“Did you read Willie’s blog? ‘Tri Polar.’ Now he thinks he’s some kind of white bear. I told you he was losing it! This is not good. And I heard we’re going to stay a few days in Boots’ house. Wonderful. You stay as far away from him as possible, Amber. I’ll do the best I can to protect you, but stay in your room. He’s nothing but trouble. Remember what he did to Morris? I just hope I don’t get fleas again.
“And when we leave his house it’s back into those tiny cages you can barely turn around. Who knows how long we’ll be caged up inside the silver bird. I figure our odds of survival are about 50%. And if we do make it we’ll probably have post traumatic stress. Our lives will never be the same.”
“Oh Bucks, you’re such a drama queen. We’ll be okay. They’ll probably give us tranquilizers.”
“They should give us psychedelics. That would make the trip more interesting. We’d be double tripping. Get it? Double—”
“Good.” I give my tail a casual flip, then look into her starry eyes. “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.” I could have been another Bogart. “It’s been good,” I tell her.
Amber doesn’t listen to the classic movie channel. “Us.” I mean like, me and you . . . together—hanging out, chasing around, and having lunch. I mean . . . I love you, Amber. I just want you to know . . . in case I don’t make it.”
“Well, I love you back Bucks. Now will you get over it! We’re going to be okay. We’ll blog again, and I already know some Swedish.”
“Right. We’ll see. This blog could be our last.”
“It won’t,” she says.
Sometimes she’s right. But this time . . . I don’t know.