The Altercation

BY STERLING BOBBITT

3/22/05 – Preserved thanks to the Wayback Machine

John settled into work, flipping open his laptop and signing on. How nice to have WiFi, he thought. Cables were ancient technology! He fired up his e-mail, and scanned the ugly red mass of incoming, and unread, messages. One from the chief; he opened it only to find a general message to staff that, as promised, the organization was being restructured once more. He popped open the latest revision of the organization chart, relieved to note that he still had a box, however its connections to the rest of the corporation’s units were re-wired. Another bullet dodged!

He sniffed – a strange smell seemed to be coming from the laptop. Fish? Day-old cheese? His olfactory senses a little mystified, he resumed work. After three requests for data analysis, one teleconference, and fifteen e-mail messages on subjects of infinite variety, he was ready to take a break. Working at home was so sweet – a refrigerator on the premises, even if it yielded mostly leftovers. He caught a few minutes of CNN while savoring tiny sausages immersed in Sierra Nevada Pale Ale mustard – oh, so good. Some carrot sticks, a can of V8, and he was back to work.

As he was finishing off the last request of the day, an elaborate spreadsheet with line charts and permutations, he noticed a small black spot moving across the back of his hand. What on earth . . .? He slapped at it, but when he pulled away his hand, he saw the small speck hop away and disappear into the intricacies of the Persian rug. Was that a flea? But how – they had no pets! Where could that beastie have come from? Past memories of intense flea infestations caused him to shudder. The hound next door – no, it never entered his yard; it just barked incessantly when the neighbors went out for a night on the town and left it cooped up in the back yard. Mighty strange!

He signed off and joined his family for dinner, deciding to forget about the unusual events of the day.

The next morning he wandered out to the living room and powered up his laptop, but – was it his imagination, or had the smell gotten stronger? He turned it over and looked at the battery, wondering if it had somehow started to overheat. Still, he had just turned it on! The battery warning flashed, but it was just the usual “power low” message. He plugged it in, acknowledging that he was not completely “wireless.”

His e-mail contained the usual chatter of a busy organization; a new strategic plan being crafted, if that was the right word; users being assigned new passwords, and another meeting or two. He swiftly fielded all of the messages, took several phone calls, and coordinated a strategy session with his small team, scattered about the nation. They were some of the best folks in the organization, and he was enormously proud of their efforts! He sorted through priorities with the team and wished them a great afternoon.

As he was dealing with some complex data queries (what’s wrong with that inner join!) he noticed that the power cable – well, it looked fuzzy! What was going on? Close inspection revealed that fine hairs had – well – sprouted (!) from the plain, black, oh so standard wire. Fine, orange in color, and not too long – was he imagining all of this? He decided it was time to power down the system and take a break.

After lunch and a few moments with the New York Times, he returned to the computer, but was astonished to find several small, distinct scratches on the computer desk. Parallel, tiny, but yes, present. Had the kids been playing around over here, scratching the desk? He shook his head, and returned to work. He wrapped it up a little early (only nine hours today) and decided it was a good thing Spring Break for the kids next week was going to get him away from this work for a while. The drive through Oregon should do him some good. Maybe I WON’T bring the laptop along, he mused – knowing that of course he would.

That evening he asked his wife and kids if they had brought any pets into the house. They gave him some very strange looks, answering his question with firm denials. He was afraid to mention the flea. He asked about the scratches, but the protests of innocence were equally firm. He went to bed early, taking some aspirin.

The next morning, he approached the laptop cautiously, concerned at the changes – and beginning to sense an erosion of his mental stability. The smell had deepened into a more pungent aroma, tinged with musk, perhaps? The power cord seemed even furrier than before, and there were definite bands of orange and white beginning to emerge. As he was gazing at it, it seemed to twitch. He slammed the lid shut and headed to the car, willing to risk the commute to get to a computer that was free of manifestations. The rest of the day was blessedly uneventful.

That night, he decided he had to confide his deep concerns about the laptop to his wife. He felt his grip on the comfortable world of home life starting to slip away, and she – yes, she would be his anchor. He asked her to take a look at his laptop. She, too, was a computer tech. Maybe she would have some idea of what was going on.

She took one look at the whiskers extending out from the sides of the machine, and the deep rumbling purr emerging from its inside, like a hard disk spinning up, but – well, not exactly. Tiny bristles of orange and white had started to spring up from the gray plastic shell. This was too bizarre!

She told him it was a pretty funny gag – she had never seen such computer accessories. When he explained this was not of his doing, she laughed again and winked. She called the kids over and pointed out the “unique” features her husband had added to the machine. Finally, he slammed the laptop shut and again went to bed early, this time taking a large whiskey to steady his nerves.

The next day, he decided it was all a bad dream. It was a joke, an April Fool’s prank his wife had pulled off, a month early. That wink, it was a tip-off! He walked out into the living room, almost afraid to glance over at the desk. He fixed some strong coffee, took a few sips, and then . . .

The beast was quietly licking its paws, cleaning furry ears, performing morning grooming. Its orange coat reflected in the early sunshine that spilled across the top of his desk, complete with a collection of fresh scratches. The cat stretched, and its tail, no longer even remotely resembling a power cord, curled in a sinuous motion. The cat yowled and jumped to the floor, walked over to his feet, and began rubbing itself, gently, back and forth against his ankles. He wondered about the operating system, the files he had stored (just as a temporary measure) on the hard disk. The small mouse accessory – well, that was gone, too, and there seemed little doubt as to its fate.

He looked down; the rubbing demand was becoming more insistent. He sighed, and went to the cupboard for some tuna fish. I wonder, he thought; has it been neutered?

With thanks to Franz Kafka.