"Dude...Dude...DUDE!!! I think I'm pregnant with kittens," she whispered, frantically scanning the room to ensure no one else was listening. Her eyes widened as she continued, "I hear faint meowing every time I close my eyes, and it feels like the tiny paws are trying to claw their way out of my womb - they must be afraid of the dark!"
My brain had marinated in far too much Jack Daniels to properly contemplate the improbability of a feline-human pregnancy. Nor did it occur to me to mention that kittens are born blind, and with no real claws.
"Have you ever had sex with a cat?" I queried instead, apparently far louder than she wished.
She put her finger to my lips to shush me and replied, "Man, there's four of them taking turns on me right now! Their little tongues tickle."
Mr. Daniels again squelched the logical portion of my brain, so I failed to point out the usual time frame between conception and fetal escape attempts.
"Those must be some seriously virile cats," I proclaimed as I drained the bottle next to me. "Someone should call Ripley's, man!"
"Do you know the number?"
"Eleventy-six and eight," I offered proudly, just before everything went black.
********
I awakened to her lying on my chest, shaking violently and bawling like an upset infant.
"Come back! Please come back," she sobbed, gasping for air in her panicked state. "I'm afraid to be alone - and everyone is gone except for the cats!"
Her trips had often frightened me, but this seemed a bit beyond the usual, and maybe longer - no telling how long I'd been out. She was far more experienced with acid than I, even though I was the one who'd introduced her to hallucinogenics. I did it a few times, but for the most part, simply adding the right amount of booze altered reality just enough for me. She loved the acid though - and to be fair, the amount of alcohol I regularly consumed meant I couldn't justify being too preachy about her habits.
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