A Plonqmas Tail
Dec. 1st, 2004 10:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
plonqBut for the fact that I didn't manage to produce one of these last year, this could almost be a Christmas tradition.
Anyway, without further ado I present...
Although he was not one for dancing, Plonq could not help but shake his booty just a bit in time with the electronic techno-trance trip-hop that was blaring from the headphones draped sloppily around his fuzzy ears. Occasionally the headphones jarred loose, and he had to stop what he was doing to carefully adjust them again.
When he wasn't fixing the ear-pieces, the snow leopard was busying himself with the project of hanging Christmas lights along the front of his house. The feline was not hanging the lights haphazardly; he had a plan. The lights were going to be strung in the shape of a hand making a peace sign, with all of the lights on the index finger strategically unscrewed. While he admitted that such a configuration might be mistaken for a rude gesture, it would fit perfectly with his planned life-sized statue of a red-faced, screaming Santa Claws bent over a hay bale while...
"Ack! Blast these headphones," he growled as he paused to reaffix them over his ears. With a flourish and a final tab of duct tape, the diminutive cat stuck the last strand of wire to the wall and stepped back to admire his handiwork. The lines were straight - mostly - and one would hardly see the tape once it was dark. He glanced furtively down at his body, which had almost as many bits of tape stuck in its fur as were attached to the wall, and he quickly shuddered and averted his gaze. Now all he had to do was hang the sign that said "Piece on Earth" and stick a red flood light into the lawn before moving onto the next stage.
When he had done those steps, Plonq turned his attention to the extension cord. The mess of yellow wire on the ground could not, even by the most charitable definition, be called a coil of cord - or perhaps cords. The snow leopard wasn't really sure how many extension cords were in the in the pile, and it seemed to grow slightly larger every year, though he did not recall ever plugging additional cords into it. He cursed and fought a few feet of length out of it until he had enough to reach from the porch to the junction in front of the house by his light string and flood lamp.
He plugged them into the extension, and then heaved another two feet from the other end, which seemed to have mysteriously retracted itself a bit when he wasn't watching. The floodlight spewed forth a red glow that tinged the front of the house in spite of the full daylight, and for a moment the feline wondered if twelve-hundred watts was too much power to light up a small tableau and sign. He shrugged away the thought and turned his eyes eagerly toward the string of Christmas bulbs - he didn't think that he could properly classify them as lights until they actually lit, which they had not.
"Hrm?" he mewled, feeling the first hints of seasonal frustration trying to gnaw itself into a seasonal ulcer. For a moment the string looked like it was thinking of lighting up, but a moment later it was undeniably unlit. The feline's whiskers flicked in annoyance while he glared at the very unlighted string and contemplated his next move. He could, of course, screw in all of the bulbs that he had undone, but he had tested the string with some of the lights unscrewed and he knew that it would work.
Obviously one of the other bulbs must have burnt out in the interim. Plonq couldn't fathom how unscrewing bulbs did not kill the string, but a burnt out bulb would cause it to go dark; the engineering must have been impressive indeed! He stepped over the mess of yellow cords, which hissed and spat sinister sparks before slowly melting through the snow as he watched. Once again he questioned his choice of wattage - then again, if he brushed snow over the cord it SHOULD keep it from melting under its own heat. He used his tail to do just that while he rubbed his chin and pondered the string of lights.
The lights all looked okay to him at first glance. He tapped one of them experimentally with an extended claw, but aside from eliciting a sharp "tack, tack" sound, he accomplished nothing. The snow leopard heaved a longsuffering sigh and began unscrewing the bulbs one at a time. He held each one up to his eye and gave it a shake.
"Good... good... good..." he muttered darkly as he inspected bulb after bulb. Midway through the string he glanced suspiciously at the end bulb, but what were the odds? Eventually he located bad bulb at the second-to-last position on the string. He stepped back and tickled himself under the chin with the burnt-out bulb while he considered his next move. Plonq's gaze drifted over to the neighbour's house while he thought. The lights on the house next door were all lit, in spite of the fact that there were still several hours of daylight left.
"What a waste," he growled softly, but as he stared at the cheery house, he felt an inappropriate though clawing its way up from the dark recesses of his brain - somewhere just to the left of the hippocampus, where all black thoughts reside. Plonq glanced at the bulb he was clutching, then at the neighbour's house again. He held the bulb up at eye level and twisted it so that it aligned with the bulbs running down the corner of the other house. It was definitely a different brand of string, but the bulbs certainly LOOKED the same.
The feline looked furtively up and down the length of the street, but the sidewalks and windows all appeared to be comfortably empty. He clasped his furry hands behind his back and casually sidled along the front of his house until he reached the fence. With another quick look around to ensure that he wasn't being observed, he vaulted himself over the fence and belly-slithered his way across the neighbour's snow-covered lawn. Although they had lost all of their leaves for the winter, the shrubs along the front still provided passable cover for his covert mission. With much stretching and grunting, the cat discovered that he could just reach the lowest light in the string.
