“We might not be wired right,” said Regret, my incredible talking cat.
“That would shock me,” I said, searching around in the fridge. “You drank the rest of the milk.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m saying that this genetic fuckery you’ve done to us, the domestic feline, that this has led to problems.”
“Any particular one,” I said, closing the door to the fridge. “Like drinking all the damn milk, and leaving me with black coffee in the morning.”
“It’s good for you. Builds character.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Anyway,” he said, quickly drinking the last of his coffee before I could steal it, “Anyway, I have examples. Stomatitis.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“That’s because you aren’t a cat. Basically, we become allergic to our own teeth, which causes gum inflammation, which leads to infection, which leads to tooth infection, which leads to teeth death and rot. Only cure is to pull all your teeth out.”
“Gross,” I said. “And expensive by the sound of it. Not you, I hope?” I gave up and took a drink of the black coffee, which make my teeth ache. I needed to set up an appointment with my dentist, but was frankly dreading it. I’d grown up with a crowded mouth, which meant lots of extractions, and I’ve never really gotten over the childhood terror of dentists.
“No. Mr. Fluffy.”
“That fat one, down the street? The one that’s always sunning himself in the middle of the street?”
“Yeah. That’s him. I’m not saying he’s a bright bulb or anything, but that’s a hell of a thing, losing all of your teeth. Thought I’d go visit him today.”
“That’s nice of you. Give him a little support,” I said, mildly surprised. “I don’t want to say that’s not you, but, that’s not really you. Good.”
“No. It’s certainly not me. I’m going to go kick his ass, hold him down by the neck and dry hump him. He has no teeth. He can’t fight back.”

What the heck is Regret the cat up to?

He’s been buried in that box for weeks now.

Well, not really buried, that’s maybe not the best work. He’s dived into it and disappeared. He’s been spending so much time that he’s neglected his long time hobbie of pooping on my neighbors patios, so I’ve been spending more time recently cleaning his litter box, which I don’t appreciate. He might as well be an indoor cat at this point, God help me.

I’ve asked him about it several times. He tends to say stupid shit like ‘It’s a need to know operation, and you don’t have a need to know.’

It’s my house, I tell him, I pay the bills.

“Do you now? Do you really?” He shoots back.

I hadn’t check my accounts for a little while. Everything’s automated these days. Why check? But I did after he said, that, and my utilities and rent haven’t been deducted from my account for months. Since I haven’t had the lights shut off and I haven’t been thrown out of the house, I figured someone was paying then.

Regret wouldn’t admit to it, of course. He’s a cat. Which means obtuse and superior, so now he denies ever directly saying it, while dropping hints from time to time, usually that time is around dinner, that someone who does pay the bills expects a little better service from the guy with opposable thumbs and a can opener.

That’s a cat right there. If they all could talk they’d all say shit like that. Hell, if they could talk we’d never would have domesticated them in the first place. It’s sort of cute when you’re just looking at the salty expression on their face every morning. It’s worse if that salty expression has a voice behind it. Not nearly as cute as you’d think.

Plus the bastard leaves half smoked, unfiltered cigarettes around the house and insists on flicking my toothbrush into the toilet a couple times a week.

So again, we’re back the question, what the hell is he doing in there? Not testing bluetooth keyboards I feel sure.

So what? That black van that had been running up and down the block has come to a stop with one wheel up the sidewalk. It’s been like that for weeks and steadily accumulating an outer shell of parking tickets. I’ve never seen anyone come in or out of van, so it’s possible that something bad has happened. It’s not behavior you’d expect to see from the men in black, if that’s what we’re actually seeing here. Who’s men in black is one question, another is what are they doing in there? Is there a litter box?

Schrodingers box and Schrodinger’s black van, not more that 400 feet from one another.

“New business idea,” said Regret the talking cat.
“Shoot.”
“So you know that tired old physics thought experiment about puppies and boxes. Schrödinger’s dog?”
“Cat.”
“What?” Said Regret, anxiously flicking ash off his cigarette. “Why the fuck would it be a cat? What kind of monster puts a cat in a box?”
“One that wants a little peace and quiet,” I said, trying to wrest the remote from him. He was drunk watching Mutual of Omaha’s wild kingdom again and if didn’t get the remote smashing the TV seemed like the next best option.
“Here’s how we make money. We start our own pet service called Schrödinger’s Puppies, and we offer to send anyone in the lower 48 states, excluding California, a puppy of their choosing in a box.”
“Why not California?”
“They probably have a law against this. Anything that makes money that doesn’t involve the internet they have a law against.”
“Anyway, get to the part where you make money” I said, sorry that’d I derailed him. The best thing was to just let these things go, let him get them out of his system.
“Right. So, here’s the money making part. We write into the terms of the contract that there’s a 50/50 chance that the puppy will be dead due to the laws of indeterminacy, and then just ship only dead puppies.”
“That’s good why?”
“Dead puppies are cheap. And no one will sue because indeterminacy is a fundamental law of the universe. It’s like suing over gravity. Force majeure. They can’t sue.”
“I don’t think it actually works that way. Besides, you still need to get dead puppies to make that work. They don’t sell those at Walmart.”
“Are you kidding? I can get dead puppies in bulk. Today. Hell, I could have a shipping container full of dead puppies on our doorstep within an hour. Whatever breed you like. Or don’t like. All you need is cash and the numbers of the right people.”
“How do you know these right people?” I said, finally getting control of the remote and switching off the TV.
“We’re both saner if you don’t know the answer to that question.”
“You mean safer, I’m guessing.”
“No. I’m sticking with saner.” He said, finishing his cigarette and flicking it into my drink. “Let me know if you want in. Ideas like these only come once in a lifetime.”

“Are you ready? I’ve got a genius idea.”
“Ready as I’m going to get”, I said, balancing my coffee on my lap. “It’s very early.”
Regret ignored me, pacing back and forth across my coffee table.
“Amazon’s going to start delivering things with drones, right?”
“So they say.”
“Right! Exactly!”
“I’m cutting back your coffee,” I said.
“No. Wait, hear me out. We build our own drones. Once they get going with this, we build our own drones to hijack their drones and steal their shit.”
“I have some concerns about your plan.”
“Right, but it’s brilliant. Zoom!” He said, using his paws to demonstrate a drone dog fight. “Out of the sun we come, zoom! Grab the parcel and fly off. They’ll never know what hit them. And then the spoils go to us.”
“The phrase short term smart comes to mind,” I said. “I think it wouldn’t take long to track you down.”
“Us down. We’re in this together.”
“Whoa. Who’s this we you’re referring to?”
“We is us. You’re the money guy. The opposable thumbs guy. I’m the brains.” He said, gathering himself up for the big finish. “You’re right. Yes, short term smart. Yes, long term iffy. Here’s the long term. Once we’ve established a short term threat to Amazon’s precious delivery drones, we repurpose our robber drones into police drones and sell them our services as protectors from the skies!”
“Breathtaking in it’s genius,” I said, before finishing my coffee. “Why don’t you spend the day on a business plan and we’ll hit the bank up for a first round of funding.”
“That’s sarcasm. I see. Fine. Don’t come begging in after this eagle takes off.”
“Out. Find a bird to kill,” I said, throwing him out the door.
Before it closed, he said, “I rub my ass on your coffee cup every morning.”

After brushing my mouth until my gums bled, I had a fabulous day at work, and dreamed that night of drones swooping from the skies, exactly like cat assholes don’t.