Pet
It was the big day – my Pet-Z was finally arriving. I had received a confirmation text last night informing me that my delivery window was between two and five pm. I couldn’t wait. I spent all morning cleaning my flat, vacuuming and dusting, and sneezing as I worked. I had received the free bed last week, along with food and water dishes, and a complementary pet toy that vaguely resembled a mallard and quacked forlornly when squeezed.
I lived alone. I was thirty-six, divorced and in dire need of companionship. I hadn’t considered buying an animal before, not as an adult. I had kept pigeons as a boy, out in a shit-stained garden hutch, and my ex-wife had a grumpy ginger tom. But this would be my most exotic creature – a totally new species, hyphenated with a capital Z.
I had seen pictures of Pet-Z online, posted by doting owners in London, and I had already passed a few early arrivals in Glasgow Green and the Necropolis. They were certainly odd-looking with their big, black eyes and long, thin faces. But they seemed intelligent and it was endearing to watch them scamper past on their six quick legs. They were also supposed to be devoted, loyal and loving. It was these traits I was most looking forward to. After Lillian left I spent most of my nights alone, drinking wine and watching Netflix, missing the warmth of another being. I even missed the irregular huffs of her breathing when she was in a sour mood with me, which admittedly was most of the time. It would be nice to have something to hold and care for. God knows I hadn’t held my wife enough during our short, strained marriage. But this would be different. The Pet-Z weren’t able to talk back or complain or make you feel impotent with snide words. They wouldn’t reproach you for eyeing up another woman or leaving the cap off the toothpaste. They wouldn’t accuse a man of clipping their wings because - like Lillian – they didn’t have any. They also didn’t have the intellectual capacity to make that hurtful analogy, which – alas – Lillian did.
The developers NexTGenPet said the Pet-Z imprinted on the first human they saw, so the suppliers were careful to breed and keep them isolated in dark boxes. It really was a chance at unconditional love. I craved that. And I wasn’t just keen for the companionship – I also found the creatures supremely interesting, from both a biological and sociological standpoint. They were entirely created by human hands with the sole purpose of enhancing the quality of human lives.
Some say they’re an aberration and unnatural – it really is rare for religious and animal rights groups to agree so vehemently. Others point to science fiction and think up twisted little conspiracies on the internet, claiming they’re some form of Russian or Chinese surveillance, or carry another disease to wipe humanity out. But those are the thoughts of busybodies, attention seekers and the mentally deranged. Any sensible person could see the benefit and admire the simplicity of the scheme. Like many other Reddit users, I truly believe one day Pet-Z will replace the humble dog, usurping thousands of years of animal-human partnership. After all Pet-Z don’t bite and they never run away and break your heart.
It was 4.44pm when I heard a knock on the door. I sprang to my feet from my armchair and shouted, “I’m coming! I’m coming – just a minute!” as I rushed down the hall. I had been getting more and more agitated as time passed. I had almost convinced myself that the Royal Mail were behind on their postcode deliveries and I would have to wait even longer to receive my government-issued Pet-Z. I was supposed to be home-working from nine to six, but I was a quick copy-writer which meant I could take a lot of coffee breaks. I splashed half a cup of said coffee down my dressing gown as I fumbled with the lock. When I pulled the door open, the delivery driver gave me a lukewarm smile and extended out a large cardboard box with several pin-sized holes stamped into it.
“Oh, hang on – let me put my coffee down somewhere. Thank you. Sorry,” I said, flustered. I placed the cup on a precarious stack of letters on the hallway shelf, steadied it so it wouldn’t slip off a glossy brochure, and took the box.
“It’s light, isn’t it?” I said in surprise. I thought I heard a faint scuttling – the sound of thumbtacks skittering across a table, or crunchy autumn leaves blown across paving.
“You’ve got a lively one,” the driver said,
“Have you delivered many?”
“This is my seventy-second of the day. They’re usually pretty quiet but yours sounds like a right handful.”
I listened but the scuttling had stilled, giving way to a pregnant silence.
“Well, thanks so much,” I said, eager to open the box and meet my new pet.