He burnt his fingers twice removing it, and he quickly let it drop in the snow as soon as it was out. He was relieved to see that the rest of the string remained lit throughout the operation. With equal caution he reached up and carefully screwed his dead bulb into the empty socket. The moment that it was tight, the entire string went out. "Ack!" Apparently the neighbour's string was wired the same as his. On a hunch, he reached up and gave the bulb a quarter-turn out and immediately the rest of the string lit up again. Purring at his own cleverness, Plonq grabbed his prize and slid across the snow again, using his tail to brush away evidence of his illicit visit.
The snow leopard vaulted over the fence again and found himself face-to-face with a cherubic little mouse girl, who was sucking listlessly on a lollipop and staring at him with open credulity. Plonq hastily brushed snow from his fur and gathered his thoughts before he said, "This isn't what you... that is..." His voice took on a petulant edge and he pointed a finger sternly at the little rodent.
"This is an adult matter that doesn't concern you," he said firmly. The little mouse nodded. "No, you don't nod yes when I tell you that something doesn't concern you."
The girl looked momentarily confused, then shook her head no.
"Does that mean no you agree, or no you disagree?" demanded Plonq. She paused, and then nodded again.
"Never mind," he growled a bit more harshly than he intended. "If you speak of this to anyone, Santa will fill your stocking with broken glass and razor blades. Do you understand?" Her little eyes went wide, and this time her nod was quite emphatic. "Now get on home and have some eggnog or something," he said, making a shooing motion with his hand. The mouse complied and scurried away as best a mouse could scurry.
Plonq swallowed a moment of guilt and turned his attention back to his project. He screwed the ill-got light into the waiting socket and the string - less the bulbs in the index finger - dutifully blossomed to life. The new bulb burnt accusingly brighter than the rest of the lights in the string, but the feline wrote that off to a difference in wattage. As he stepped back to admire his handiwork, his mind idly turned over ways to justify what he had just done.
"Well, it's like this," he thought, "before I borrowed this light from the neighbour, he had a full set of working lights and I had none. Now I have a full string of working lights, and he has a single burnt-out bulb. Overall it's a net gain." That worked for him. Though he was mostly happy with his work, Plonq was still concerned that the spotlight was too bright. Indeed, the light that it was casting appeared to be growing brighter as he watched. The brilliance reflecting off the wall of his house was almost becoming painful to look at, and it finally occurred to the feline that his floodlight wasn't to blame. He glanced around and discovered that the preternatural luminance was all around him. Hrm?
The snow leopard pressed the pause button on his I-Cod to see if he could hear the noise of a nuclear blast taking place, but the only sound that penetrated the sudden silence in his headphones was a steady, low thrumming. A moment later the diffuse light around him resolved itself into a sharp circle of luminosity centered on the only uncia in the area. Plonq had seen enough episodes of X-Files to know what was going on. He was about to make a leap for freedom when he felt every one of his long hairs stand up on end ("I must look like a koosh ball," he thought wanly), and an instant later he felt the ground falling away beneath his feet.
"No! Come back," he yowled, frantically bending over to grasp at his receding yard. The net result was that now instead of being abducted with dignity, he was being lifted tail-first as if he couldn't WAIT for the expected anal probes. Plonq had time for one more quick yell of, "Help! I'm being abduct..." before his world melted into an impenetrable sea of white. For a subjective eternity he found himself floating in an ashen void before he felt something - not a probe, thankfully - solidifying against his buttocks. He blinked rapidly to get his bearings, and eventually the room came into a semblance of focus.
The cat assumed that his surroundings were in focus because it was actually very difficult to tell. Everything in the room seemed to be made from various shades and textures of white, and none of the geometry seemed to line up right. The walls - if they could be called such - bulged ominously in places, and there were strange protrusions that might have passed for shelves or counters. The only object in the room besides himself that was remotely familiar was the slightly-worn futon on which he was sitting. The cat ran his hands lightly over the reassuringly-rough fabric before a faint scuffing sound from behind startled him out of his reverie.
The feline spun around to face the back of the futon, with his sharp claws digging into the cherry-stained wood while he knees sunk into the lumpy mattress. At first his ears were flattened and his tail thrashed with alarm, but though his posture did not change, the emotion behind it quickly morphed to confusion. A sphincter-like door had opened in the rear wall of the chamber, and Dick Clark was stepping over the sill into the room. Right on his heels was... Dick Clark. The first Dick Clark raised his hand, gave a Vulcan salute, and his lips moved silently. A second later a loud, robotic voice boomed out from the general vicinity of the two Clarks.
"EXPRESS. NOT. FEARFULNESS. EARTHLING. WE. ARE. PEACEABLE. OF. INTENT."
The two Dick Clarks exchanged a glance before the second one spoke.
