Magic in the Key of Joy (A Wylde & Cray Adventure) UIC2022

Chapter 3 - Wylde at Heart

The world stopped. If this were Broadway and not Thousand Oaks, I'd be belting out a sappy but catchy love song. But it isn't, and it is, and so I'm not. Blue eyes. Like Enya sings, Caribbean blue. Metallic, shiny silver hair. And, in spite of his cis-het Tom Cruise from Legend stiffy-making good looks, CSL!! (What are CSL? L is for lips, my friends. The rest is NC-17.)

I'm in Ventura County, California and I'm not singing my heart out to my no-longer-lost soulmate, and the world has not stopped. In an eyeblink, he's missing from my sight. He's flown out of the bus, the doors have closed, and I'm left standing here holding his bag. It's as if he simply folded space and slipped away. (Beam me outta here, Scotty!)

This is no way to end what is going to be an incredible opening number. I start thinking: what would Lin-Manuel Miranda do?

"Stop the world, I mean the bus! I want to get off!"

"At the next stop, buddy," the driver says methodically.

Drastic times, friends. What would Bette Midler do? Deep breath. Inhale. Channeling the Divine Miss M, I erupt.

"I've got COVID!" I think I may have rattled even the shatterproof windows.

Seconds later, everyone exits the bus. Passengers are screaming some very unpleasant and best left unrepeated names at me. I can't hear them, as I'm running back to the last stop. Four blocks and I'm there. No sign of him anywhere. He'd also run back the way the bus had come from. I'm in front of the stores by the Civic Arts Plaza. He's nowhere to be found. Suddenly his backpack starts to wriggle.

That's right – wriggle. I sit on a bench by one of the small artificial ponds, and gently set it down. I reach in and it's as if there's no bottom. I finally grasp two ping-pong ball sized puffs of fur and put them on the bench in the sunlight.

You know those tiny, dried sponge things in plastic cups that you'd get from candy vending machines as a kid? You'd add water and they almost quadrupled in size? That's what was going on with the two furballs. In seconds, the strange creatures are purring like mad, winding around my arms, making adorable little mewing sounds as they gaze up at me in a familiar way. They're a cross between a house cat and a ferret. And they're really hungry. My mother's Himalayan gives me that same look. (He's named Maurice, after Herzog – not Morris the 9-Lives cat food cat.)

While it's vitally important to find my runaway hottie, it's more urgent that these creatures get some food and water.  Forget the fact that they just grew, like the Grinch's heart, in seconds.  This is California, baby - Hollywoodland! Stuff like this happens all the time, right? Better get going, I think, because that last 'mew' sounded like a threat.

I walk south about four blocks to a natural pet food store, buy some pull-tab cans, an inexpensive bowl and a bottle of water, and walk back to the pond area. It's nicely maintained and just far enough away from traffic. I watch as the two furries eat. I pet the bright orange one, wondering what his name is. An image of a sun flashes in my thoughts.

"Sunny?" I ask. He blinks once. I look at the black one, and a moon image appears on my inner TV screen. "Moony?" I inquire and get a scathing, disdainful look in reply. It has to be something more sophisticated. "Luna" I venture, and I'm rewarded with a wink. When they finish, they grab the now empty cans in their mouths and deposit them in the bag, as if that's an everyday occurrence. Sunny empties the water dish onto the grass, and that ends up in the bag.as well.

I feel myself being scrutinized. They meow back and forth to each other, then look up at me expectantly. The sky is darkening, which means it's 7:30-ish. I give in to urgency, as I should have been home two hours ago and Mom is alone, so I take an Uber back to the condo. I can cyber-search my dreamboat later.