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|Carl (standard:Fan Fiction, 11295 words)|
|Author: Reid Laurence||Added: Dec 19 2005||Views/Reads: 2100/1734||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.|
Organogenesis: The formation of body organs during embryonic stages in mammals for the respective term of gestation. Which in humans, is usually nine months. In elephants, twenty-three months; chimpanzees, eight months, but in small domestic cats that number dwindles to a mere sixty days, or two months. That is to say, that is the usual amount of time we'd expect a pregnant cat to give birth in but then, things don't always go according to nature's plan. Things happen... anomalies, deviations, defects, anything from genetic flaws to great athletic and/or intellectual blessings. But what of these attributes we've come to think of as blessings? Are they what we'd like to think they are, out of envy or jealousy? Or are they merely weights to bear for whom they've been bestowed upon? I really can't say for sure, but since my family and I met up with Carl, my eyes have opened to an entirely different range of possibilities. Possibilities I never even knew existed, until we witnessed this one unique, fantastic deviation of evolution... “Mom,” said Natalie. “I told you we should've gotten Cat spayed. Now look at her.” “Gosh almighty,” I added. Walking into the living room with my t.v. remote in one hand and a glass of soda in the other. “Looks like ol' Cat went an got herself knocked up don't it?” “You always know just what to say, don't you Reid,” replied my wife, chiding me and mocking my commentary. “Any more bright observations you'd like to make?” “I just call'em as I see'em Mary. What's for dinner anyway?” “I don't know,” she answered. “At a time like this, and all you're worried about is dinner? Can't you see we've got a problem here? What in the world are we going to do with kittens?” “How should I know?” I replied. “Stir-fry?” “That was sick, dad,” said Natalie, as she turned to look at her mother sitting beside her on the living room sofa. “What about an ad in the paper?” she continued. “It could read; FREE KITTENS TO GOOD HOME. What's wrong with that?” “That outta do it,” I said, opening the refrigerator door, in search of man's best friend - which was, at a time like this... a package of bologna. After our informal discussion and through the late night hours of the evening, I wondered what it would be like to once again become a “cat dad”. I'd already been one some years previous to this and thought I had a good idea of what to expect from our furry companion, Cat. Of course I expected her to grow in dimension, suitably adjusting herself to the task at hand both physically and emotionally, as any good mammalian female would. Then, like any cat about to give birth would do, I expected her to find some warm, dark place under a bed or in a closet and help bring her children out into the strange, but interesting world in which we live. And as I hit the off button on the remote, I knew that was precisely what my wife and two children expected also, as most people would have. Now, I thought to myself. As long as we're all on the same wavelength here, what could go wrong? So we'll put an ad in the paper and wish them all a happy, safe life. What's wrong with that? But as I turned the lamp off on my night stand and stared out into the dark of the bedroom, a strange feeling of insecurity passed through me. A feeling similar to the kind a parent has when he or she doesn't know the whereabouts of their teenager and panic begins to set in. Hmm, I thought. I know Ellies' in her room sleeping and Natalie's tucked away in her bed too - then why do I feel like this? Could it be a premonition? I wondered. Could I be subconsciously warning myself? “Nonsense,” I said out loud, as I closed my eyes, turned over on my stomach and peacefully nodded out. The next morning went as routinely and smoothly as any other. I dragged myself out of bed at seven o'clock to let our three dogs out to relieve themselves. Then I promptly met my younger daughter in the kitchen and blindly, bumped shoulders with her, as we struggled to find our way around the kitchen in a state of half sleep, half wakefulness. “Oh, excuse me dad,” she muttered under her breath, searching for a good spot on the counter top to stir the two raw eggs she was carrying around. “Sure Ellie,” I replied. “You want coffee?” “Sure, I'll take a cup,” she answered, even though she and I both know, she rarely touches the stuff. “How would'ya like some coffee crap in it?” I responded, hoping that the Irish Cream flavored coffee additive I was using might make the offer more appealing. “Oh, I don't know,” she said, on her way to the microwave to complete her scrambled eggs. “Not right now, it's just something else I'll have to carry in the car.” “Okay then, suit yourself,” I quietly answered, while I poured way too much water in the coffee maker as I usually did, resulting in way too many cups of leftover coffee. Next to rise from her silent slumber was my wife, Mary. Bumping shoulders as we usually did, vying for position in the Click here to read the rest of this story (808 more lines)
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