Hanging off a light fitting with one paw in any luxury 7 star hotel beach bar is not the most pleasant experience to write home about.
Specially when being approached by a truck load of angry oxen with attitide thundering along a beach in your direction.
Such estabishments are designed for the enjoyment of liquid beverages in parallel with a lot of smalltalk with friends and new aquaintances.
Roger, having made the decision to move before thinking as is the best survival instinct of a cat, couldn't help but notice that his Fiery travel portal he was holding in his teeth was not working when he pressed the emergency OUTAHERE button when he opened his eyes again to find that the oxen were almost on top of the place.


He said in a way that meant a lot more, and reaching into his gagging bag with his free paw, pulled out his own Fiery 2.6 and swapped it over for the one provided by The BOSS in Moronicocoon that Roger surmised had been rendered useless. The oxen were just starting to crash into the uprights of the bar and smash all the windows in a well organised stampede that would end, Roger was sure in his prediction, in the flattening of the bar any anyone remaining inside, hanging or not hanging from a high lamp fitting. He was already being pushed a few yards to the left on the way down as the Fiery kicked in and flipped Roger to a safe location several galaxies away.

Landing with one paw still high over his head in a group of tourists being lectured by a guide in a small clearing in dense, highly oxygenated jungle that couldn't be more green if you mixed the sky, sea and several deserts together, the guide was finishing a sentence,

...So if one brave one of you would like to volunteer to be the first to jump... ah. Ok. The evolved cat. Yes. Very good. Do come over here and I will fit the harness for you.

There was a general and palpable tremour of utter relief amongst the rest of the small tourist crowd, who relaxed in anticipation of a good bit of entertainment about to happen at the expense of someone else.

Roger noticed the crowd sort of sweep back behind him... and he was face to face with a type of evolved koala bear wearing leather shorts, flip flops and a bridle, who, as the guide with a formal tag pinned to his chest that said OFFICIAL GUIDE and JELITOO, had been given control of the tour.

And your name is?

Asked Jelitoo.


Answered Roger in a questioning way that meant what is happening now?

Roger! Good! I'm sure your friends here can't wait to see you fly down into this gravity well and have a great time before bouncing up again. No-really, its not at all dangerous. No one has died since last season, and that was only an accident. One of them...

Jelitoo explained, fitting a harness to Roger as he spoke in his smiling, warm and psychotically danger-immune way.

Roger's Fiery was blowing off it's red light alarm in repetitive eye-straining flashes, he noticed as he asked, want me... to jump. Into a gravity well. On this...this rubber rope then?

He asked of Jelitoo, holding up a bit of rope he found attached to the harness.

Oh yes, no problem. It's fine. It's hardly a black hole. Just 10 times the gravity here. You'll have the greatest time as you go through all the stages of gravity on the mile down and back up again. It's a real buzz. Just don't look over the edge. Until you are on your way. There!

Jelitoo finished with the final clipping sound of the harness straps around Roger, and stood back to check his work.

Just remember the instructions. Keep your limbs straight out, don't take any pics as it unbalances the fall, and screaming is great. No problem,

Added Jelitoo, beaming a large smile while yanking the Fiery from Roger's grip, putting it into his gagging bag and tying it tight inside the front of the harness.

Roger looked over the edge of the cliff. The far side was shrouded in mist some distance off. It appeared to be a big inverted green cone filled with slowly spiraling clouds. His tail went straight up followed by his back fur all the way to the top of his head.

I did say not to do that.

Demanded Jelitoo, adding,


And put a black cotton elasticated tie bag over Roger's head.

Now you'll be fine. Won't see a thing.

Roger flayed at the bag as Jelitoo said to the huddled entranced crowd,

Ready now?

They all had their camera's out and had crept their way to the safety rails by the side. Their unfair air of expectation was not one that Roger liked at all; he could feel it seeping through the bag he was trying to claw off his head, but both were too strong. Jelitoo ushered Roger out onto the platform over the abyss...

Off you go then,

Said Jelitoo, and pushed a button that dropped the platform Roger was standing on.


yelled Roger as he fell. Quite convincingly, Jelitoo thought.
The crowd were filming the jump, and were equally convinced it was a worthwhile scream, good for the occasion.

And about a minute later, Roger was back up again, flying up out of the well, high into the air. Jelitoo pressed another button next to him, and the rubber rope was hauled fast in reverse by the winches.
He landed back on the platform frozen in a star shape, minus his head cover. Jelitoo had to force his paws down to undo the harness.

Good, eh?

he said to Roger, who failed to say anything at all while he tried to return to his normal self. He was helped by being led away by another evolved koala bear assistant guide to be given a drink of icy water nearby, walking through the effulgent crowd who couldn't take their camera's off him for a second.

So, everyone. That's how easy it is, you see?

Jelitoo addressed the crowd.

Who's next?

Its rare to see the mood of a crowd change so fast and dramatically. They went from avid chatty pride to utter silent remorse in a moment, still holding up their camera's in a fixed position in case moving a digit constituted agreement to jump.

Now come ON. Really, its great. It's only about 20 seconds down there and back, and about 2 minutes up here with the time dilation. It's completely harmless. Just a mile or so. You- young being- you look game for a joyride of a lifetime.

Jelitoo grabbed the young being from out of the crowd and stood him on the platform.

Ah-no- you see- its my back- doctor's orders. it's still healing after the operations. I would if I could, but I cant this time. Next time I will. It looks fantastic. Next time,

the youngster insisted, yanked himself free from the grip of Jelitoo and ran to the back of the crowd with an apologetic guffaw.

Roger was watching from the rear; taking a moment with the icy glass of water, recalibrating his slipped sideways mind back to some sort of normality including issues and problems.

Before he knew what was happening the words came out,

I'll go again. I mean, I'm going again. Hook me up. Now,

Roger said loudly in a distantly unfocused haze.

Jelitoo looked at Roger square in the eye from over the top of the crowd.

Roger focused back on him.

No- really. Hook me up now,

Roger said.

The crowd applauded, thrilled at not having to jump, while getting it all recorded for their next dinner parties and social media.

Jelitoo paused while he overcame his astonishment, then asked,

Anyone for the jump apart from Roger then, eh?