"EXCUSES. OFFERED. FOR. THE. INADEQUACY. OF. TRANSLATIONS. PLEASE. STAND. BY."
The first alien - at least that is what Plonq assumed them to be - strode over to a bulge on the wall and slapped it soundly with the flat of his hand. His lips moved briefly before the robotic voice boomed again from his direction.
"MON. AÉROGLISSEUR. EST. PLEIN. D'ANGUILLES." He slapped the wall again, eliciting a momentary hum from somewhere behind the bulge.
"Testing, one, two, three," he said. This time the voice seemed to come from the mouth of the alien, though he sounded disturbingly like James Earl Jones. He turned to face Plonq, and both aliens bowed in unison. "Welcome, friend."
"Who are you? Why have you abducted me?" Demanded the snow leopard. He pointed vaguely over his shoulder and said, " Is this some kind intra-dimensional hub where you've brought me to perform horrible experiments in preparation for your planned invasion of my planet?"
"This is... our crew mess," said the second alien. "We brought you here in case you wanted some tea." Plonq did his best to look sceptical - which, given the circumstances, wasn't hard. There were a few moments of awkward silence before the second alien spoke again.
"Well, perhaps we did have some ulterior motives at play when we expended enough energy to power one of your medium-sized cities for a year in order to bring you here. We sincerely hope that you will forgive us our presumptuousness, but our situation is quite dire."
"Indeed," said the first alien. "First, allow me to make introductions. You are Plonq, and we are two humble aliens whose names are irrelevant. We come from a planet that you would not be able to pronounce because it is spelled with many consonants, apostrophes, and a couple of instances of the letter Y." He thumbed over his shoulder toward his companion. "As my co-abductor has said, we were loathe to take one of your people against his will, but we are desperate."
"For what?" asked Plonq, who felt the first tickling of unease forming in his gullet. "If it's money you need, I've got a couple of bucks in my pocket," he said, jamming a hand deep into the world of lint and stale gum. The aliens both shook their heads in unison.
"We have no need of your currency, save as a quant souvenir of our trip," said the first.
"I did promise the hatchlings that I would bring something back from this planet," said the second. "They would find a few coins entertaining." Plonq eventually parted with all of his change, and a stub from the bus. Although they initially stalled and denied its existence, the aliens eventually relented and gave him a portable anal probe - though they seemed to have some difficulty with the concept of a "stocking stuffer". Once their transactions were complete, a small sphincter in the wall cycled open and the second alien reached in to withdraw a cup of steaming tea. He handed it to the feline, who took a grateful sip.
"Earl Grey. Hot," he thought with a contented purr. Aloud, he said, "So let's get to the meat of the matter. Why do you need me?"
"We seek information," said the first alien. "Our planet knows no joy."
"It has been many of your centuries since one of our people cracked as much as a smirk," agreed the second. "At first our lack of contentment allowed us to free our minds for less frivolous pursuits such as philosophy, logic and science, but more recently we have learned that without joy to counter it, the negative emotions fall out of balance."
"At first it was melancholy," said the first. "But that gave way to anger, denial and bitterness. Eventually that led to sadness and depression."
"Our people are depressed," agreed the other sadly. "Our offspring dress in black and pierce their faces while their elders express loud disapproval over their music." The snow leopard stroked his muzzle and nodded sagely.
"That sounds pretty serious," he said, "but where do I fit in?"
"We wish for you to make us gay again," said both aliens in unison. There was another awkward moment of silence.
"I think," said Plonq slowly, "that you abducted the wrong person. There's an otter..." The two aliens nodded in unison again. The snow leopard found it vaguely disturbing how they tended to do that.
"We know the otter of whom you speak," said the first alien, "but he was not suitable. He was sleeping, while you were engaging in actions related to your culture's most joyful holiday. Due to your involvement we deemed that you would be a suitable candidate."
"That, and our computer determined that you would not be missed," admitted the other alien.
"Ack!"
"Prior to your return," added the first one, casting a withering glance at his companion. "But surely you have a right to know what we seek of you. We have observed this holiday, and we believe that it could be the perfect thing to bring joy back to our world, but we are puzzled. We see many disparate activities that appear to have no central, linking theme. We have all of the parts that we need to recreate this holiday on our own world but for the corner stone of its foundation."
"Yes, truly," said the other alien, "what is the meaning of this holiday? What is it all about? What is the true meaning of this... Christmas... that you celebrate?"
"While you speak, I will summarize your answers into our hyperdictaphone," said his companion. "Do not worry yourself if you do not know what it is - our technology is far beyond yours." The snow leopard did not entirely agree. He'd tasted better tea.
Plonq was about to give a glib answer when the enormity of their question finally sunk in. Here was his opportunity to explain Christmas to a race who had never heard the story of its origins. He could teach them the true meaning and spare them all of the crass commercialization that had turned it into a farce of its former self on his own world. He gathered his thoughts for a long while, and finally spoke when the aliens began taking turns clearing their throats in expectation.
