On Being a Big Thing in a Small Package

What did I ever do to deserve this?

Nothing, that’s what.

Well, nothing I can be blamed for.

I didn’t know what to make of it at first, her sudden appearance. A small, grub-like creature, always attached to one of the Subjects. A parasite, I thought, wondering if I should try to remove it for them. It took me months to realize I had a new Subject, one that had not yet fully formed.

That amused me. I remembered it myself, being in search of a shape and a purpose. A form finally given to me by the male, not long after I found him.

My first Subject.

“Loki,” he pronounced with satisfaction, no doubt feeling clever, unaware, as humans often are, of just what he had brought upon himself. He thought he had seen my nature and named it, when in fact he had done just the opposite. Loki. The holy Presence filled me in that moment, the moment I was summoned into being within this furry little body. Loki Godsbane. Destroyer of Asgard. Scourge of the Aesir.

Crap. I felt His divine sigh. Another cat.

Hey, at least it wasn’t a ferret this time. What’s that gotta do to a Guy? I briefly surveyed several hundred memories of my most recent Incarnations.

So many ferrets.

Not my problem, though. I am who I am. Just a seed, a little tendril snaking back to the whole. I am Loki Mansbane. Destroyer of Carpets. Scourge of the Darkened Bathroom. I am Cat. I bring the mighty low, and I have a job to do.

And there are so many ways to do my job.

Personally, I specialize in barfing. Fancy myself something of an artist, actually. A lot of people think it’s all about what you vomit, but that’s not true. Don’t get me wrong, content is important. A hairball. A cockroach. Hell, even a simple kibble purge has its own kind of eloquence. These are all important components of the conversation that is blowing chunks. But saying vomit is about what you bring up is like saying language is about words. True, but incomplete. People love to talk about the what, but too often they overlook the ever so important where and when.

Shoes. Bed. Shower. Before bed. After breakfast. Knowing when and where to puke is like knowing when are where to swear. That’s why preparation is so important. Knowing what you’ve got in stock will often tell you when and where it needs to come up.

Really, though, the key is delivery. Style. I mean, you have to know what you’re trying to do. Who’s your audience? What’s the message? Is this ralph a persuasive speech or simply a witty riposte?

Oh, and never, I mean never, be afraid to make it a performance. Not one place, but five. Right? Announce it beforehand. Let them watch. Let them chase you, thinking they can prevent it. Make them a participant. Make them part of the show.

Take the bed, for instance. I mean, you could just lay one out, like a turd, or a forum post, for your interlocutor to find and respond to at their own convenience. That’s fine. It gets the job done.

Or.

Hear me out.

In the middle of the night, just after they’ve fallen asleep.

And, get this—

From the headboard.

Hey, don’t judge. Dude cut off my balls, okay? Just putting that out there. This isn’t one sided. Humans rarely get back shit they don’t put into the world first. It’s just my job to tighten that wheel a bit. That’s the way I figure it, anyway. Scratches on the woodwork? Vanity. Standing on the keyboard? Attachment. Ass bite while taking a piss?

He knows what he did.

Did I mention the balls thing?

Anyway, it’s not really my job to know exactly what my Subject did to deserve every little thing that happens. I’m just the messenger, as Hermes likes to say. That’s the asshole that likes to wander over my balcony in the middle of the night. We have a lot of long conversations. I won’t lie, it gets heated, but the Subjects sleep too much anyway. Sloth.

See how it all works out?

Or used to. Until she showed up.

No big deal, I thought at first. New Subject. I can handle this. I’ve done it before. With that in mind, I sought her out one day, sitting alone in her cage and staring at her fingers. I decided to run a few tests. You know, like knocking things to the floor while staring steadily into her eyes? Standard stuff. I did the same thing when the larger female first showed up, and I found it quite useful in calibrating my torments. This time all I got was a blank stare. And then a hand, probing slowly through the bars.

I stalked over to the slats warily, sniffing quick and shallow between the strips of light. Then, before I could even think, she snatched my ear and bared toothless gums, issuing a gurgling threat. I responded in kind. That brought the primary Subjects quick enough and earned me a trip to the garage.

I took it as a win. A night in The Hole usually means I’ve struck a nerve, but I had time to think, alone in the dark, and I came to a slow and uneasy realization. There had been hardly any garage time recently, hardly much reaction to my ministrations at all, in fact. Neither my torments nor the countermeasures I normally deployed to win my way back into their affection seemed as effective as before. It was a balancing act I had been perfecting for a long time, to maximize overall lifetime misery, but it had all been thrown out of whack, and it all traced back to the moment she showed up. I saw it then. I did not have another Subject.

I had competition.

After that it was all one-upmanship for a while. I yowled at night. She yowled at night. I pooped in the tub. She pooped in her pants. That annoyed me. I didn’t have pants. I tried to poop in her pants, but those creepy little hands were just everywhere. I thought long and hard about it, then proudly took a dump in the middle of the rug. I mean right there in the center of the room. I held it for three days. The thing was half my size.

Great, right?

Except she found it first, then used those nimble little paws to spread it around. All over the damn rug and, just to be a little show-off, up the wall. I can tell you it took them awhile to sort that one out. Just whose shit is this, I could hear them thinking? Looks like hers, smells like his. Puzzling it over in their overactive little monkey brains.

No, I wanted to scream at them. It was me! I shit on the rug! I am the hell beast sent to torment you into insanity and woe! Not this imposter!

She even trounced me at barfing, I’m ashamed to admit. In all my time, in all my pukes, never once have I ever managed the vaunted Face Barf. I mean, yeah, I got in a solid headshot with that bedpost maneuver, but I’m talking full-frontal, mouth open here.

It was amazing.

That was when I realized there was more to this than I thought. She was no mere mortal rival. She was an Incarnation, like me. But who? That night, I waited until she slept, then crept up to her cage and studied her. I stared and stared into that sleeping face, searching, probing with my eyes and my ears and a few less natural senses besides.

Who are you?

All at once her eyes flew open and she was staring back. It was then that I knew. Not completely, not all of it, but something clicked and I gaped in surprise. I was not afraid, not at first, but a growing unease was beginning to fill me up. Just as this little cat body had some sense of Loki, Loki had some sense of Her. I racked my brain, trying to remember the name the other Subjects called Her by, the aspect they’d summoned. And then it came. I went from surprise to outrage to fear, all in a moment.

Inanna.

Those stupid, stupid assholes. Clever little monkeys cleverly looking up old names and giving them bodies again. Inanna. They’d Incarnated Inanna, ancient name of power and love but not mercy – no, never that. I could see, as We stared into each other’s eyes, that She knew Me as I knew Her and that I would suffer for it. I saw my pitiful little life stretched out ahead, a welter of pinches and pulls, of bear hugs and saddles and doll rides, of being stuffed into small houses and forced into strollers.

You will play with me, little imp.

I cringed away.

You will serve me.

I mewled pitifully.

And together we will rule them with an iron fist.

I paused, tail twitching warily. What was this now? Hesitantly I moved closer and stuck my nose up between the bars of her prison. She reached out a small hand and laid it on my head. I realized suddenly that the two other Subjects had entered the room and were watching us quietly. Expectantly. Hoping we would get along.

Fools.

It wasn’t out of the question. Our feud had frayed their nerves. Working together we could truly drive them to madness and despair. I’d teamed up with others before and usually managed to come out on top. Gods and Goddesses. Kings and Queens. I’d dealt with them all in my day, playing nice when I had to and biding my time. Maybe this could work out.

After all, a Guy can get used to damn near anything.

Even ferrets.