The crowd could hardly stop shaking their heads in a communal NO and making polite applause over crooning remarks and noises of approval directly towards Roger. They couldn't take their attention of him, and followed Roger as he stood up and walked through them to Jelitoo on the platform hanging out over the edge of the well. Their buzz was loud and consistent. Roger gave his empty glass to a young female being standing between her parents, who gave an impressed OH as Roger burped at her; the kind of burp that says, as any starry eyed female will tell you, means I'M DOING THIS JUST FOR YOU, and stepped up to be re-harnessed.

The crowd went silent with apprehension. Would Roger do it? Each one of them wondered, jaw dropped.

The two assistants stood beside Jelitoo in some small admiration as well as Roger was made up. No one had ever gone twice before as far as they could recall. Then, checking his harness, Roger took two steps back, and leapt off the platform into the well, shouting,


before Jelitoo could press the platform release button.

The crowd were astonished. They stood, rapt in the event. They waited, holding it, camera's on, for the sign of Roger's return. 2 minutes passed quickly. Then another 2. The mood of the crowd went from awe to yelling jabber in a top quality show of confusion.

After another minute, Jelitoo checked the rope, which was still taught, sighed and pressed a big orange button on his console by his hip, and a general alarm sounded with three large rescue drones flying in gusto out and into the well from over their heads.

Just then, Roger came back up. He was screaming


as he flew out of the gravity well into the first drone and caught it in all four sets of claws from underneath. Having established a good grip, he took off one paw, caught and bit through the elastic rope and hung on in mid air. With all the excitement, he was the first to notice a mirage of black in a stampede of about 20 single minded oxen heading towards the edge of the gravity well to the side of the crowd - aiming at him.
Roger was brought towards the edge of safety by the drone, and just as he was about 10 feet or so away, the herd of oxen went over the side in a barrage of horn thrusts and snorting in a mess of sinew and hormones trying to reach Roger who was just inches from being savaged. All gone, he waved at the crowd (who waved gleefully back), got out his old work Fiery and dropped it into the well after the oxen. Then he got out his personal Fiery, gave a final wave to his audience, flicked the Fiery and was gone- drone included.

The crowd went crazy. The young female wet herself. One of Jelitoo's assistant's fainted into the other one. This was a spectacle - with free added oxen- to relish.

Jelitoo swore and stood in quiet disbelief. He wondered what had been going on for so long down below, the equal of maybe an hour of time relative to the platform. The two remaining rescue drones shot off after the oxen into the well. Another mess to report and clean up...

Anyways up,

Having made his theatrical exit, Roger arrived under drone at the Meuller Residence in New York in 1998. A substantial classy roof top penthouse, with a good sized terrace for landing pre-programmed rescue drones on. He stepped lightly down, ordering the drone to park, which it did, having accomplished its previous task of a successful rescue, and confused at the strange unexpected location. As it was early in the sunny Spring morning facing South over Central Park, Mr and Mrs Meuller were drinking coffee sat at a small table. Both were forced to stand up in defiance at the intrusion to their start of a Thursday. Roger strolled over to them clearing his brain of relative gravity and held out his paw to shake hands in the human tradition, saying,

Good Morning Mr and Mrs Meuller. My name is Roger Cat. Nice place you have here. Please excuse my dramatic mode of arrival- its well intended, and if I may say, very urgent, too.

Which came out as,

Ya U ah Ee ah oo ah iila tic aa MM-MM eh yah ee lery urgent too.

Or words to that effect.

Roger continued, clearly now,

May I join you for coffee? Thank you. I have something here for you of great significance. You'll like this very much.

Roger made himself comfortable without waiting for permission, took a swig of Mr Meullers coffee, who was struggling to find words that made sense, nodded politely to Mrs Meuller who couldn't find any words at all, and took out some things from his gagging bag.

Mm. Fresh ground roasted. Nice. So- this is Roland Trump's topee. Look. It's got his initials embroidered inside with the phone number. Good, eh? And this is a report that you might be interested in from 2019- uh- sometime very soon. The undedacted one your mother wrote ... then. 700 pages.

He dropped to a whisper,

Page 237, line 15, all work etc. very interesting.

Roger winked and stopped whispering, with

Also very good: This is a map of Batavia with the bank address and safebox security codes. Blindingly interesting contents I might say.

Mr Meuller looked up and down a few times moving his mouth without talking. Roger went on...

And this is the biggie of biggies. The plans for Operation Parsnip. Oh no, sorry, that's a recipe for Delilah. Ha ha. Sorry. THIS is Operation Cranberry Juice. I think it's a bit far fetched but what do I know? I'm only a cat. Ha ha.

So. All I need is this litttle old bowl holding some, and we are done. Great. An excellent deal all round. Thanks very much,

Finished Roger, smiling at the two speechless humans as he put the Falangcai porcelain bowl into his gagging bag.

Roger took and shook Mr Meuller's hand with his paw, grabbed his shoulders and embraced him with a Russian double cheek-kiss, stood back and saluted; a triple action to conclude their contract, not taking any legal risks.

Oh. You won't be needing this drone will you? It doesn't go with your decor at all, does it? I'll take it away for you, yes? Yes.

Added Roger to the stunned couple just before he left them, walked across the terrace and flipped out with the drone using his Fiery.

He appeared again near the door of the Hut on the Mountain. The secret bolthole of Gillian. He pressed the entry code and put his paw on the Fiery. Leaving the idle drone parked and humming the tune of Good King Wenceslas, he went inside. Delilah stood up from the leather sofa to meet him.


She said.


He met with his answer.

You look like you've been down a gravity well. You're densities are all over the place. It shows in your eyes mostly. What happened?

She asked.

Ah. Yes. Well. It was a well. But, well, yes. I do feel a bit peculiar...maybe I should sit down for a bit.

He replied.

A large whisky with ice in a crystal glass arrived at his left paw.

Oh. Just what I need. Thanks, A.I.,

He said and took a swig.

My pleasure.

The A.I. said, going on with,

I have recharged the facility batteries to 97% from the body heat of your guest, Gillian. No visitors have passed by here. Force fields are at maximum. The location is being moved 26 times per second per second per second to avoid electron gps tracing in tune with your Fiery. All sensors are galactic. Nothing to report.

Oh. Thanks.

Replied Roger to the A.I., who went on,

Slice of watermelon flavoured mouse?

Oh. Put it on the table, please,

said Roger, not expecting exotic mice so late in his day.


The A.I. of the Hut answered.


Roger said. smiling and putting his paws round Delilah's waiste.


