Keeping in touch with old friends by calling them on the phone

In my brand-new episode of BRYAN THE TYGER, Tyger Bryan gets back in touch with an old friend of his with whom he had lost contact. It is a really, really good episode.

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 Seven

My meeting with Yum the Snail reminds me how much I miss my other friend Zephyros the housecat, whom I rescued from that tree near the genesis of these scriptures. So I decide that my next adventure shall be to call him at home and schedule an in-person rendezvous. The owners who keep Zephyros as their pet — those sinful humans who nicknamed him Whistle — will probably be scared of me, because I’m Bryan the Tyger. My purpose in visiting their residence will be to rescue little Zephyros from his bondage. The plan will be to bring him away from Philadelphia, where he currently lives, and drop him off at my place near the border of Austria. (Remember in the beginning when I told you about that new castle that I bought — the one that was built on the tip of the peninsula, which is surrounded by shark-infested waters? — yeah, that’s the one I’m talking about.) I’m thinking that when we travel, Zephyros can just ride on my back, since he’s so small.

So I prance over to a telephone booth in the middle of the town’s main square. I use my huge right forepaw to push open the glass folding-door; then I get myself entirely inside the booth, including my tail, so that I can close the door behind me for privacy. The way that I accomplish this impossibility (for I’m a big Tyger, and this is a human-sized booth) is by standing on my hind legs — just like that talented dog did whom I saw perform his bipedal routine on Bryan the Astronaut’s Late Night Talk Show from Outer Space (see the storybook Astro Bryan if you want to understand this inside joke that I just made).

Seeing as I’m now comfortably inside the telephone booth, I lift the receiver, place a dime and a quarter into the coin slot; then I dial the number that is printed on the contact info that my little friend Zephyros gave me. His number is 555-KAT-KITY; and after three rings, a human voice answers:

“Hello, Rebensdorf residence; Peggy speaking.”

“Hi, my name is Bryan the Tyger. I am looking for my old comrade Zephyros. Will you allow him to talk? If the phone receiver is too big for him to handle by himself, you could just hold it up to his ear — it’ll only take a moment.”

“Wait — you want Sefirot!?” the human voice sounds annoyed. “You have the wrong number.” (The line disconnects.)

“Drats!” I say, “she hung up on me!” Then I find another thirty-five cents and insert the coins into the payphone. I re-dial the same digits.

“Rebensdorf residence; this is Peg.”

“Yes, hi, I just called a little while ago; I’m Bryan the Tyger — please don’t hang up again; I think I made a mistake when I told you my request: I used the wrong name; I meant to ask if I could speak to Whistle. He’s a housecat; I believe he’s your pet. But I accidentally used his real name Zephyros when I spoke to you earlier: that’s the name that he gave to me when I met him, because we’re both felines — even tho I’m a mighty one and he’s a puny one, we still call each other by our real cat-names — however, when addressing you, I should have used his slave-name; that is, the name that you owners gave him when you purchased him. So now I repeat: May I speak with Whistle?”

“You’re calling for Zephyros?” the voice exclaims; “Oh! I thought you said ‘Sefirot’, whoever that might be, ha ha! — Sure, little Whistler’s right here in the living room with us, nudging his fake mouse around with his clawless forepaws. Sorry; I was confused when you originally tried to make contact with him, because (as you just now clarified) you used his Ancient Royal Feline Title, which I’m less familiar with — for we’ve grown accustomed to calling him Whistle. Moreover, he’s never received a telephone call before. But, sure, I’ll hold the phone up to his fuzzy ear . . .”

Now I hear Mrs. Rebensdorf’s voice saying over and over in the background, “Mister Whistle! Mister Whistle! You have a telephone call on line one — did you hear me, Whiss? Call on line one! Coo-coo-ca-choo, I tickle your belly Mister Whistle— you wanna talk to your Tyger-friend?”

“Hello? this is Whistle… or, oops, I mean Zephyros — is it really you, Bryan!?” a desperate kitty-voice comes thru the receiver.

“Salutations, Zephyros!” I announce. “Long time no talk! It’s good to hear your meow!”

“What’s the occasion?” sez Zephyros; “I mean, why are you calling? There’s nothing wrong, I hope . . . Or is the Ultimate Cat War Against Our Oppressors about to commence?”

“No, no, Zeph! Humans are good eggs,” I say; “that’s the official word. You yourself just have the misfortune of living too closely to them. But the judgment from above is that they can continue their mischief without us being required to attack — just like the birds, we’re being told to stand down. (Ha! that was a reference to Hitchcock’s 1963 film — but it’s true nevertheless.) The Great Spirit’s plan is now simply to keep on doling out rope to humankind, till they do for themselves that Final Favor. For it’s cleaner and more poetic, that way. There shall be no Cat War.”

“Oh,” poor little Zephyros sounds disappointed.

“Don’t be sad,” I say. “I was just calling to ask if I might see you.”

“What? Seriously? You’re willing to come to Philadelphia?”

“I’m not merely willing,” I say; “I’m actually standing right outside your front door, this instant! I’m calling via mobile phone — I pounced on over here while we were talking.”

“You’re kidding!” Zephyros sounds elated.

“Well, yes, actually, that was a joke. In truth, I’m calling from a glass telephone booth in Transylvania — the same kind that Melanie Daniels was in when the gulls attacked (sorry, that aforementioned film is still on my mind) — but if you think it would be OK with your owners, then, as soon as we hang up, I’ll start sprinting in your direction. I think I could arrive there in a day or two, if I don’t stop too frequently to kill very many families of deer.”

“Hold on,” sez Zephyros; “I need to ask my master . . . or mistress rather . . .”

I now hear little Whistle meowing in the background to Mrs. Rebensdorf, and then I hear the woman repeating her answer in sassy-voice: “Oh? Kitty say meow? Kitty say meow-meow?”

“Just come over, please,” Zephyros sez; “as soon as you can. If they don’t like it, that’s their problem. I’ll be here.”

“Alright, my friend,” I say; “I’m leaving, this instant.” Then I add a little quip: “In the meantime, stay out of trees!”