"Christmas," he said slowly, "is an annual time of joy and fellowship where we celebrate the birth of a lamb many years ago. He was the son of dog, born in with mange - or in a manger or something, I forget - and sent to our planet to teach a philosophy of truth and beauty. His message was not widely received, and eventually they skewered him on a pole." He paused and tapped his cleft lip pensively. "Now that I think of it, it's really quite a depressing story. Anyway, we later turned the whole thing into a holiday where we eat too much in celebration of his birth. Then Santa Claws comes around and gives fish to all of the cats whose names are in the Book of Life." His voice dropped to a snarl as he added, "...though the fat bastard will probably skip my place again this year. He's still got his noise out of joint because I engaged in carnal activities with one of his reindeer."
"What about those who are not cats?" asked the nearest alien.
"Well, they get fish too, I suppose. I'm sure they know a cat who they can give it to," said Plonq, with a derisive snort at such a silly question. "Any other questions?"
"I just wish to clarify for the hyperdictaphone," said the other alien. "So this Christmas time is when you celebrate the life, albeit short, of a lamb by eating. And then Santa Claws gives fish to all cats but Plonq, and then we all fornicate with a reindeer."
"Yes. No! I mean, it was just once. And it was just me," said the snow leopard quickly.
"So we all have intercourse with you?"
"No!" he yowled indignantly. "I had sex with a reindeer. You do not have sex with Plonq. Nobody is to fornicate with Plonq for Christmas." The aliens shared a puzzled glance.
"Would it work for a surrogate Plonq to have sex with a surrogate reindeer?" asked the far alien again, "because we have the technology. We could do that." The snow leopard leapt out from his perch on the futon and began to pace with his hands clasped behind this back, tail thrashing madly.
"Look," he mewled sharply, "you need to stop dwelling on me and the reindeer because there's a whole lot more to Christmas than that. You also have to decorate a tree with lights and tinsel, and sing songs and drink egg nog." He spun about and paced the other way. "Then there's the black and white re-runs of A Christmas Carol and It's a Wonderful Life. You can't find any joy without that."
"A Christmas Carol," said the far alien softly into what Plonq assumed was the hyperdictaphone.
"Then you stuff presents into stockings, drink a lot, and then battle your hangover to take advantage of the post-Christmas sales..." Blast! He'd meant to gloss over the commercial aspects. He hoped that it had slipped past unnoticed, but he overheard the far alien muttering something about post-holiday clearance sales. Ack!
"I still have some questions about the reindeer," persisted the first alien.
"Bugger the reindeer!" snapped Plonq, rounding angrily on the speaker. The alien blinked.
"Ah. That renders my next question moot," he said. "Did you get all that, crewmate?"
"Indeed I did," said the other. "I am not sure if it will bring joy to our world, but it should prove intriguing." He stood from his post by the recording device and approached the snow leopard with his hand extended. He pumped the feline with a vigorous handshake. "We wish to thank you on behalf of our world. You have given us much to think about. Now there is one, final perfunctory thing we must do before we return you to your abode."
"I suppose you're going to wipe my memory?" asked Plonq dejectedly. The alien shook his head emphatically.
"No such thing," he said. "We just need to perform a few intrusive tests on you."
"Ack!"
"I AM sorry, but we're ETs. It's what we do."
Before he could move to escape, Plonq felt the cold grip of tentacles wrapping him up from behind. He twisted and struggled, but the grip became tighter as he fought.
One very long, uncomfortable afternoon later, Plonq found himself deposited unceremoniously back in front of his house. The snow leopard picked himself up and once again dusted snow out of his fur. At some point during their experiments the alien machinery had carefully snipped all of the duct tape out of his fur. It was a nice gesture, but he found it very hard to muster up any earnest gratitude. Pausing only to unplug the Christmas lights, the cat stomped unhappily into the house.
The otter was sitting in the living room when he entered, sipping a hot chocolate and reading the news paper with his big over-stuffed bunny slippers up on the arm of the sofa. The mustelid cast a glance at the snow leopard and said, "My, don't look like a sour pus all at once. What happened to ruin your day? You were all bounces and joy when you went out earlier."
"I got abducted by aliens," groused Plonq, flopping himself down heavily in the armchair.
Giblet blinked. "Really?" he said. "Do tell. What did they want?"
"I dunno," said Plonq. "They asked some dumb questions about Christmas, and then performed a bunch of tests on me." He felt an itch on the side of his head and reached up to scratch it. His fingers brushed over a small metal disk with some wires attached. "Oh good grief," he yowled, ripping it free and tossing it angrily on the floor. "They didn't even remove all of the sensors!"
"Sucks to be you," said the otter, taking another sip of his hot chocolate. "By the way, Santa called while you were out."
"Oh?" asked Plonq. "What did he want?"
