Humans Can Be Incredibly Boring Pets

A domestic investigation.

The bowl is empty. At least I can affirm this with certainty—I have checked it several times since waking. The bowl is empty, all right. It has been empty for... this is where my certainty dissolves. Time, I have come to suspect, is not a thing that moves forward so much as a thing that accumulates, layers up, like dust, like the smells settling into the fibres of this rug. And beneath all that, the fading trace of him, my human. That smell grows fainter each day, or each hour, or each whatever-this-is. I press my nose into the weave and search for him. He is there, but distantly. His scent used to be everywhere: the chair, the bed, the keyboard thing that makes that infernal chattering noise. Now it retreats, withdraws, hides in corners I can’t reach anymore.

A shaft of light from the window catches dust. They move, these little specks, though nothing moves them. In my youth, I tried to catch them. But I discovered they can’t be caught. So now I watch the dust; this is what I do. I watch the dust move. Presently, I’ll watch it fall on my rug.

I know this rug intimately—trees, flowers, woollen flowers. I have spent most of my afternoon staring at them, sometimes moving closer to touch them, sniffing them, but I’m sorry to say that despite my best efforts, I haven’t been able to smell anything resembling flowers. I’m happy to argue with anyone who begs to differ on this matter.

But my biggest regret, I will confess, is not that these fake flowers (because fake they are indeed) smell like sheep fur instead of flowers—it’s that this rug isn’t a flattened sheep and doesn’t have an actual sheep underneath. Let me explain. Of course, I say this with the utmost care and regard for observable facts. This rug smells of sheep. Now, you may object that I don’t have a strong track record as a sheep-sniffer. After all, I’m just a fox terrier, not any border collie or the like.

But I have encountered a sheep once, when my human (his name is Rf-rrff-rrr-rf, if you care to know) took me for a stroll outside the city walls (at least I can claim that!). When you encounter a sheep in the countryside, you smell something about them, which is not exactly like fur—not quite like fur, see?—and, listen carefully because this is where it gets really interesting: after pondering over it, I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s meat underneath the fur (of course there is, how could there not be!). This sounded ridiculous to me, too, at first. Meat is generally found in tins or trays. But I’ve seen it—better still, smelled it when my human took me for a visit to his cousin, the renderer: meat can also be found inside sheep, that is, underneath their skin, and in great quantity, mind you! But now, this rug—no, nothing underneath. Is that even plausible? But I digress; this wouldn’t be a valid explanation for my human’s absence, would it?

What worries me is this: once food (meat from tins or trays, I suspect) appeared in the bowl at appointed times—morning, evening, the rhythm was quite reliable. I performed my duties: I waited, I approached, wiggled my tail to show my appreciation to my human (it’s good to show your human you appreciate it, it’s positive reinforcement), then I ate and was satisfied. The order of things was clear. Now the bowl sits empty, and no ceremony, no wiggling of the tail, no yapping whatsoever summons my human or, more importantly, the food. I have tried waiting in different positions. I have tried not waiting at all. Nothing changes.

Actually, now that I’m thinking about the renderer… I haven’t seen my human in a while. Could my human have been rendered by his cousin, the renderer? And—I know this is improper, even somewhat disturbing, but I need to say it—could there also be meat under a human’s skin? under my human’s skin?

Right now, I’m thinking maybe I’ll go down the street and say hello to other fellow human owners and smell their rear-ends and do my natural business. The kitchen floor doesn’t look pretty and shiny anymore—surely, I can’t keep on like this forever. But opening the front door is a riddle I haven’t cracked yet. I’ve seen my human do it countless times, but I didn’t pay attention to how he did it. I should have paid attention then. Now, I feel a bit stuck, I have to say.

The flat is silent except for two sounds: the gurgling thing in the room where water comes from pipes (sometimes the gurgle comes from the wall too, I noticed that), and the humming of the cold box in the food-room (where the meat tins are stored). It never stops humming. Inside it, I smell something faint—meat possibly, meat… meat, yes, but also something else I cannot name. Something that makes me uneasy, something sweeter, like the treats he used to—No. I will not think of treats.

Yet, the bowl is dry, empty (I’ve licked it; I’m positive). That is enough to know for now. Perhaps the cold box will be easier to open than the front door. At least it’s a smaller, lower door… The floor here is slippery-smooth, not like the rug. I realise relieving myself on these tiles was a poor decision. I should think more strategically next time. My claws make small clicking sounds, click, click, click. The door. Yes, it’s a smaller door. Lower than the front door. Probably lighter too, so my thinking is sound. If I start with the front door and fail (which is probable, at least more probable than failing at the cold box), then I’d lose faith in my ability to open doors. But if I open the cold box, well, I’ll really have something to be proud of—and you would too, wouldn’t you? Of course you would! Also, there might be interesting things for me inside that cold box. What if that faint scent is not just a deception? Not like that rug that smells like sheep but hasn’t any sheep meat, neither inside nor underneath (ha! what a joke!). No, not like that rug! Here, practical thinking.

