Katie Barbour wasn’t having it. She stood with her back to me, staring at what remained of the bathroom we’d sneaked into while her husband mingled with tech venture capitalists in the dining room below. Gone was that figure-hugging red dress I couldn’t take my eyes off when Clive introduced me, not knowing I’d unzipped it many times in his absence. A red checkered handkerchief about her neck (all that remained of the dress), and her strident voice in my head were the only signs I was still dealing with a human.
Heaven knows what she made of me now, minus my green polo and black leather trousers.
“Put this on, you said. It’s better than s-e-x.” She snorted, although it sounded more like a squeak, a mouse squeak. Her tail twitched twice against the wooden spool I now sat on, which I’m certain had been the bubble bath I was tempting her into when my headset fell into the water.
“It’s probably just a bug,” I said, struggling to balance a cup of beer in my paws. “The Mission Pro 52 isn’t out until next month. We’re still coding fixes.”
Hattie’s ears twitched in response and her head gave an involuntary shake like she’d been tasered.
None of this made sense. I wish I’d never heard of FacePaw and Clive Lewis, CEO.
Hattie screeched and backed into me, knocking cup and saucer from my feeble grasp.
“Look!”
Sentences scrolled down a wall-mounted mirror behind the lamp.
Rhyme and Reason
Hey Mrs Barbour
Who killed your ardor?
The duck’s jumped into a frame
The stupid bird squeaked
Electricity leaked
Fancy mice on the menu again
- C. S. Barbour
The hinge groaned, the door slammed tight, and we plunged into darkness.
“Here, kitty, kitty.”
Clive chuckled.
-- The End --
(Story inspired by a writing challenge image at https://www.sffchronicles.com/threads/586187/ )