Answered Delilah in a musical way that confirmed Roger's intentions, and went on,

Tell me what happened.

Oh that. I was on a beach. I flipped out in a hurry to a backup emergency safe location on Uberfustule 6B...

Roger sat on the sofa followed by Delilah and continued,

Uberfustule 6B?

Interrupted Delilah, adding

That place has a lot of gravitic tourism. They have gravity wells there miles deep as the planet is so big and the core is so dense. And its a jungle to die for. Oh... the fruits....the clean water... the amazing scenery... the two sunsets with three rising moons... the noxious diseases...and parasites...

Yes thanks for the touristic sales speil. Anyway,

Roger went on,

I went into a gravity well there.

Ah. Oh. Ah. Thought so. I can tell. It's my evolved marmoset what happened next?

When I was down, I had an idea that the altered gravity affects everything. So, I went a second time and played about a bit with the Fiery at the bottom. Amazing results.

Roger explained.

You went down a gravity well twice?

Delilah moved back from Roger on the sofa. She looked hard into his eyes.

You wont normalize for a day or so. Its a bit messy in there right now, Rog. Your bits are so mixed up.

She stated.

Maybe so. Anyway -

Roger finished his whiskey and said,

Amazing things I found. Found out. Anyway... Dee, I feel a bit strange right now.

I'm not surprised. I think you need a rest.

She replied looking into Roger's eyes, adding,

Here. Lie down on the sofa.

Roger slid off the sofa onto the floor. The lights dimmed and the log fire came on, courtesy of the hut A.I. . Delilah took the empty glass from his paw as Roger said very quietly,

Tell you later....

and drifted off to sleep.

Delilah took the recipe for Parsnips from Roger's bag, ate the berries from the bowl, straightened his whiskers and went to the corner to cook up a decent stew.




In certain feline ways, it could be easily said that Roger was adapted for the universe very well. In others, his catness was an appalling drawback.

The scope of Delilah's abilities was obverse to those of Roger, which is most likely why the pair got on so well. Roger: Fierce, brave, sharp as a knife; a skilled mouse hunter of repute well travelled had become known across the universe plus other dimensions in places no one cares about or would ever visit given the choice amongst beings of many shapes, sizes and energies- even clones.

Delilah: Home loving, intellectual, friendly, warmly delightful, delicate and a skilled vegan cook as good as a knowledge Wiki for details of organizational affairs of business plus planning a good result for any project you might be of a voice for your flimsiest of intentions.

Of course; the one issue between them is that Roger is an evolved cat, and Delilah is an evolved marmoset. Not the most compatible gene sets. But then, difference is always a triumph over evolution... and why should anyone come to be in the way of two beings who have feelings for each other?
Delilah had a turnip once who became enraptured with a parsnip on the same shelf in the pantry.

It could be considered that opposites attract with Roger and Delilah. This is the story of how Roger and Delilah make a beverage from tiny oranges that would kick back a mule to the other side of any field.

Or it could be a story of how to greet nerdy twins with quantum over-arm delivered olive oil flavoured golf balls during a storm in Runnymeade in the last day of the galactic mucus envelope throw contest, held regularly by ministers in between parliamentary sessions of doing nothing at all.

Anyways up.

The Thought Police were busy raping some underage drinkers in the park before fining them and disposing of the remains in the local canal when Roger was wandering about looking for Daisy. Daisy should have been there and was three Earth days late to meet up on Pudsy Island Lock on Cottonlupa 7X. Not the most punctual of evolved elephants; and worse, easily distracted by any little passing interest that took her fancy. The Thought Police were not a bunch to get near of any dawning day, muddling through in their evil fashion creating havoc, death and slavery where ever possible, all licensed behind their Dark Arts government badges. It crossed Roger's mind that they targeted the park for easy victims and that Daisy could have been one... His Fielder was on with the program that made any one looking see themselves as a mirror image.

Roger sent Daisy another pointless message she would not respond to, and had the idea to call her partner, Chamberlinx, the evolved panther. Roger was not a fan of panthers in general as they are much bigger and more powerful than him; and have similar instincts, although they are lazy, when they go out, they are deadly in much the same way as a heat -seeking missile. No answer; but an exchange of messages happened. He had put this action off in the hope it would not be needed. Chamberlinx wanted to know where he was, what he was doing, and what was in it for him. Roger played along some reasoned tale until he learned that Daisy was working on a take for a vid of evolved parrots figure skating on the public methane lake of Bracksburtintin 3. He flipped there to find what was what.

It was a cold place. A lot colder than Earth. Popular for Winter sports tourism and helical Aurora in the night skies. He found Daisy talking to three different beings amongst a deal of recording equipment and power supplies.

Yo Roger! Roger the darling little cat with plans! How are you, Roger? No- that really won't DO. We need more light from behind. See if you can move something and quickly.

Greeted daisy holding some cables while talking to an engineer.

Hello Daisy. Busy as usual I see. I was waiting for you.

Replied Roger, moving out of the way of some large wheeled lights as they were pushed past him.

Yes its terrible. Terrible. We were supposed to finish 3 days ago and I haven't had a wink of sleep sorting things out that should have been done without my being here. Terrible - really! And I don't get a broken leaf extra for the work. Just getting the job done. Seems there are no reliable workers around these days!!

Daisy ended her last sentence by shouting to anyone within trumpeting distance, which was, Roger noticed, about everyone.

He stood motionless in a fear that any movement would involve him in the panoply of events near Daisy as bedlam evolved in a tumult of ordered movements that made Roger squint so he could get the overview. It was a bit of a symphony of pandamonium. Daisy was flinging orders in all directions, seemingly with no regard for limits, time or what she had just screamed. Roger had never witnessed its equal in 3D management.

After a short while, the orders slowed and beings seemed to be in position, madly moved in a fenzy of beings into their supposed positions, or turned on what was needed from the right place, in the right direction, at the right intensity.


Said Daisy, wrapping her trunk round Roger and taking him to where she wanted him to be, which was a chair next to hers behind the scene as music started to play and fourteen silent drones videod what they were commanded to.

Daisy put her trunk next to Roger's ear and whispered,

We had to start right over from the beginning again. I think you will like this. Wait while the scene gets recorded and then we can go. It's all being shot in wide angle to get the best hologramitic feel. Very artistic.

