They passed a law three years ago that outlawed the destruction or burial of dead cats. They said it was because cat heaven was full. Because of the popularity boom from the internet days. As a result, the taxidermy business is thriving, and dead cats stare us down from everywhere. The best taxidermists turn the cats into useful household items so they’re not just taking up wasted space.
I sip my blueberry milkshake from a cup made out of taxidermy cat. It is standing on its hind legs, front paws stiff but looking droopy. And its head tilted up, mouth open, frothing milky blue bubbles as I blow air through the straw, the cat-shake making glug-glug-glug noises.
I sip my drink and stroke the furry counter. My thoughts jump in a time-machine. The time-machine vessel is a cat. It transports my thoughts back to before the law change. Cats are living, and when they’re dead they are buried. They are gone. My thoughts project themselves through the streets and alleys of the past-world and zeroes in on my past-self sitting in a regular diner sipping on a regular blueberry milkshake from a glass tumbler. My thoughts latch onto and take over the thoughts of my past self, leaving him thinking about how spectacularly fucked up it would be to live in a world overpopulated with taxidermy cats.
My thoughts take their cat time-machine back into the here and now. They fix themselves back into my head, and I continue to alternate between blowing blue bubbles from the mouth of my drink, and sipping my blueberry cat-shake.
My shoes are cats, and they are the most comfortable shoes I have ever worn.