Story time: the robot & his cat
It was morning and the horizon looked pink and blue through the cracked window.
The frozen lake was grey that morning.
The birds were cold and quiet.
From under the blankets, the robot stirred and noticed a fresh quilt of snow covering the ground.
He peeped out through the frost-bitten window at the foot of his bed.
The mattress of the bed sat on a tall frame.
The bed was in a loft.
In the bed sat the slowly waking robot, all silver and blue with glowing eyes that looked like light up screens, and next to him sat his cat.
The cat was called Dawes. He was orange with a splash of white on his chin, chest, and paws. He looked like he was wearing thick, woolen socks.
Dawes was curled up in what looked like a warm, freshly baked cinnamon bun glazed in a blanket of creamy orange frosting. His long, luxurious tail covered his little pink nose and his sleepy eyes.
Dawes was beginning to stir.
The robot sat up and leaned against his stack of three soft pillows.
He tilted his metal head slightly and looked down at his friend, Dawes.
All was silent.
All was perfectly silent. Well, all except for the slight hum of Dawes’s asthmatic wheezing.
The robot turned his body just slightly and looked at his nightstand.
On the nightstand was a silver lamp with a soft yellow glowing bulb.
A book of old poetry sat open on the tall, metallic silver nightstand. Its blue ribbon lay askew on the open pages.
There were no glasses sitting on the nightstand.
Just his lamp and his book of old poetry.
The robot scowled, but only slightly, and he turned his body to the left.
His glasses had fallen to the wood floor, painted white, beneath the bed.
Trying not to wake Dawes too abruptly, the robot slowly pulled back his grey and white comforter and his wrinkled grey sheets.
The robot arched his metal legs and the black wires behind his knees stretched and zapped back to life.
He put first his large mechanical left foot on the cold floor and then his right. He stepped down from the tall bed in his loft and bent over to pick up his glasses.
Once the glasses rested on his peculiar, earless head, the robot gently ran his spindly metal fingers over the head and back of his fluffy cat.
Dawes was warm to the touch.
The sensors in the robot’s metal frame responded to the toasty sensations radiating from the cat’s friendly body.
The robot and his cat were waking up.
The robot stretched out his arm and grabbed his thick, warm blue bathrobe off the hook above his bed. He wrapped his thin body in his old, worn robe.
Dawes arched his back and pulled his hairy ears back in a ‘good morning’ stretch.
The orange cat chirped awkwardly and hopped off the bed with a soft thud on the cold wood floor. He stretched a padded right paw out under the bed and pulled one brown moccasin slipper and then another out into the light.
The slippers were lined with red and blue flannel and were just barely big enough for the robot’s feet.
Dawes looked up at the robot and released a high pitched “Mew.”
The robot warmly replied, “Beep. Boop. Beep” and slipped his feet into the slippers.
The robot had forgotten, however, that his primary fuel cell’s yellow power chord was plugged in next to the tall bed frame.
He took three steps forward and was yanked back suddenly.
The robot’s metal rear end hit the hard floor with a loud rattle.
Dawes scrambled away into the corner of the loft closest to the wide, white drafting desk, which was facing the large, frosty window.
“Beepity boop boopity sqwerk!” the robot chuckled to himself.
Dawes, peeking out from behind a grey and white curtain, slowly blinked out a worried look at his robot through enormous eyes the size of saucers.
“Boooooop. Beeeep,” the gentle robot crooned softly to his cat, as if to say, “All is well. You can come out now.”
The robot reached out a cold, metal hand and gently unplugged his shiny rear end from the yellow chord in the wall.
Together, the robot and his cat slowly made their way down the greyish blue wooden stairs to the kitchen.
There were twelve steps all together, and each one creaked and groaned as if they were sleepy steps being roused by being slowly, methodically stepped on.
Once the robot had set foot in his kitchen, he tied the knot on his warm, fluffy robe a little tighter and watched as Dawes ran to the silver kitchen countertop and hopped up as if he were lightning in a pillow.
The robot knew it was time for morning treats. He chuckled to himself warmly and walked to the cupboard above the kitchen sink. He reached out, grasped the knob of the cupboard and grabbed the small plastic bag of salmon and chicken kitty treats. He opened the bag and left two treats, one fish-shaped, the other flower shaped, on the painted blue wood of the kitchen floor.
Dawes hopped down from the counter and slowly sniffed his morning treats. He had eaten them over one hundred times before, and yet, he still needed to make certain they were the treats he was expecting.
The robot gently smiled at Dawes as he ate first one treat, then another, off the floor.
The robot switched on the radio by the kitchen telephone and then sat at the head of his small grey wooden kitchen table. His slippered feet planted on the floor and he listened to the radio with his hands folded in front of him.
Dawes hopped up into his lap and curled up.
Quiet.
Content.
All except for the crackle and hiss of the radio as talking heads debated current news and relevant facts.
One clear voice finally cut through the other. It sounded to the robot like some local leader. An adult male member of the human species. White. Very serious.
The voice said, “We are on day nine of the state mandated quarantine as the virus continues to spread. Again, please remember, it is imperative that you stay indoors at this time unless it is absolutely necessary for you to leave your home. Continue to practice social distancing until you hear otherwise. Thank you.”
The robot, frowning, his blue screen eyes lowered, stood and turned and switched off the radio.
The robot was feeling sad.
He had hoped that the virus was perhaps only a bad dream.
Dawes jumped up on the counter by the radio and purred loudly as he placed one fluffy white socken paw on the robot’s metal fingers.
The robot looked down at Dawes, his cat, his companion, his friend.
Then the robot lifted his head and looked around his small cottage home on the frozen lake.
There were books of poetry on the shelves.
There was a radio on the counter,
A puzzle on the coffee table by the blue sofa,
And a kettle for tea.
The robot turned to the stovetop by the sink. He grabbed the silver teakettle and set it on the back burner. He slowly lit the stove with a turn and the click, click, click of the black knob.
The robot lifted Dawes up in his arms and cradled his purring pile of orange and white fluff as he made his way to the living room, just on the other side of the silver kitchen counter.
The robot grabbed his new book of poetry, a recent gift from his friend who happened to be a vacuum cleaner, off the tallest shelf above the sofa. It was a bit of a reach and a stretch.
Once he grabbed the shiny new purple volume, he sat down in the one window seat in the living room.
It was adorned with pillows. Dawes hopped into his lap.
“This is my day,” thought the robot. “It’s not what I had planned, but that is okay. This moment with Dawes and my book is enough.”
The robot’s frown melted into an easy smile across his metal face. His blue screen eyes lit up as he began to devour the rich lines of poetry in his new book.
Dawes was just falling asleep on his robot’s lap, when a whistling noise filled the little house with noise of celebration.
The robot lifted his head and turned toward the kitchen.
The tea was ready.