"I don't know. He was blithering on and on - something about reindeer, strange lights in the sky and a truce. He was a little incoherent, so you might want to call him back."
Anyway, without further ado I present...
Although he was not one for dancing, Plonq could not help but shake his booty just a bit in time with the electronic techno-trance trip-hop that was blaring from the headphones draped sloppily around his fuzzy ears. Occasionally the headphones jarred loose, and he had to stop what he was doing to carefully adjust them again.
When he wasn't fixing the ear-pieces, the snow leopard was busying himself with the project of hanging Christmas lights along the front of his house. The feline was not hanging the lights haphazardly; he had a plan. The lights were going to be strung in the shape of a hand making a peace sign, with all of the lights on the index finger strategically unscrewed. While he admitted that such a configuration might be mistaken for a rude gesture, it would fit perfectly with his planned life-sized statue of a red-faced, screaming Santa Claws bent over a hay bale while...
"Ack! Blast these headphones," he growled as he paused to reaffix them over his ears. With a flourish and a final tab of duct tape, the diminutive cat stuck the last strand of wire to the wall and stepped back to admire his handiwork. The lines were straight - mostly - and one would hardly see the tape once it was dark. He glanced furtively down at his body, which had almost as many bits of tape stuck in its fur as were attached to the wall, and he quickly shuddered and averted his gaze. Now all he had to do was hang the sign that said "Piece on Earth" and stick a red flood light into the lawn before moving onto the next stage.
When he had done those steps, Plonq turned his attention to the extension cord. The mess of yellow wire on the ground could not, even by the most charitable definition, be called a coil of cord - or perhaps cords. The snow leopard wasn't really sure how many extension cords were in the in the pile, and it seemed to grow slightly larger every year, though he did not recall ever plugging additional cords into it. He cursed and fought a few feet of length out of it until he had enough to reach from the porch to the junction in front of the house by his light string and flood lamp.
He plugged them into the extension, and then heaved another two feet from the other end, which seemed to have mysteriously retracted itself a bit when he wasn't watching. The floodlight spewed forth a red glow that tinged the front of the house in spite of the full daylight, and for a moment the feline wondered if twelve-hundred watts was too much power to light up a small tableau and sign. He shrugged away the thought and turned his eyes eagerly toward the string of Christmas bulbs - he didn't think that he could properly classify them as lights until they actually lit, which they had not.
"Hrm?" he mewled, feeling the first hints of seasonal frustration trying to gnaw itself into a seasonal ulcer. For a moment the string looked like it was thinking of lighting up, but a moment later it was undeniably unlit. The feline's whiskers flicked in annoyance while he glared at the very unlighted string and contemplated his next move. He could, of course, screw in all of the bulbs that he had undone, but he had tested the string with some of the lights unscrewed and he knew that it would work.
Obviously one of the other bulbs must have burnt out in the interim. Plonq couldn't fathom how unscrewing bulbs did not kill the string, but a burnt out bulb would cause it to go dark; the engineering must have been impressive indeed! He stepped over the mess of yellow cords, which hissed and spat sinister sparks before slowly melting through the snow as he watched. Once again he questioned his choice of wattage - then again, if he brushed snow over the cord it SHOULD keep it from melting under its own heat. He used his tail to do just that while he rubbed his chin and pondered the string of lights.
The lights all looked okay to him at first glance. He tapped one of them experimentally with an extended claw, but aside from eliciting a sharp "tack, tack" sound, he accomplished nothing. The snow leopard heaved a longsuffering sigh and began unscrewing the bulbs one at a time. He held each one up to his eye and gave it a shake.
"Good... good... good..." he muttered darkly as he inspected bulb after bulb. Midway through the string he glanced suspiciously at the end bulb, but what were the odds? Eventually he located bad bulb at the second-to-last position on the string. He stepped back and tickled himself under the chin with the burnt-out bulb while he considered his next move. Plonq's gaze drifted over to the neighbour's house while he thought. The lights on the house next door were all lit, in spite of the fact that there were still several hours of daylight left.
"What a waste," he growled softly, but as he stared at the cheery house, he felt an inappropriate though clawing its way up from the dark recesses of his brain - somewhere just to the left of the hippocampus, where all black thoughts reside. Plonq glanced at the bulb he was clutching, then at the neighbour's house again. He held the bulb up at eye level and twisted it so that it aligned with the bulbs running down the corner of the other house. It was definitely a different brand of string, but the bulbs certainly LOOKED the same.
The feline looked furtively up and down the length of the street, but the sidewalks and windows all appeared to be comfortably empty. He clasped his furry hands behind his back and casually sidled along the front of his house until he reached the fence. With another quick look around to ensure that he wasn't being observed, he vaulted himself over the fence and belly-slithered his way across the neighbour's snow-covered lawn. Although they had lost all of their leaves for the winter, the shrubs along the front still provided passable cover for his covert mission. With much stretching and grunting, the cat discovered that he could just reach the lowest light in the string.