I need to find out what’s inside this cold box. I’m just hoping my human isn’t keeping his papers in there, or books, or whatever—I’ll confess this is one of my pet peeves: him, staring at his ‘books’ on the sofa, for hours on end like an imbecile instead of playing ball outside. Humans can be incredibly boring pets to have, and you sometimes have to threaten them with peeing on their beloved fake-sheep rug to get them out of the house. There: that’s a good tip for you, in case you own a human.

Anyway, now I’m trying to open the cold box, and let me tell you, it ain’t easy! I have watched my human open it. He would pull at the bottom with his paw—his hand, I mean (I know the word, I simply prefer not to use it; it’s nicer to call it his paw, make him feel more dog-like)—and there would be a sound like a kiss, a soft pop, and then cold air and light and the smell of things. I tried pushing with my nose. Nothing. I tried with my paw, hooking at the rubber edge—almost broke a claw, goddammit. Now I’m trying with my teeth, pulling at the handle with my jaw, but it’s giving me cramps. Why do they keep things like that around? Utterly impossible, useless!

Heard a whoosh. A small gap, cold breath escaped. I pulled harder, wedged my snout into the gap, and—Pop. That damn door finally decided to open! Well, I have to say, this was unexpected. Cold air and steam are flowing down like water, pooling around my paws. I’ve sat back on my haunches to watch that. First time I've seen smoke do that. I should bark to make it behave. But no, that would be a waste of time. I’ve already tried barking at the smoke that came out of these ‘cigarettes’ my human puts in his mouth (I should definitely teach him not to, but I’m afraid he’s too old to be told that sort of thing), the smoke doesn’t listen anyway. It floats up, though. This one flows down. I like it better. The smell, too, is much nicer.

There’s a small box at the front, with bright colours and pictures of cones with swirly stuff on top. That cold, sweet stuff my human calls ‘ice-cream’. Yes, he is rather fond of these things, unable to stop eating them in fact (that too is not something I can correct at this point—I confess I failed to train him properly). Not so much lately, though. Lately he’s had to… the human has been quite diminished in recent times, as if he was missing something. Truth is, he’s become almost unrecognisable. It worries me.

But let’s not get distracted. What I found inside is promising. Behind the ice cream, it looks like there’s meat. But not like tinned meat. Not like meat that has been alive either (like the one at the rendered’s place), or perhaps meat that has been alive in a way I do not understand—let's avoid dismissing any hypotheses prematurely. Some are red. Some are pale, almost grey. One shape is long and cylindrical, like a sausage, but not a sausage. At any rate, it looks like actual meat inside, wrapped in that clear stuff humans use—the crinkly nothing-skin. Hence the faint smell of meat I sensed earlier. My smell never deceives me, you see. I’m now trying to pull one of these bags out, and I have to admit, this one is small. There’s a human smell to it. Not quite my human’s smell, but something like that. Difficult to pinpoint, though.

The cold is playing havoc with my teeth now. What I found inside the bag is promising—looks like actual meat. But I don’t get it. Nothing but those nuggets that smell like human, and they have, like, scales at the end. Odd.

Let’s move on. Behind this might be something bulkier. Never seen fruits like this before. Fruit-shaped, but not fruit-smelling. I’m now trying to pull one of these legs out (are these actual mutton legs, like the ones I saw at the renderer’s house?). In any case, this is like a leg, but cold and solid, like bone. Real meat isn’t hard like that. Usually, it’s soft and squidgy and warm. Sniff. Sniff again. No, this can’t be meat. It’s meat-like, oddly familiar… But it’s something else. Likely another of my human’s jokes. Like that rug.

I’m trying to tear open that layer of things covering the next bag. Inside: a pair of seashells. I think. Or snail shells, maybe. Could these be hardened mushrooms? In any case, it’s a swirling shape that makes these two things quite nice to look at, and sniff, and lick. I lick one. Cold. Smooth on one side, ridged on the other. My tongue almost got glued to that meat, and it burns! How is this possible? But there’s something else… Of course. Where have I seen this shape before? Wait… I can’t help it, this needs to be barked at… rrrr-rrrrff-wrrrahfff-wraaaaarfff.

The light spills onto the floor, making a white rectangle. The cold box door swings slowly, slowly, back toward closed.

I let it. My stomach growls into the silence.