The sound was stunning. Beautiful in the dense atmos. The lights came up from the rear to add intensity to the aurora overhead. Daisy's trunk sniffed at something. Then it tapped Roger on his shoulder and moved in the fully open maw at his gagging bag. Roger got out a current bun and offered it to the trunk. It made a slight bow in silent thanks and gently took it from his paw. The sound built into a cresendo of magical effect as the aurora seemed to respond in perfect harmony with such a light show greater than the best firework display, laser and light show all combined could never match. It went on for about five minutes as Roger estimated a thousand skaters appeared from all corners of the frozen plain, dressed in fluctuating flurescent costumes, also harmoniously changing to accord with the natural aurora or purple, green, orange and yellow. Roger was awe struck as he watched the skaters twist, fly, circle, waltz, jump, loop, salchow and Lutz finishing with camel, upright and sit spins in a thousand individual perfect axels. Only when the show finished, did he realise his mouth had been open the whole time.

The scene ended with the lighting going down and the aurora flaming out as the skater's lay exhausted on the ice. It was epic.

Daisy called to the crowd of skaters and the crew,

That was marvelous! Perfect! A triumph! Well done all! Just look what you can do when you really want to! Fantastic!

Roger looked at Daisy as she spoke out loudly, and couldn't help feel her trunk squeezing his gagging bag in search of another current bun, which he obliged it with. Daisy's trunk made a small bow of gratitude, then popped the bun in her mouth.


she said as she chewed, going on with after she swallowed with,

Now Roger. We can get things done here if you like.

She said to Roger, going on in a loud voice to everyone,

Listen up!! Everyone! 15 minutes break and then prepare for scene two all over again. Thank you!

Fine. Let's get our business sorted so you can get back to your great work here then. In private. With a flip, eh?

suggested Roger.

Good idea,

replied Daisy.

They flipped out to a hotel Roger had not used before. He was keeping his past to one side until the BOSS from Moronococonut changed his mind about disposing of his ox trodden corpse just because he could. They sat at a table in the lounge bistro.

A telepathic waiter deposited a large tray of delicious looking and smelling fresh current and raisin buns on their table with one tentacle, a vat of sour milk with another, and large gin and tonic in front of Roger followed quickly with a plate of roast mice.

The pair tucked in and slurped their drinks.


Said Daisy several times to punctuate her avid bunnery.

Yes... ah.... know... oh these are good.... we should... yes... get on...

Said Roger in between mouthfulls along with his distraction of fine rodent feasting.


Responded Daisy, and sucked the remaining buns into her trunk like loading an automatic rifle.

So. Tell me.

She stated, looking full on at Roger who took the half mouse from his mouth even though it was so succulent, it made it hard to do. Roger fell under Daisy's intense gaze with some feline deference of emoted respect for Daisy's intellect, based on her having a brain with much greater capacity than his- he knew, although it was wired in ways he could never appreciate with his natural hunter's mind.

Ah. Um.

He replied as he swallowed to clear his throat.

Yes. Here.

He reached into his gagging bag and pulled out a paperback book.

As we spoke about, a pristine copy of the classic work Ivory, Horn and Blood by Ronald Trump....and a voucher for a year's supply of current buns from Vegan's Relate Ambrosia galaxy bakery. Good for up to 2 Earth Moon masses. Oh, and I got you this as well; a private dinner invitation to meet with Ronald Trump. Not that one. Another one who wrote Elephantoms. and The Room In an Elephant. Good, eh?

Oh yes,

said Daisy,

Excellent. My studies into human cruelty towards elephants is progressing well. It seems that my ancestors were abused and murdered with complete disregard half the time. A species wide genocide. Of couse, it was not just us elephants who were brought to the brink of extinction. Rhinos and hippos as well; and most of the other species on planet Earth before the Second Lexicon law of sentience was finally imposed after decades- centuries in some species' cases- of being added to the Hogarth List of deliberate eradication.

She went on and on and on gabbing about the terrible past. Eventually, after his third G&T, Roger fell over on the floor and felt thankful he was out of the way of direct aural attack from the decibels of her diatribe. Daisy barely noticed his relaxed condition, finishing halfway through a sentance with a question,

Roger I must get back. We've been here nearly 12 minutes. No, I don't want to flip back in time as it dries out my complexion too much thanks all the same. We'll stick to Now time. Now, here, what was it you wanted in return for these as a trade? You mentioned a personal matter you needed attending to with urgency through my position on the Obersuet Galactic Congress. Is that all?


Said Roger, refocusing as he sat back up in his chair with refreshed attention to go on with,

I took the trouble to make a file embedded in the molecular structure of this small innocent flowerpot for you, Daisy. Any nano gardener should be able to translate for you as you like. While you are busy running the galaxy, finishing you vid, or whatever. I know you love multi tasking... and, I will have some more ancient relics for you to investigate by the time you are done. Probably.

Daisy took the empty flower pot from Roger in her trunk...

I dont need. I have embedded in my trunk sensors for all pattern recognition. Ah. I see,

Daisy read as she spoke, and after just a few seconds went on in explanation,

Evolved slugs are such dangerous creatures. Hard to deal with under their protected laws of non-intervention of species. Like your friend, Marmalade's licence to create havoc with his tail and be excused accidental death and destruction during any of his normal days. Or engorged ones, for that matter. Slugs are embedded into the system at high level and have many connections to bring to bear for any cause they feel justified in pushing. That's why they often become either judges or bosses. The same outcome with their touch on the destiny of individual sentience usually ending in their victim's slavery for life with the prejorative sanction of the state in both situations. Its stinks. I have seen so much evidence of dirty business, harm and foul play by them. It will be my pleasure to assist you Roger. One thing. Don't say anything to dear Chamberlinx at all ever please or we will have another endless debate on the relative act of positive intervention upon destiny. Or influence. Whatever, he likes things to be simple and reserved, sadly, as he doen't have my breadth of respect for species, until he is in a kill state, and then he only pounces. It's his heritage of course by genes, and one reason why we are totally besotted by each other...I must go Roger. Take me back please, there's a dear.

Roger had been listening to this earbending by Daisy as a prisoner of politeness; at some point he had become dizzy and fallen over ( with chair) onto his right side, still holding his drink, which had thankfully been refreshed twice since then.

Ah. Yes of course. Right away,

Roger said, using the table to help himself upright and get out his Fiery.

