A new friend for Bryan the Tyger

Ah, now THIS is the type of episode that I like, because it's short, and my protagonist TYGER BRYAN gets to meet a new friend.

P.S.

In other news: my Public Private Diary is fully printed; also I made a list of my latest novels that have been printed but not included in any collection.

Chapter Six

So the flying saucer that is piloted by extraterrestrials performs a crash-landing and then I begin my next adventure.

I skulk down the walking path from the area where the spacecraft happened to plunge. It appears that I’m still on Planet Earth . . . yes, my guess proves correct – for I now see a street sign that gives the folder structure of my present locale; the sign reads: “Transylvania > Romania > Balkans > Europe > Earth”. Therefore I’m definitely on the northeastern continent of my favorite planet. Or actually my second-favorite planet. (My top-favorite is Jupiter.)

So I enjoy the sound of the patter of my paw pads on the cobblestones of this small town, as I walk thru the main square and enter the bordering woods. Suddenly I meet a little snail.

“Greetings, earthling,” I say. “My name is Bryan the Tyger.”

“I am a snail,” sez the snail. “Very pleased to meet you.”

“Do you have a name?” I ask. “I told you my own name — I wish that you would tell me yours.”

“Oh, sorry,” sez the snail; “I was distracted and forgot my manners because I’ve never seen a person as big as you — it’s kinda scary! . . . But, yes, I meant to tell you: my name is Yum.”

“Yum! Nice name,” I say. “Are you a free being?”

The snail slams on the brakes and stops in her tracks. “Free?” she sez. “What’s that?”

“I mean: Do you have owners?” I say. “The last being that I met who was inhuman (not counting the aliens who just dropped me off this morning) was a housecat named Zephyros, and he was owned by the people who lived in the house where he served in the position of Chief Pet. Now, although that might sound to you like a prestigious office (and it is, believe me), he’s still technically a slave, because his owners own him, just as those homeowners in turn are owned by the bank that owns their mortgage as well as the rest of human life. For mankind has structured itself in a gigantic pyramid scheme, which fea­tures countless prisons filled with debt-peons at the bottom, and glowing invisible financiers at the peak. I got to meet one of these uppers, in fact, when I visited a prison, in one of my early adventures. Or at least he claimed to be part of the tiptop triangle. But, anyway, yeah, that’s what I meant by free: I was just wondering if anyone owns you yet – in other words: Are you anybody’s pet?”

Yum gasps: “Oh, dear, no,” and then she adds: “no, no, no, no, no, no — I’m nobody’s pet yet; I’m just a wandering snail. My only job is to lurk around and leave a slimy trail behind me. All I do besides that is eat — and that’s a cinch, because I can digest just about everything, really easily: I’m herbivorous, carnivorous, omnivorous, and detritivorous: but I specialize in consuming foods of the highest quality, which I can list for you in increasing order of attraction, starting with a well-loved dish and ending with my most preferred cuisine. The things that I like to eat, from best to bestest, are as follows: worms, vegetation, rotting vegetation, animal waste, fungus, and other snails.”

Noticing that the sound of Yum’s voice has stopped, I awake and say: “Ah, that’s interesting. I have just one question. When you say ‘My only job is to lurk around,’ and so on, it makes me wonder: Can you really call that a job — this lurk­ing around that you do? It just sounds to me more like a non-professional hobby.”

“Oh, it’s definitely more of a hobby than a career — that was the wrong label, sorry; I misspoke,” sez Yum the Snail. “I’m not very good with language — I let my words leak out loose and lazy; I never bother with attaining linguistic precision, because I don’t see why it matters.”

“No, yeah, that’s fine — it makes sense,” I nod; “I was just clarifying that you’re truly a FREE woodland creature. Cuz you assured me that you don’t have any owners, but then you hinted at having this job, and that word scared me. So, it’s a relief to learn that you simply said the wrong thing.”

“I’m glad that we could reach this accord in our thinking,” sez Yum the Snail. “Shall we kiss now and slink away from each other?”

“Um, sure,” I say (thinking to myself that I really don’t have anything else to talk about with this new friend, I can’t see any reason we wouldn’t just make tracks in separate directions); “I mean, I’d rather not kiss you, but I’m fine if we conclude our tête-à-tête.”

“Suit yourself,” she sez while starting to wander off; “take care, Tyger Bryan!”

“Bye, Yum!” I wave.