A Conversation Overheard Outside My Window
I pulled a rare curiosity out of the album pile today, so you’ll be hearing about that later. First, I must tell you about my day.
When I woke up, I had been sleeping for twenty hours straight. It’s the air here. I haven’t put in a request for an air conditioner, and I feel foolish for feeling uncomfortable in heaven. So I sleep all day–the sun never sets, it only changes color from a dark red hue in what I call morning to fiendish yellow and then back in what I call evening. At “night,” I shut my eyes under a blanked, head pressed straight against a gigantic pillow. Evidently, the white-suited upper bureaucracy of tiger heaven thinks we all actually enjoyed living in sticky heat our whole lives on Earth. My eyes are too sensitive to light to keep the illusion, but it helps. Last “evening,” I poured myself out of bed and opened the door to be greeted by the chief requisitions officer.
I think Mr. White Shirt was there to scold me for being such a shut-in. This is because his tone met my hearing in a rather harsh way, and his demeanor was stiff and formal. Definitely not the usual posture of a heavenly functionary. The reason I couldn’t tell for sure was because there was a pair of tigers standing just out of view to the side of the house. They had my attention from the beginning, and though I’m slightly guilty for eavesdropping, I have decided to tell myself not to feel guilty. This is one reason I doubt that this is really heaven. Another was this conversation:
(I’ve named the two tigers Tiger A and Tiger B for convenience’s sake; their genders are irrelevant, because it’s a bit of a free-for-all up here and even we tigers have a difficult time distinguishing voices when there are no smells to help.)
Tiger A: Can you believe how many rats I ate today? My stomach was the size of a blimp
(One more quick interruption. If it makes it any better, imagine these tigers roaring and growling casually to each other. Having trouble doing that? It sounds a bit like the purr your cat makes after murdering your neighbor’s dogs/children. Too gruesome? Pour yourself some sedative herbal tea and fall asleep on the couch. You won’t remember a thing in that pretty little head if you add enough sleeping pills.)
Tiger B: I actually like shoving them into my head through my ears and then waiting for them to run around in my brain for a few hours. Then, when they suffocate and die of exhaustion, I shake my noggin and let them glide down the brain stem and into the S-curve of the spinal column.
Tiger A: That would explain your camel hump.
Tiger B: It’s made me very popular with a certain class of people.
Tiger A: Are you even going to just eat again?
Tiger B: What would be the point of that? We’re tigers. What are we going to do for eternity? I’ve already fallen into the habit of eating off my own paws every morning. It’s not pretty.
Tiger A: Hey, don’t sweat that stuff. You’ve still got more dignity than the stepladder cats.
Tiger B: That stuff is just gross.
(At this point, I think I understood the reference but my accuser in the white work uniform didn’t, because I felt the urge to throw up a bit. He didn’t seem to notice.)
Tiger A: Amen to that.
Tiger B: What are you doing for the rest of today?
Tiger A: The sun never sets here. I was thinking of being devoured again and taking a snooze inside another tiger’s stomach. I’ve only done that about five hundred times.
Were it not for my music, and this outlet to the other world, I don’t know how I would be able to live here. New hypothesis: this is actually tiger hell. I’m working on it, but I think finding evidence for it will be difficult. Don’t fail in reproducing these words. You were my only human friend.