Would you mind just holding this prosthesis for Delilah's doctorate for a second. I have to find the address I need to flip out again from where we're going back to. thanks.

said Roger giving the prosthesis to Daisy's trunk.


Daisy said in small surprise and passing interest as her trunk wrapped around it,

Its a human arm. Are you sure these are at all legal now? I mean, with only sideways people left, humanity was reduced to a pool table of iffy balls? Are they not a protected species with cloning rights?

Probably. In time. And this A2 copy of Stun the Plastic Zimmer Balaliaka Annual Summer Fashion Show 2116. Sorry, it's with the fullsize foldouts with titanium bristles and self emulsifying amulets.

went on Roger rummaging around his gagging bag still holding his drink.


remarked Daisy with her trunk full and reading the publication with interest,

Not one I've seen before...mmm.

Ah. Here we are. l knew I had written the cords on a the belly of this marsupial in McMangoose wax...yes. That's the one,

stated Roger as he programmed the Fiery with the cords in sure style by smearing a blob of wax on the blinking button that had come up.

Then they flipped out, Daisy asking Roger what was wrong with putting the articles she was holding on the table...

Roger delivered Daisy back to her vid location on time and immediately flipped out with a

Bye then,

to Daisy who nodded as her trunk was still full of Roger's bits.

Having an interceding adventure at the McMangoose wax coords, that involved the colour red, nitrogen and a field of very small brass buttons on the moon [email protected] of Retalikflingpip 4, ( the far side), Roger finished his working day before his internal hooter sounded.

He arrived at the hut to find Delilah cooking. Not unusual?


He offered, popping the blunt end of one in her mouth.

'Flumps are great. Great. Specially Daisy. Clever and long winded. Brilliant actually.

Stated Roger as the A.I. dropped a tumbler of whisky and ice into his left paw, opened the shutters to view the staggering star clusters of the Pinta 3 Galaxy against a deep space backdrop,


munched Delilah with a happy smile finishing the asparagus stalk,

Roger...its really nice here and I don't wish to pry but who is Gillian? The A.I. keeps calling you Gillian. It's confusing to say the least, and I keep wondering if we are not trespassing with several oxo cubes to pay for being here to someone I have never met and don't understand. You see my point?

Yes, yes I do.

Replied Roger as a roast mouse with melon slices arrived on his lap, courtesy of the A.I. again. Then he had a dangerous thought...


he asked,

why do you... what is... can you tell me...

Delilah interrupted him with,

What is the scientific reason you refer to Roger as Gillian, A.I.?


responded the A.I.

If you ask me a direct question, I will be pleased to give you a direct answer. Like, what is the point of existence, for example. Something ephemerally hyperbolic. Not what time is it, please. Again,

the A.I. said flatly.

Roger said,

So, tell me. why do you refer to me as Gillian then?

Because your DNA is the same. If you are not Gillian I have been programmed to recognize you as Gillian as you are according to all my scans.

Of course,

said Delilah, and before she could say anymore Roger put a claw to her lips and and said.

Shhhh. It shhhure is a lovely night out there in deep space tonight. How long are the nights here A.I.?

Delilah took it and watched Roger...

The night finishes right here in 14 bits and 2 bobs. Longer start to finish than on your home planet of Earth by 2.6371 times at this time of cycling planetary rotation as a mean average per comparative position, occultation and orbit. Another whisky Gillian?

Oh. Right. Thanks,

said Roger as he took a second.

Delilah had backed off to ladle some herbivorous soup into a bowl on the table, saying as she did so,

Roger I think we need to go to that place you were talking about before. The waxy one.

Yes, I think so too. I just came from there before now in that now then here, and it was. Ok?


Delilah said sitting down to enjoy her meal.


She said again, in a way that ladies agree and then order that your entire home needs instantly and most expensively redecorating because a pretzel uncannily levitated whilst reciting medieval re-activist slang in Garlic, and slurped away.

I think the moment has come to place a bet on the albatross finding its slippers,

said Roger, then bit the head of his honey-glaze roasted mouse.

Gillian agrees with you, too.

he added, looking Delilah in the eye while holding up another blob of McMangoose wax as a sign to her.


She answered, and again,



agreed Roger, thinking about their delightful cardboard box and missing the leaking roof just then.
There was an eye to eye pause.


They both said together.




It was raining on the planet Justamindere Fee44 and cold, too. The kind of a day in the kind of a place where, after breakfast, people ( any sentient being) look out of their windows and go back to bed.

Roger was there for a while searching for mice-like creatures that tasted, so he recalled, of dried vanilla ice cream.

He sat under a tree and counted his fungi. Twenty seven and three blind stitches. Not enough to swap for a possum of peach melba flavoured gannets which is what he was really looking for as well as mice.

He counted again just in case he had misunderstood. Then, he sat back and thought about the problem with he often did. Why not be a tree? Why have all these wants and needs and desires? He knew some trees who had strong sentient opinions on whyness and whatness. A tree has to eat, even for a late Sunday lunch with pudding. And other trees that were just trees, which were the ones the sentient trees preferred other people to eat and use for furniture, whilst worrying that they were or at least, might be unjustifiably altering the course of evolution.

We all have to eat,

Roger found himself saying out loud as he looked at a very small spider weaving a web off a tree twig near his nose.

He stood up and looked around. It was a pleasant enough place, at the edge of a wilderness forest stretching on and on over the hills and up the distant mountains in dark green swathes to one side, and dropping sharply away to the the sea on the other. A bit like Dover Cliffs were in 1936 in England.


he yelled at the sea, which surprised him as it was against his hunting instincts, and surprised the sentient sea, that responded by receding 200 meters while it drew up a tsunami to repost all this idea of eating business just thrown at it. Then he held his belly that had just strongly agreed with his idea with a hunger clench.


It yurgled back decisively.

Roger flipped out to a nice hotel in somewhere near another what when where next to that old place. He knew what it was anyway, which was all that his stomach needed. Telepathic waiters almost instantly presented him with a lactose souffle garnished with mouse liver pate, an un-evolved smoked herring-like fish (time traveled), with onion and yogurt sauce, and a decent bowl of mussels (a first class white wine of course). He checked his Pukepal account. 12.43 lemons and a cherried photo of Magnus Magnusson eating French fries in Didsbury cathederal in 1978 whilst floating a paper hat for charity. More than ten times enough to settle any bill, Roger worked out!