He burnt his fingers twice removing it, and he quickly let it drop in the snow as soon as it was out. He was relieved to see that the rest of the string remained lit throughout the operation. With equal caution he reached up and carefully screwed his dead bulb into the empty socket. The moment that it was tight, the entire string went out. "Ack!" Apparently the neighbour's string was wired the same as his. On a hunch, he reached up and gave the bulb a quarter-turn out and immediately the rest of the string lit up again. Purring at his own cleverness, Plonq grabbed his prize and slid across the snow again, using his tail to brush away evidence of his illicit visit.
The snow leopard vaulted over the fence again and found himself face-to-face with a cherubic little mouse girl, who was sucking listlessly on a lollipop and staring at him with open credulity. Plonq hastily brushed snow from his fur and gathered his thoughts before he said, "This isn't what you... that is..." His voice took on a petulant edge and he pointed a finger sternly at the little rodent.
"This is an adult matter that doesn't concern you," he said firmly. The little mouse nodded. "No, you don't nod yes when I tell you that something doesn't concern you."
The girl looked momentarily confused, then shook her head no.
"Does that mean no you agree, or no you disagree?" demanded Plonq. She paused, and then nodded again.
"Never mind," he growled a bit more harshly than he intended. "If you speak of this to anyone, Santa will fill your stocking with broken glass and razor blades. Do you understand?" Her little eyes went wide, and this time her nod was quite emphatic. "Now get on home and have some eggnog or something," he said, making a shooing motion with his hand. The mouse complied and scurried away as best a mouse could scurry.
Plonq swallowed a moment of guilt and turned his attention back to his project. He screwed the ill-got light into the waiting socket and the string - less the bulbs in the index finger - dutifully blossomed to life. The new bulb burnt accusingly brighter than the rest of the lights in the string, but the feline wrote that off to a difference in wattage. As he stepped back to admire his handiwork, his mind idly turned over ways to justify what he had just done.
"Well, it's like this," he thought, "before I borrowed this light from the neighbour, he had a full set of working lights and I had none. Now I have a full string of working lights, and he has a single burnt-out bulb. Overall it's a net gain." That worked for him. Though he was mostly happy with his work, Plonq was still concerned that the spotlight was too bright. Indeed, the light that it was casting appeared to be growing brighter as he watched. The brilliance reflecting off the wall of his house was almost becoming painful to look at, and it finally occurred to the feline that his floodlight wasn't to blame. He glanced around and discovered that the preternatural luminance was all around him. Hrm?
The snow leopard pressed the pause button on his I-Cod to see if he could hear the noise of a nuclear blast taking place, but the only sound that penetrated the sudden silence in his headphones was a steady, low thrumming. A moment later the diffuse light around him resolved itself into a sharp circle of luminosity centered on the only uncia in the area. Plonq had seen enough episodes of X-Files to know what was going on. He was about to make a leap for freedom when he felt every one of his long hairs stand up on end ("I must look like a koosh ball," he thought wanly), and an instant later he felt the ground falling away beneath his feet.
"No! Come back," he yowled, frantically bending over to grasp at his receding yard. The net result was that now instead of being abducted with dignity, he was being lifted tail-first as if he couldn't WAIT for the expected anal probes. Plonq had time for one more quick yell of, "Help! I'm being abduct..." before his world melted into an impenetrable sea of white. For a subjective eternity he found himself floating in an ashen void before he felt something - not a probe, thankfully - solidifying against his buttocks. He blinked rapidly to get his bearings, and eventually the room came into a semblance of focus.
The cat assumed that his surroundings were in focus because it was actually very difficult to tell. Everything in the room seemed to be made from various shades and textures of white, and none of the geometry seemed to line up right. The walls - if they could be called such - bulged ominously in places, and there were strange protrusions that might have passed for shelves or counters. The only object in the room besides himself that was remotely familiar was the slightly-worn futon on which he was sitting. The cat ran his hands lightly over the reassuringly-rough fabric before a faint scuffing sound from behind startled him out of his reverie.
The feline spun around to face the back of the futon, with his sharp claws digging into the cherry-stained wood while he knees sunk into the lumpy mattress. At first his ears were flattened and his tail thrashed with alarm, but though his posture did not change, the emotion behind it quickly morphed to confusion. A sphincter-like door had opened in the rear wall of the chamber, and Dick Clark was stepping over the sill into the room. Right on his heels was... Dick Clark. The first Dick Clark raised his hand, gave a Vulcan salute, and his lips moved silently. A second later a loud, robotic voice boomed out from the general vicinity of the two Clarks.
"EXPRESS. NOT. FEARFULNESS. EARTHLING. WE. ARE. PEACEABLE. OF. INTENT."
The two Dick Clarks exchanged a glance before the second one spoke.
"EXCUSES. OFFERED. FOR. THE. INADEQUACY. OF. TRANSLATIONS. PLEASE. STAND. BY."
