By Brian Robinson.
My journey took me deep into the cosmos on a special quest amongst a myriad of stars. Galaxies drifted by all around me, shooting stars fell away behind me as I sped forward at the speed of light.
I screamed and slammed on the brakes as hard as I could. All to no avail. The cat was under my wheels before I knew it. Life was gone. Nonetheless, I cursed and pressed on.
An hour later found myself fully loaded and set off on yet another journey into the blackness. I still had a million stars for company, along with a thousand pints of milk.
When you’re alone in the night, you think, you wonder. I wondered if I hadn’t been in such a hurry, could I perhaps have avoided the cat? The sickening bump as my wheels ran over it haunted me on through the night.
The clues were there. One car missing from the driveway; the lounge curtains were left open; the woman’s touch was gone from the garden. I peeked in. I saw a man asleep on the sofa, his hand trailing down to an empty bottle of gin. Who no longer lives in a house like this?
The warmth of the morning sun on my back and the thought of human contact once again buoyed up my spirits considerably. Perhaps too considerably. “Tell me, Mrs. Potter, why do you always wear that crash helmet? And what’s that thing you’ve got wrapped around it? It looks like the remains of a dead sheep?
“You do ask some daft questions. The crash helmet is for protection of course.”
“And the dead sheep?”
“The sheepskin is to keep my helmet warm. Now give me that milk and bugger off.”
My one hand was going for the booster rocket again, the other tightening on the wheel. I was bracing myself to plunge free of the atmosphere once more. The noise was deafening, the G force remodeling my face, and then in an instant, I was flying at Mach 260 and climbing. Drag was a thing of the past and I was slicing a path through silence and time.
In a matter of seconds, I had caught up with the cat. He looked across and gave me the widest of grins: cosmic!
Then there was the wife who had left her home and her man behind. She was now locked in an embrace with her new lover: orgasmic!
And up ahead, Mrs potter, her sheepskin now worn as a cape and flapping frantically as she hurtled through space.
As I caught up she said, “And you thought I was mad.” Then she burst into hysterical laughter.
What can you say about Mrs. Potter? She is as cracked as a cathedral window. Blessed are the cracked: for they shall let in the light! (Groucho Marks)
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