He did have problems to keep remembering his password...then recalled it was the 45th event after the Occular Exclusion under Kennleworth Railway Station, platform 2 in 2053. 1-2-3-4smellsofcurry. Or was it MyhandmaideninstigatesapogobyBeethovan's9th.


(The mnemonic of Julie Andrews cooking a vat of leeks in Tokyo to feed starving antiquarians, cubed).

Roger said outloud, entered and sorted it as the telepathic waiter held his paw for him, took his complete medical analysis and payment; as well as updating his holographic levitation software, refreshing his shorts and snorkling the mindgrab of You Got Me, Babe by a toe nail clipping of Ursula Undress; all pretty much in the same heartbeat.


Roger yelled at the setting suns heading into a blue haze at the horizon over the heads of the seated feasting co-beings who all looked back at him in the same way that waiters do when the tip is too small, and proffer a moderately sarcastic hand to show a willing solution recepticle.

Oh no, it was Tom Waites... yes it was... Dont Mess With My Mule, Slimebreath...never mind,

he thought to himself correcting his mistake with a courteous overhead 180 single open paw wave in response to his audience, and playing the right choice of background musac once more with a telepathic connection to the local A.I. who took it as a joke and went on vacation to celebrate its complacency in understanding a tinny bubonic irony without overtime.

Finishing his meal with relish and no further event of note, Roger spent a minute checking his facts before flipping back to Justamindere Fee44, this time to see a local Chief Whipp, who messaged him back that it was OK to drop by last week at 4 of the clocking times at local relativistic prognostics topped with grated toasted smoked jungle revelation cheese. So, Roger stopped by at the entrance coords supplied as tested all good, at the office/home/damp mound of stinky peat, residence of Chief Baba Nana.

On being permitted to enter the accrued sort of giant ant hill stench place by a sticky lump of bored mud, he was escorted to a hole in the ground of ample proportions by a tendril of evolved parasitic tree vine, and made himself as comfortable as could be expected to wait courteously for his meeting with Baba Nana, who it seemed was busy sucking the brains out of a sort of monkey looking creature, in which oddly enough, neither of the involved parties seemed to care one way or another in the same way as one closes the door of a toilet after a good dump but leaves the place in a mess.

Roger's tail was not impressed and wrapped itself around a tendril who was trying to wrap itself around his tail. It was an overture to a combative exchange to come momentarily...

Baba Nana doffed his head towards Roger, and stuffed a monkey head (body attached) with open sauced brain into his nose with a squelching tendril that might well have damaged Roger's main whisker. It was a start well outside the comfort zone of acceptable feline politeness.
He or it was proffering with the correct two main tentacles to align with protocol.

Oh thank you very well, pujah pujau Bba Nana eefoogoo,

announced Roger, accepting the menu with both front paws and pointing his ears forwards.

After the appropriate ritual greetings and exchanges had been completed, Baba Nana made it plain that he wished to impress Roger with something. It or he or she stated,

Look. Look. Fantastic,

in loose translation as Roger's Fielder could best make do.

The evolved squid attended some control by tendril, and the room flashed into a nebula that was quite pretty if not exactly appropriate for the occasion, with many different gaseous colours and young nursery stars, and flew through at speed to witness the entire breadth side to side. It was quite a show.

Oh that's great. Just great,

Roger stated when the gaze was back to him for approval, nodding head and clicking his front claws in approbation.

Now. About the trade we were going to do?

He rounded up to the point.

Baba Nana said,

Oh. That. I lost interest. Here. Have another monkey brain.

he gave to Roger a second one that was placed next to the first (untouched) one in a frame made for the task with some type of bamboo and creeper.

Ah very nice too. Thank you (etc etc)

answered Roger, vexed at the throw off.

There followed a long and difficult conversation covering many topics and objects, inter spaced with several distractions.
It seem the attention of his host was easily drawn from Roger's plans.
After some while and false starts, Roger discovered the local meaning of fruit loops was something he could be getting on with in consolation for the original deal vaporizing in a vacuum of failure.
The fruit loops arrived in a huge trunk of tree, hollowed out, jungle style.

Yes. These will be fine. Just fine,

indicated Roger by doing a bird dance and tail and ear wave as he spoke.

See mine. See mine now,

shouted Baba Nana at Roger, who got out from his gagging bag the inflatable Christmas tree with embedded lights that played 2,000 versions of THE BOYS ARE BACK IN TOWN including the original by Thin Lizard. The rotating lit angel on the top stuck out through a hole it made in the roof as Roger pressed the INFLATE button. Several beings were swept aside as it got bigger. Baba Nana's face (>) was buried in the side. Roaring of temper began. Then Roger played the music Loudly in response. Baba Nana shut up and listened as a child to bedtime story.


it yelled and sort of danced swaying left and right from hip level.

We make trade now. Now. Play more quickly.

It went on.

Roger went into the next version song cover, by Bennie and the Milkmen in Outlandish from Frieberg in 1946. The one with the tube playing backwards in the rain.


yelled the squid, in approval, leaning side to side in time with the beat.

This went on for a while until the thing got distracted by a fish it hadn't eaten yet, and told Roger he could go by telling one of his lackies while his mouth parts were full, who gestured to Roger to withdraw, with a tilt to getting out before Baba Nana changed its mind or got Roger to dance with him, so it appeared.

Bowing and armpit farting his way backwards out of the pit, Roger flipped the tree trunk and himself to Nobby Style's virtual reunion solstice/2 on the Eastside of Blabbyshoe36; a small but cultured moon recently freed from the slavery of boxes and antelopes. Or was it envelopes?

He swapped the fruit loops there for a small raccoon named Divid, who Roger swore was the spit of a coal dust covered miner from Wolverhampton he had met some time before, and trodden on his toes whilst playing at steam trains to entertain minor royalty who had been there for the hedge pickling ceremony of under ten's.

Flipping out to Brow beaten on The wold, in 2089, he sold the tree trunk to a cabinet factory staffed by Chin Easy workers who appreciated the timber carcass for the ironwood it was; with maybe 40,000 season rings that made it almost as strong as steel with a vague scent of lavender in a bright blue bordering of fluorescent. And too, too expensive. Roger flipped out with a payment in something special he didn't show anyone; not even himself, in case of fire or raging panthers.