The first alien - at least that is what Plonq assumed them to be - strode over to a bulge on the wall and slapped it soundly with the flat of his hand. His lips moved briefly before the robotic voice boomed again from his direction.
"MON. AÉROGLISSEUR. EST. PLEIN. D'ANGUILLES." He slapped the wall again, eliciting a momentary hum from somewhere behind the bulge.
"Testing, one, two, three," he said. This time the voice seemed to come from the mouth of the alien, though he sounded disturbingly like James Earl Jones. He turned to face Plonq, and both aliens bowed in unison. "Welcome, friend."
"Who are you? Why have you abducted me?" Demanded the snow leopard. He pointed vaguely over his shoulder and said, " Is this some kind intra-dimensional hub where you've brought me to perform horrible experiments in preparation for your planned invasion of my planet?"
"This is... our crew mess," said the second alien. "We brought you here in case you wanted some tea." Plonq did his best to look sceptical - which, given the circumstances, wasn't hard. There were a few moments of awkward silence before the second alien spoke again.
"Well, perhaps we did have some ulterior motives at play when we expended enough energy to power one of your medium-sized cities for a year in order to bring you here. We sincerely hope that you will forgive us our presumptuousness, but our situation is quite dire."
"Indeed," said the first alien. "First, allow me to make introductions. You are Plonq, and we are two humble aliens whose names are irrelevant. We come from a planet that you would not be able to pronounce because it is spelled with many consonants, apostrophes, and a couple of instances of the letter Y." He thumbed over his shoulder toward his companion. "As my co-abductor has said, we were loathe to take one of your people against his will, but we are desperate."
"For what?" asked Plonq, who felt the first tickling of unease forming in his gullet. "If it's money you need, I've got a couple of bucks in my pocket," he said, jamming a hand deep into the world of lint and stale gum. The aliens both shook their heads in unison.
"We have no need of your currency, save as a quant souvenir of our trip," said the first.
"I did promise the hatchlings that I would bring something back from this planet," said the second. "They would find a few coins entertaining." Plonq eventually parted with all of his change, and a stub from the bus. Although they initially stalled and denied its existence, the aliens eventually relented and gave him a portable anal probe - though they seemed to have some difficulty with the concept of a "stocking stuffer". Once their transactions were complete, a small sphincter in the wall cycled open and the second alien reached in to withdraw a cup of steaming tea. He handed it to the feline, who took a grateful sip.
"Earl Grey. Hot," he thought with a contented purr. Aloud, he said, "So let's get to the meat of the matter. Why do you need me?"
"We seek information," said the first alien. "Our planet knows no joy."
"It has been many of your centuries since one of our people cracked as much as a smirk," agreed the second. "At first our lack of contentment allowed us to free our minds for less frivolous pursuits such as philosophy, logic and science, but more recently we have learned that without joy to counter it, the negative emotions fall out of balance."
"At first it was melancholy," said the first. "But that gave way to anger, denial and bitterness. Eventually that led to sadness and depression."
"Our people are depressed," agreed the other sadly. "Our offspring dress in black and pierce their faces while their elders express loud disapproval over their music." The snow leopard stroked his muzzle and nodded sagely.
"That sounds pretty serious," he said, "but where do I fit in?"
"We wish for you to make us gay again," said both aliens in unison. There was another awkward moment of silence.
"I think," said Plonq slowly, "that you abducted the wrong person. There's an otter..." The two aliens nodded in unison again. The snow leopard found it vaguely disturbing how they tended to do that.
"We know the otter of whom you speak," said the first alien, "but he was not suitable. He was sleeping, while you were engaging in actions related to your culture's most joyful holiday. Due to your involvement we deemed that you would be a suitable candidate."
"That, and our computer determined that you would not be missed," admitted the other alien.
"Ack!"
"Prior to your return," added the first one, casting a withering glance at his companion. "But surely you have a right to know what we seek of you. We have observed this holiday, and we believe that it could be the perfect thing to bring joy back to our world, but we are puzzled. We see many disparate activities that appear to have no central, linking theme. We have all of the parts that we need to recreate this holiday on our own world but for the corner stone of its foundation."
"Yes, truly," said the other alien, "what is the meaning of this holiday? What is it all about? What is the true meaning of this... Christmas... that you celebrate?"
"While you speak, I will summarize your answers into our hyperdictaphone," said his companion. "Do not worry yourself if you do not know what it is - our technology is far beyond yours." The snow leopard did not entirely agree. He'd tasted better tea.
Plonq was about to give a glib answer when the enormity of their question finally sunk in. Here was his opportunity to explain Christmas to a race who had never heard the story of its origins. He could teach them the true meaning and spare them all of the crass commercialization that had turned it into a farce of its former self on his own world. He gathered his thoughts for a long while, and finally spoke when the aliens began taking turns clearing their throats in expectation.
