to me about went over 
my head, but I did feel like I was gaining an understanding of his 
artistic approach to writing. While I was there at the party, I met a 
dentist; a scientist; two lawyers and an engineer who worked in the 
area. A retired school teacher who'd taken up writing and a 
veterinarian also attended that evening. I was feeling a little out of 
my league when I sat down on a sofa in one of the spacious living rooms 
and took a sandwich - offered to me by the butler - from a tray he 
carried around. So there I was, sitting there munching on some goose 
liver pate or whatever it is rich folks call that stuff, when out of 
the blue, came a very quiet voice mixed in with the rest of the festive 
noises and voices. At first, I thought I was hearing things - because 
what I thought I heard was just that subtle and hardly audible. “Psst, 
hey, over here,” I heard. But looking around, I didn't see anyone 
trying to attract my attention at all. Going back to what I was doing; 
eating, watching the guests chatting and walking around me, I heard the 
voice again. This time, just a little louder than before. “Hey, Reid, 
down here. What are ya, deaf!?” Finally, peering over the sides of the 
sofa, I found the source of the mysterious voice. It was Carl! “Why, 
Carl! You old son-of-a-gun,” I exclaimed. “I thought you were off 
roaming around those fancy beaches you talked about. I didn't think I'd 
be see'in you again. What gives?” “I had to come back Reid, my roots 
are in Missouri. I couldn't help wondering how you an the family are 
gett'in along without me. Have any luck finding a publisher for A 
Killing Rain?” “We're do'in just fine,” I replied. “But I haven't 
really spent much time looking for a publisher. I took your advice and 
started writing. You don't mind if I write a story about you, do you?” 
I asked. “I thought I'd include it in with the book.” “Heck no, I don't 
mind. Who's gonna believe it anyway? Naw, go on and do it,” he said. “I 
could carry on this charade forever. The only real error I could make 
would be to let people see me talking. That'd screw things up for sure. 
By the way Reid, here comes Laura, don't let her catch you talking to 
me.”  Just then, as Carl expected, Ms. Ravenswood caught my eye and 
started toward me to find out how I was doing - ever the cordial 
hostess that she was. “Reid Laurence,” she began. “You look so 
surprised. Is anything wrong? Is there something I can get you? Have 
you tried the pate de foie gras?” “Oh yeah,” I answered, stalling for 
time, trying to figure out just what she meant by,  pate de foie gras. 
“The liver stuff,” I said. “It was great, just great. Yeah, 
everything's super. Couldn't be better.” “I see you've met Harold,” she 
said, referring to Carl as he sat licking his paws, calmly listening to 
every word. “He seems to like you. A little odd looking isn't he, but 
he seems bright..., for a cat that is.” “Yes, we've met. Not much in 
the way of conversation though is he?” Laughing at my jest, Laura 
added, “Of course not. But you've just got to meet the other guests, 
there are so many people here I'd like you to meet. You never know, you 
may end up getting some writing ideas from some of them. I can 
introduce you if you like.” “No,” I answered. “That won't be necessary. 
I was just taking a break. I'll get back to mingling in just a minute.” 
“Alright,” she said, turning to meet two older ladies who were walking 
toward her. “I'll check on you later. You have fun now.” “Not much in 
the way of conversation, is he?” snarled Carl. Angry with me for 
treating him as though he were just a cat. “Oh, c'mon Carl, I was only 
joking,” I said. “Can't you take a joke?” “As well as the next guy I 
suppose.” “So what's with this Harold thing. She really thinks you're 
her cat. Are you gonna stay here?” “No way. It's soft here yeah, but 
too soft for a guy like me. I only showed up cause I thought she 
might've invited you. The butler let me in and gave me some chow. The 
food was good but I gotta hit the road. Hell, she'll drive me crazy. 
She's too hoity-toity. I much prefer the spartan surroundings of my 
youth.” “Hey, whaddaya mean spartan? We did the best we could Carl.” “I 
know, I know. Look,” he said. “We can't sit here an talk for too long, 
we're taking chances. People will start thinking you're nuts if they 
see you talking to me. I just wanted to tell you I'd be dropping in 
from time to time to say hello. As long as you're starting to write, I 
might come by every so often to give you an idea or two, how would that 
be?” “Sounds good,” I said, as I watched Carl get up to stretch. “What 
are you planning on doing now?” “As soon as that front door opens, I'm 
outta here. Arrivederci baby.” “Good luck dude,” I answered, as he 
started to walk slowly away from me, the way a cat walks when they're 
in no special hurry to go anywhere. “And good luck to you, Mr. 
Laurence.” 

So here I am, sitting here typing this out. What the heck, if Carl
doesn't care what I say about him and his abilities, then I figure why 
hold back. I might as well spill the beans, but then, he's probably 
right and no one will believe me anyway. I just thought you as a 
reader, might be interested in knowing where I've been getting my ideas 
from. So I'm not the creative member of this partnership. It doesn't 
matter much to me. The way I figure it, if I've given a few readers 
something to think about, or if I've entertained them for awhile, then 
I've done my job. Does it really matter who the stories are coming 
from? Carl doesn't want the credit anyway. 


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