Jean had been in a panic that Sunday morning. Ginge wasn’t waiting on the windowsill as usual. ‘I wonder where he’s got to’ she shouted through to Dave,
'What’ he responded ‘where’s who? What you on about woman?’
'Ginge’ she responded ‘you know my cat, the cat that has lived at this address for the last 8 years’.
'Why where’s he then?’ asked Dave. As he ambled into the kitchen where Jean was doing last nights washing up, still in his pyjama bottoms and a stained vest.
'That’s what I was saying’ Jean stated slowly as if talking to a foreigner who didn’t understand English, ' I was just saying I wonder where Ginge is, its not like ‘im not to be hear for his breakfast – I do hope he’s ok’.
'Course he’s ok’ said Dave ‘he’s a bloody cat aint he, cats have 9 frigging lives don’t they, any chance of bacon and eggs luv?’
'You’ll ave to get it yourself because I’m going out to look for Ginge’ said Jean...
‘Owe – come on luv nice fry up yeah, it is Sunday after all’ pleaded Dave.
‘I don’t care what day it is, I’m gonna look for him, its not like Ginge to miss his breakfast’ said Jean.
‘But its Ok for me to miss mine’ grumbled Dave under his breath.
‘What’s that?’ asked Jean.
‘Nothing my luv’ said Dave ‘you go look for Ginge then when you find him I’ll make you a lovely cuppa tea and you can do me a nice fry up’.
Dave ambled back to the lounge to light up a fag and read the sports pages. Jean set off around the estate to look for Ginge.
Charles, checking his watch - 'should’ve been out of here an hour ago he kept saying to himself ‘that self centred ignorant old man, who the hell does he think he is? He can’t talk to me like that! Well one day, one day he'll get his comeuppance’.
The scanner, a small animal microchip scanner was easy enough to use, a simple enough hand-held radio frequency pet scanner which red both international and standard microchips used on small animals the world over. It was simple enough for Charles to tackle, all he had to do was make sure the batteries were live then sweep over and across the cat. 'someone should try this on that ignorant fat bastard Vickery’ he said to himself; with venom, ‘I bet that dancing vein in his head would turn out to be a chip, someone’s chipped him or at least someone should chip him’.
‘Come on pus, I reckon you have been having a laugh with me eh? What was all that about earlier then?’ Charles spoke softly so as not to frighten the cat as he approached with the scanner the cat was still sat on his haunches exactly as he was when Vickery looked in on him, he didn’t move or make a noise. Charles held the scanner a few inches above the cat and did the usual front to back sweeping action, first down the back then the sides.
‘That cannot be right’ he said screwing his face in disbelieve, lets try again. Again Charles ran the scanner over the cat but again he looked at the tiny screen with disbelieve mouthing the words ‘what the hell is this all about?’ adding the bloody scanner must be broke adding ‘owe shit! Old man Vickery is gonna blame me for that too’.
The tiny screen should display a unique 7 digit code which could then be traced giving all the relevant information about the animals’ owner: that’s if the animal has an id tag in the first place. If the animal is not tagged then the screen on the scanner will simply not register anything, but this screen was showing something.
‘What the hell is that all about?’ said Charles to himself. ‘That simply cannot be right’ he rushed back into the main surgery where he left the scanner box with instructions; but in his confusion he failed to shut the quarantine room door. Flustered, he paged through the instructions but they only showed the usual how to operate and how replace the batteries and what the normal scan results would look like but nowhere could he see anything that resembled the flickering colours and the swirling shapes that he had just witnessed –
‘That’s ridiculous’ he thought ‘the monitor is only supposed to show digits in black and white - huh! What’s that all about?’
In sheer desperation Charles thought he’d change the scanner batteries, ‘maybe that’ll help’ then he rushed back to the quarantine room, realising as he approached that he’d left the door open. ‘Owe No!’ he shouted, true enough the cat was gone. Charles doubled over as if in pain, burying his face into his unclenched arms and shrieked in sheer frustration ‘Owe to hell with this! I’ve had enough! And I wanna go home!’ As he turned to walk out he noticed a tiny little pellet like object on the floor in the doorway, Charles bent to pick it up. ‘No!’ he exclaimed ‘it can’t be,’ quickly he ran the scanner over the tablet only to see a seven digit number appear on the screen.
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Jean had been out walking the estate for what seemed like hours, calling for Ginge.
‘What’s up luv?’ called Sue, one of Jean’s oldest friends, a tall, thin woman of about the same age as Jean but a woman who wouldn’t give in to the aging process without an all out war. Teetering on heels, with the shortest of tight pink skirts, and a skimpy fake leopard skin jacket all topped off with deep red lipstick, heavy eye shadow and bleach blond hair that had been forced, unceremoniously into a bouffant hair-do that wouldn’t have been out of place in a 1960’s edition of Top of the Pops. Taking the last drag from a dog-end of a cigarette before discarding under a well practised twist of a heel, Sue came tottering across the road. To where Jean was peering through yet another hedge. Looking confused, Sue started to rummage through her pink bag, complete, with a Justin Bieber heart-shaped motif and asked ‘you alright Jean? What you lookin fer?
‘It’s Ginger ‘replied Jean ‘he’s not come home smorning and that’s not like im.’
‘Owe dear, sorry to hear that Jean’, then with a puzzled look as she found what she had been rummaging for, Sue asked ‘who’s Ginge luv?’
‘He’s me bleedin cat Sue, come on keep up’ snapped Jean.
‘Owe yeah of course your cat is ginger aint he; is that why you called him Ginge luv? I speck he’ll turn up when he’s ungry, you know what cats is like, they’m like kids, always turning up when they is ungry. Tell me luv are you off to the bingo on Tuesday?’
‘Owe I don’t know Sue, I’m so worried, I’m not really in the mood for bingo, not with Ginge missing.’
Having found what she’d been rummaging for, Sue whipped out another cigarette from the pack, and pursing her lips hard to hold the thing steady, she proceeded to flick the a cheap pink lighter, taking several goes before a flame caught. After the first long draw on the cigarette, blowing the smoke up and away to her side, trying to look sophisticated, Sue said ‘Come on luv you knows you enjoy the bingo and its gonna be a big night Wednesday cause they got some good prizes – I hears they got £500 for the top prize draw too – come on Jean say you will, c’mon Jean it aint the same wi’out you, and another thing, they got a new caller on down there, he’s a young chap and very good looking if you know what I mean.
‘I’ll see Sue’ answered Jean, ‘but no promises if Ginge aint home then I aint coming’.
‘Ere Jean, what colours your cat?’ asked Sue as she peered off into the distance.
‘Erm let me see’ pondered Jean in a sarcastic manner, ‘owe yeah he’s ginger Sue, that’s why ‘es called Ginge for Christ sakes’. Jean turned away to look over another garden wall.
‘Well who’s that down there look, aint that your cat?’ Sue, taking another long drag, was pointing down the road to where a large fat ginger cat was casually trotting up the hill.
‘Oh Ginge, Ginge is that you my loverly’ shouted Jean as she headed off in a half run, half wobble to meet the cat coming fast towards them.
‘I’ll be seeing you at the bingo then Jean’ smiled Sue as she turned on her heels and tottered off up the road.
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YOU ARE READING
The Seeding
Science FictionThey came to do what was expected: To Seed and Colonise. Billions were scattered - only a tiny percentage would find a viable, fertile home. One such seed fell to earth.