"Christmas," he said slowly, "is an annual time of joy and fellowship where we celebrate the birth of a lamb many years ago. He was the son of dog, born in with mange - or in a manger or something, I forget - and sent to our planet to teach a philosophy of truth and beauty. His message was not widely received, and eventually they skewered him on a pole." He paused and tapped his cleft lip pensively. "Now that I think of it, it's really quite a depressing story. Anyway, we later turned the whole thing into a holiday where we eat too much in celebration of his birth. Then Santa Claws comes around and gives fish to all of the cats whose names are in the Book of Life." His voice dropped to a snarl as he added, "...though the fat bastard will probably skip my place again this year. He's still got his noise out of joint because I engaged in carnal activities with one of his reindeer."
"What about those who are not cats?" asked the nearest alien.
"Well, they get fish too, I suppose. I'm sure they know a cat who they can give it to," said Plonq, with a derisive snort at such a silly question. "Any other questions?"
"I just wish to clarify for the hyperdictaphone," said the other alien. "So this Christmas time is when you celebrate the life, albeit short, of a lamb by eating. And then Santa Claws gives fish to all cats but Plonq, and then we all fornicate with a reindeer."
"Yes. No! I mean, it was just once. And it was just me," said the snow leopard quickly.
"So we all have intercourse with you?"
"No!" he yowled indignantly. "I had sex with a reindeer. You do not have sex with Plonq. Nobody is to fornicate with Plonq for Christmas." The aliens shared a puzzled glance.
"Would it work for a surrogate Plonq to have sex with a surrogate reindeer?" asked the far alien again, "because we have the technology. We could do that." The snow leopard leapt out from his perch on the futon and began to pace with his hands clasped behind this back, tail thrashing madly.
"Look," he mewled sharply, "you need to stop dwelling on me and the reindeer because there's a whole lot more to Christmas than that. You also have to decorate a tree with lights and tinsel, and sing songs and drink egg nog." He spun about and paced the other way. "Then there's the black and white re-runs of A Christmas Carol and It's a Wonderful Life. You can't find any joy without that."
"A Christmas Carol," said the far alien softly into what Plonq assumed was the hyperdictaphone.
"Then you stuff presents into stockings, drink a lot, and then battle your hangover to take advantage of the post-Christmas sales..." Blast! He'd meant to gloss over the commercial aspects. He hoped that it had slipped past unnoticed, but he overheard the far alien muttering something about post-holiday clearance sales. Ack!
"I still have some questions about the reindeer," persisted the first alien.
"Bugger the reindeer!" snapped Plonq, rounding angrily on the speaker. The alien blinked.
"Ah. That renders my next question moot," he said. "Did you get all that, crewmate?"
"Indeed I did," said the other. "I am not sure if it will bring joy to our world, but it should prove intriguing." He stood from his post by the recording device and approached the snow leopard with his hand extended. He pumped the feline with a vigorous handshake. "We wish to thank you on behalf of our world. You have given us much to think about. Now there is one, final perfunctory thing we must do before we return you to your abode."
"I suppose you're going to wipe my memory?" asked Plonq dejectedly. The alien shook his head emphatically.
"No such thing," he said. "We just need to perform a few intrusive tests on you."
"Ack!"
"I AM sorry, but we're ETs. It's what we do."
Before he could move to escape, Plonq felt the cold grip of tentacles wrapping him up from behind. He twisted and struggled, but the grip became tighter as he fought.
One very long, uncomfortable afternoon later, Plonq found himself deposited unceremoniously back in front of his house. The snow leopard picked himself up and once again dusted snow out of his fur. At some point during their experiments the alien machinery had carefully snipped all of the duct tape out of his fur. It was a nice gesture, but he found it very hard to muster up any earnest gratitude. Pausing only to unplug the Christmas lights, the cat stomped unhappily into the house.
The otter was sitting in the living room when he entered, sipping a hot chocolate and reading the news paper with his big over-stuffed bunny slippers up on the arm of the sofa. The mustelid cast a glance at the snow leopard and said, "My, don't look like a sour pus all at once. What happened to ruin your day? You were all bounces and joy when you went out earlier."
"I got abducted by aliens," groused Plonq, flopping himself down heavily in the armchair.
Giblet blinked. "Really?" he said. "Do tell. What did they want?"
"I dunno," said Plonq. "They asked some dumb questions about Christmas, and then performed a bunch of tests on me." He felt an itch on the side of his head and reached up to scratch it. His fingers brushed over a small metal disk with some wires attached. "Oh good grief," he yowled, ripping it free and tossing it angrily on the floor. "They didn't even remove all of the sensors!"
"Sucks to be you," said the otter, taking another sip of his hot chocolate. "By the way, Santa called while you were out."
"Oh?" asked Plonq. "What did he want?"
"I don't know. He was blithering on and on - something about reindeer, strange lights in the sky and a truce. He was a little incoherent, so you might want to call him back."