He was sitting on the top of the Tower Eiffel in 1944 when the elevator was broken, so he could be alone with a decent view, and undid the cloth cover of his traded prize. It was
a hat.
With a spiral on the front drawn in Toppox..

He felt all around it, as did his tail. He put it on.

A few seconds late it reacted and the device switched on and hummed a tune to Jim Morrison's supermarket restaurant about Vietnam.


decided Roger stating loudly in some small joy, checked out by his tail and passed.

Some experience similar to an epiphany got Roger excited. Even the raccoon was jumping up and down in his cloud of feeing coal dust.

Roger flipped back to the Hut and Delilah.


She said as she saw him in the doorway, nonchalantly leaning on the jam, and continued to stir he pot of cooking.


shouted Roger in his new hat.

Yes, hoho,

Delilah answered.

The new Fiery 3.0 with direct telepathic nextion.

She smiled at Roger.

Yes it is. I've got one. HA!

exclaimed Roger in triumph.
After Roger had played with it flipping from side to side of the Hut whilst asking the A.I. to give him this and that, then flipping to another corner so it got completely confused at its failure to accomplish the smallest task successfully, Roger said,

This thing has a built in predestined smellator. It pre-smells your intended location into your brain so you can change it how you like best. brilliant.

Yes, And its also parasitic for brain wave charging. And you cant get it off when you put it on. There for life, Rog. Life.


Recoiled Roger, wishing he had gone instead for the self-refreshing underwear by Kalvin Kleen.




If there is a now that was not then or next week, on which a birthday was fun and not 98% miserable as usual, the nowness of things take on new context when time traveling. Roger the navigator, with his new Fiery travel portal 3.0 hat with a glowing light spiral on the front to prove it does spin up a decent vortex that consistently refuses to turn the wary traveler to mush spread across the universe, is now connected at the brain neuron level to consciously go where no cat has bothered to seek out mice and mice-like creatures for advanced feline predication.

He was happy, in the same way someone gives you a very expensive house, car, new suit of clothes, and huge salary, just like working for galactic TV as an anchor. More than happy. Joyous. As everyone knows, cats are paranoid at the best of moments; so Roger was equally nervous as to the side effects, medium to long term changes and how he would in fact, be in danger of becoming a pompous crudhead and spoil his relationship with his beloved.

Delilah thought he ‘looked funny’, with his embedded skull wear but he suspected that reaction would wear off after some time as she became used to it. He would test it thoroughly whilst awake and sleeping to be prepared with a good backup story when he messed up, as life taught him was perfectly normal when trading in a Buick with a blown engine for a Ferrari with mutual approval by simply adding the prefix ‘RARE’.

He sat in the hut, thinking it over as Delilah lay on the real, comfortable bed snoring gently with her tail vertical in radar mode in case of attack from unknown vermin, fleas and loony lefty logheads. Her being there helped as a reference to focus his newly acquired telepathic abilities, aiming to control his flips at all times. The Fiery was made to defer to conscious flips, but even so, sleep is a part of life when a cat makes many decisions that he later puts into action, rather than at that moment, so subconscious control was going to be a challenge to Roger; he felt that as he explored the symbiosis between cat and Fiery 3.0.

Scanning the help files of the user manual with his mind, he found that regular meditation was recommended and drinking was not a good idea past a good coffee or any creamy milk in order to train the user not to be faced with an unusual flip for which there was no expectation to arrive at; and the sub section of how to deal with shock, the sensation of falling and flip out somewhere good by choice when messing up, were all a bit on the dull side until he reached the chapter called


This was an eye opener for sure with curling tongs at burn maximum.
Roger flipped out to the cords where there were supposedly some demons, still with a good whisky and ice in one paw; much to the consternation of his tail, who Roger was sure had been holding onto the bed post as he traveled.

They can’t be SO bad as they make out,

Roger thought to himself. He had seen some heavy stuff over the last years, been to some hairy places and done some extreme things.
Delilah continued sleeping as her tail kept attention on the spot where Roger had flipped. It was not at all happy when Roger was back a few seconds later, looking like he had been whitewashed, and he was shaking. Worst of all, his glass had been illegally emptied without consent.


He said in a squeezy voice while he was pretty much frozen with fear.

Triple whisky now.

The full glass arrived in his paw.
The A.I., noticing his condition, waited a bit then added a straw to the drink for Roger.


Said Roger, rolling the glass in his static paw so the straw touched his lips. After he finished the drink his eyes became less bloodshot, and a little after he was able to sit on the bed, although his gaze was straight ahead and…preoccupied in the same way a toilet door says its ‘engaged’.

There are some things that no living being of good breeding should witness,

Said Roger silently to his tail, who nodded in agreement, and shook nervously in robust response.


He addressed his comment to Delilah’s tail, which nodded back with vigour, and shook in time to Roger’s tail with some good degree of dark musical talent.

Then, her tail tickled Delilah’s nose so she woke up. She swiped it away as she opened her eyes to see Roger sitting on the bed looking at her like a frozen ghost, fur up in extremis, with an empty glass locked in his paw and straw touching his nose. In no time at all, she found herself hanging from the room centre light cable from the roof by all means.

What happened?

She anxiously asked Roger and both their tails in anticipation that any answer from anyone was preferable to excuse her being woken in a fright.

I’ve been doing some flip tests.

Said Roger, continuing,

I met with a trans-dimensional demon you don’t want to know anything about. This is the stuff of which a student horror movie producer would retire on the profits and start a treatment centre for grass addicted wildebeest to turn into top ballet dancers with day jobs as complacent traffic cones after having their breakfast of chocolate and croissant; and subjecting the neighbours to being a full on arrogant Frenchman. With all the charm, wit and resonance of a wet discarded bill envelope.

Delilah slid down to hang on with one hand to the light cable, so her face was in front of Roger’s.

You numbnut. Did you even read the manual at all, Roger?

She asked him with some aggressive concern while their tails fought to snap each other.

Yes, I was in it when I thought, surely this can’t be as bad as they say. But its much worse. They should mark these coords in bright red glowing warning signals, Horrid alarm noise and burning plastic smell that slaps you hard in the face with many rotten wet fish harder and harder until you surely give up,

Replied Roger as his eyes gradually reached somewhere in the middle of the process back to normal from being nailed wide open, and his voice was a bit less squeeky.

