Monkey Business
The thing looked like a little monkey. It wouldn’t have been fair to call it a little person, or a child, due to its preponderance of body hair and prehensile tail. It was the flat nose with the wide flaring nostrils and the way it dug in the cat box with all four of its legs that drove the animal comparison home. The creature was systematically removing the hard clumps of feces, tossing them over its tiny shoulders like a vagrant rooting through a dumpster for aluminum cans. Once it was satisfied that the sand had been cleaned, it turned and squatted, balling up its fists and squeezing its black eyes shut tight enough to draw tears. I watched as its puckered anus distended and a fat red capsule began to emerge, then it lengthened into a short sausage that resembled a link of dry chorizo. It seemed to wriggle free of the creature’s rear end of its own accord, dropping with a chuff into the litter and proceeding to roll itself back and forth until a layer of the gray sand coated it. This happened three more times, until four fat grub-like eggs lay squirming in the box. Then the creature turned and covered its deposits under mounds of litter. Satisfied, it patted the area down, hopped out of the box, and sprinted through the cat door on all fours.
First draft: 150126
Published: 230823