Cynthia's scent

Things have gone from bad to worse. My side has had a growing pain for a long time now. Cynthia, my Master, called me off the couch from my afternoon nap. I heard Her jingling the leash like She always does when we’re going to see the other people and their humans at the park. With effort, I hoisted myself off the couch, wincing from the pain in my side. Slowly I reached one foot over the edge, then the other, coming up short and landing with both paws on the floor, it sent a shudder through me and the ache in my side intensified. 

“C’mon, Margie, it’s your big day today!” She said. Oh, Cynthia, I’ll never forget the day you found me. I remember a world of cold; loud noises, rushing wind. In a small, soft box I was with others like me. One by one I saw humans pick them up and carry them away. I was roughly handled by little humans a few times, then put back. The rest were taken until I alone remained. Then She appeared. Her hair smelled fruity, milky, nutty. She cradled me in her arms. She was warm. I remember the sounds of Her pleading with Her parents to take me home. 

 “Oh, Cynthia, you’d better take good care of that animal,” they admonished. She held me the entire ride home. I was terrified, first the loud noise of the car door closing, the growl under the hood and the rumbling as we began to move; all the while the only safety I felt was in Cynthia’s sturdy, gentle arms.  

When we arrived at their home, I was greeted with dampened food, a far cry from the warm milk I would have to struggle against others for, it was all mine and I could eat until I was full for the first time.  

She and I were inseparable. Playing in the garden, sleeping in the same bed, I’d even lay on the damp mat outside the big white tub when she would bathe. She had a bottle of mush that made her hair smell pretty, like coconuts. 

Cynthia was gentle, even when I couldn’t control myself in the house. Sometimes I messed where I shouldn’t have. I would chew on the couch when my teeth hurt, and when they left home, they had a box they threw chicken bones and paper soaked in grease, the temptation overcame me and I would knock it over and eat to my heart’s content. More than once I got quite sick doing this and, again, messed in the house. She would correct me, of course, but always with patience. 

The lights are harsh. They’re bright and cold like the sun when the garden looked dead. These hard bars I’m in can’t be chewed through. There are many other people like me, abandoned in these prison cells in a long, cloud-white room. I howled and howled for Cynthia but She never returned. I have a small blanket and a bit of food and water here but those are little comfort at being left behind. I cannot escape and my nerves are getting to me, I've begun chewing at my legs, it’s the only thing that keeps me from howling in terror and longing. Occasionally, a human in white comes through and looks at the paper attached to my cell, shakes their head and moves down the line of others with equally sorrowful people in them. They howl as I do, strange names like “Richard!”, “Sam!”, “Jorge, where are you!”. The cacophony is unbearable and still the only person that comes for us is the human in white. When they come, they take one of us and don’t return.  

It’s dark now, most of us have been left, another human in white has come and refilled everyone else’s food, but taken mine. I’m hungry and I’m worried they’re going to starve us or worse yet, maybe they’re going to eat us. I begin to howl again for Cynthia, this wakes the other people in the cells up and we all begin howling again in dismay. No one comes. Oh, Cynthia, why have you abandoned me? 

Eventually, after screaming myself hoarse, I give up and resign myself to my fate. At length, the strangers around me quiet down too and we drift off to sleep together, awaiting what the morning may bring. 

The light comes with a click and a buzz, rousing us back into a cruel world, another human enters, smaller than the one yesterday, long hair, they remind me of Cynthia. They begin checking the papers on the other cells. Slowly, they make their way to me and after a glance at my papers, they say, “Okay, darling, it’s time to go.” There is a sweetness in their voice. They unlatch the door to my cage; my heart begins racing. Am I free to go? What are they going to do with me? My mind is filling with horrors that may await me, I need to escape but I can do nothing but whimper. Terror seizes me, the lump on my side begins throbbing and I can’t resist as they reach in and firmly grip my collar, dragging me from my cage. I never thought I would miss that cramped den but I find myself fighting to stay in. Then, a smell. The rich smell of that dark brown water Cynthia would roast in the morning. Could this be Cynthia? No, her voice is different, she’s squatter and her hair is darker. I begin to relax. Her grip is gentle but firm. Finally, I submit and allow myself to be led wherever she’s taking me.  

She leads me down a long corridor, the floor is white tile with small, dark splotches. It reeks of chemicals and dozens of kinds of people I've never smelled before. There are doors on either side the same color as sticks in Cynthia’s garden. The lights are the same harsh, bright, buzzing ones as in the room with the cages. Finally, we enter through a pair of double doors and I see another white room, a few creatures are standing near a tall, gleaming greyish table. The beings’ eyes are human like and they have arms and legs, two of each, but they seem grotesque with strange, soft blue membranes on their heads and faces. Great insect eyes that shine blindingly descend from the ceiling. I begin to pull against this woman’s grip again, “Take me back! Take me back!” I shout. 

She stoops down to me and brushes my back with long, gentle strokes, shushing. I smell it again on her breath. I cease shouting and decide to trust her. She grips me under the tummy and chest, avoiding my painful lump but it’s throbbing all the same. She sets me on the grey table, the insect eyes are beaming at me, I want to run but I look to this woman as she pulls a blue membrane from a box and straps it around her face. I realize these other creatures are in fact humans, they smell of people, but also eggs, gasoline, one smells like the spicy meat Cynthia eats with bread and cheese, another like flowers that grow in Her garden at home. They are gentle with me; I lay down on the table. I feel a tiny prick and the bug eyes seem to fade to points, then nothingness. 

Groggy. The world is hazy in the slit of my half-opened eyelids. A blanket underneath me. Food and water dishes. My body is numb. I hear the same squeak of that awful cage door opening. I realize I’m back in the prison cell room and my heart begins racing. A warm hand touches my side. The lump is gone. I relax. I smell coconuts.