Delilah put another whisky (courtesy of the A.I.) in Roger’s paw and helped him to sip from it over and over, still hanging on to the light cable with one hand. Cats have that way of ‘locking up’ when frightened, she knew. Her idea was that the drink (and the attention) would help bring him back down, which it slowly did.

Roger was doing the relaxation bit while his feline mind was thinking on how he could use his discovery.


He thought out loud,

There are several potential options here…

And went on sipping.

It was about an hour or so after that he crunched a decent roasted mouse and felt well enough to message a few friends. By then, Delilah had let herself down off the light cable feeling that some degree of normality had returned, so busied herself blocking the list of demon cords Roger had given her into the database of her Fiery 2.6.

He got a message from Daisy, and arranged to meet with her in his morning, and turned in for the rest of the night with Delilah wrapped around him, and their tails gently wrapped around each other.

The wrapping of Delilah was as much a cautionary hold as it was a degree of affection, Roger suspected, happy all the same.

Good morning, Gillian,

Announced the hut A.I. as it refreshed the air, made coffee and opened the blinds to the wonderful mountain peak view over the horizon under the pair of suns rising in a clear blue sky.

Roger (Gillian as you well know) flicked an ear up from his sleep in the real, comfortable bed and listened, deciding all was still and calm enough to open an eye and confirm his aural check.

The A.I. gave its morning report. They were on a moon off a planet somewhere in the Hazeitsnice11 system. Between dimensions. Not exactly anywhere but floating in between just leaving and just arriving, flipping to and fro, in an effort not to be found by anything locking onto their cords, surrounded by a 5th dimension improbability field the like of which any sensible electron would be too confused to bother about, let alone report on to the BOSS in Moronococcoon.

And, a demon-free zone to be sure.

Having decided it was safe to leave the bed, the pair sat and ate breakfast in near silence while they got their heads together. Then, they both flipped out to see Daisy.

Darlings, how are you both? It’s so good to see you,

Announced Daisy in her normal gush as she met them at a ranch on Gaggingtag-EEnit7 with a warm wrap of her trunk around both of them which was a pleasant gesture but just a bit too squeezy for comfort and protocol.

Now, Roger, you must tell me all about these things- demons- yes? It’s fascinating as well as of urgent concern. No one as far as I know, has been-um – gritty enough to break the Fiery protocols and witness anything under beings from the 5th dimension who have a hand in this tech design as well as having the power to deal with such things as and when. What do you think Delilah darling, hmm? All too nail biting for you I expect, hmm?

Whilst Daisy had been talking, she had led them to an internal seating arrangement next to a medium sized pile of grapefruit, apples, pomegranates and sourdough ball dumplings, which Daisy began tucking into as her last word, and faced Delilah with eyes shining with quite scary intelligence, concern and an overt maternal fossicking as they made themselves comfortable, presented with small glasses of iced water with a twist of lime.

We used to have fun, Daisy, me and Roger. (sigh) Now, its all become effing serious. I really long for our home. Our own cardboard box like we used to have, somewhere like… Bletchley. Yes. Somewhere like that. Somewhere where ordinary people live all mixed up together and in total confusion. Like Mrs Kipper, Roger, and her one, Madha, the skipping turtle. You remember, Rog?

Delilah held her audience as Daisy was enthralled, and Roger was fidgeting with impatience, but managed a scant ‘Mmm’ in response as he calculated the volume of the building, what is was made of and stood on, and if there could be any profit to be made from the meeting at all, indirectly.

Roger found himself kneading the sofa with his claws, which gave Daisy an amused smile to her eyes while she went on eating regardless. There was a pause that ended with Roger blurting out,

Daisy. We want to go home. Can you help us?


Daisy nodded,

‘Corse I will. (gulp, chew, gulp).

Go there now. I will pass by shortly,

Daisy said, putting some cords written on paper into Roger’s paw with her trunk.

I know this Mrs Kipper. Yes Delilah, there is a reputation here, a bad one. A very nasty person all told. These types….well,

She paused to chomp,

There was a big hooha some time back about the young daughter, some home videos, and an acrimonious divorce. Before Madha. It’s generally noted that the family are all bent in the head. In a bad way, I mean, you see (chomp)?

A delegation of seals in penguin suits were approaching Daisy in a respectable diplomatic shuffle.

Please, let’s continue this at those cords. Wait for me there. I really must deal with other matters now. Some evolved seals taking over a planet in an unpopular fashion, later darlings,

Daisy stood up and turned her attention to the delegation, addressing them her greeting without taking another breath, so Roger took the fluid aside as his cue to leave with Delilah as Daisy had requested, as he heard Daisy saying,

Bletchley is quite off the radar now, Delilah,

As she shook trunk and fins with each of the six seals, her attention diverted.

Roger and Delilah flipped out to Daisy’s cords. The place was a mountain top villa with views above the cloud covered valleys, on a planet Roger had not heard of. A telepathic servant greeted them in the hall as they arrived, and ushered them into an opulent salon, presenting them with coffee and biscuits as they sat at a low table, enjoying the ambiance and the scenery though the wall of windows.

I think this is Daisy’s home, Rog. Her personal one, at any rate. It’s stunning. Look at that aquarium full of humans swimming about. They seem so natural in there, happy.

Oh yes,

Roger replied, adding,

They do look peaceful for sure. Must be an evolution of humans able to breath water I suppose.

Or genetically engineered ones,

Delilah suggested.

Roger finished his coffee, took a biscuit and went to the window to study the view. It was quiet and had the air of complete safety in the room, he noticed as he munched. There seemed to be a parallel with the A.I. and their hut, which made him wonder about Gillian again, so he turned and looked at Delilah.

You are Gillian,

She said, squarely eye to eye with Roger, and

It’s just we don’t know what for or why, Rog.

I can’t be. No. No,

He answered her, looking at the aquarium again.

More coffee arrived, so Roger sat down opposite Delilah, and ate another biscuit.

Who is this Mrs Kipper then, Dee?

He asked to change the subject.

Delilah whisked out her Fiery and went through the stored files at practised speed.

There’s nothing here untowards at all, Rog. Some local news about children’s charities and fund raising events over several years. Just what I know already from my network, really.

Just then, Daisy arrived and swept into the salon smiling with a,

Hello, darlings. So good of you to wait for me, I’m always busy but make time for my darling friends. I think you may know this person already, yes?

Daisy greeted them, moving to one side as she approached to show behind her the BOSS from Moronococonut following right along towards them with a serious face on.

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