“No problem. Cheers. A starter pack of food is in there. Should be enough for the first week – there’s a code for the website so you can order more. I think that’s it – that’s all I have to say. Enjoy your pet.” He turned to walk down the stairs and as I closed the door I was certain I heard him mumble, “Don’t see what’s wrong with a dog myself.”
I picked up the box – I had set it at my feet whilst I locked the door – and carried it through to the living room. I placed it gently on the Turkish rug and fetched a pair of scissors. I snipped carefully along the masking tape at both sides. I wondered what it must be like for my new pet as the first shaft of pure light fell into the darkness. I then got to work at easing apart the lid of the box – I didn’t dare use my scissors, fearful of damaging my Pet-Z. Finally I prised it open and looked now at my new pet.
It was hunched in the corner. About the length of my forearm, it was a curious greyish colour, almost a mushroomy blue, with six long segmented legs and an insectile face. Its eyes were enormous and black. They quivered wetly as the creature turned its head and looked up at me. It was hairless and had moving mouth parts similar to a fly. I saw myself reflected in its globed eyes – a dim, shadowy figure. The pet squeaked and chittered, then scuttled from the box and up my arm before I could take another breath. It nestled into my neck and I could feel its slightly pulpy body contracting and pulsing as it breathed. I felt the corners of my mouth peel back in distaste. I hadn’t liked the way it moved. Not at all.
I resisted the urge to throw back my shoulders and shake it off. It hummed softly in my ear as if content. Carefully I reached up and plucked it off me. It was soft-skinned, but its flesh felt muscular and sinuous underneath. Its six legs waggled in the air. It chirped at me.
“Hello,” I said, trying to sound pleasant. “Are you hungry?”
It chirped again. Two antennae felt the air, as if tasting the atmosphere. I set it back into the box, next to a slim packet of food.
“You stay there,” I said. Immediately it left the box, lurching itself up over the side, scuttling across the floor. It was exploring its surroundings, making an odd clicking noise as if it was humming to itself. I watched, fascinated, unable to draw my eyes away. Its legs moved a bit like a spider or a centipede. I felt a shiver shoot up my spine, like the Pet-Z had burrowed under my shirt and ran up my back.
I had seen them before of course. As I said, I had watched videos online and I had passed several in the park, following their owners obediently. Why hadn’t I noticed their sinister scuttling gait then? Instead I thought their movement had been charming, fast-paced and almost comical. But faced with my own Pet-Z, I noticed how alien it was. Its first two legs seemed to feel as much as its antennae, working out the path ahead. Perhaps it was the lack of noise in the park – the sound was deadened by the damp grass. But here, when it left the rug and crossed the floorboards, I could hear the persistent clicking, almost like fingers dancing over the keys of a typewriter.
It darted around the room before coming promptly back to me.
I picked up the food package and shook it. It rattled like it was filled with pebbles. Its legs tapped in anticipation – I noticed a small sheet of paper had been hiding beneath the food packet. I picked it up. It was a cheaply produced mock-up of a birth certificate with the words “It’s a Girl!” in looping, pink cursive. There was a dotted line where you could fill in its name and an online code. I put it on the coffee table to examine later and walked across to fill the food bowl. The guidance on the back of the pack suggested three teaspoons of pellets for young Pet-Z. I filled the bowl and felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise as it – she – scuttled over. She ate noisily, drawing the reddish brown pellets into her mouth with her feelers and her dexterous front legs. The food smelt of dried meat that was beginning to turn. She seemed to enjoy it, making contented purrs as she shovelled it in, pellets falling from her maw and bouncing in the bowl and onto the floor. I tried to look at her objectively, to see the pet I had so desperately wanted.
I couldn’t find anything remotely cute about her, except from her big, quivering, wet, black eyes.
Within two weeks we had settled into an uneasy routine. I had decided to call her Elaine. Elaine was the name of the girl who had first broken my heart. She had been wholly uninterested in me and got with my friend David at my sixteenth birthday party. I couldn’t tell if it was a tribute to my lost teenage love or an insult. I decided not to examine my complicated feelings around this.
This new Elaine, in contrast, was incredibly affectionate. She wound around my feet whilst I poured cereal at the kitchen countertop or sat to work, her feelers tickling my ankles, making me tense up. Whenever I sat on the sofa, she skittered across to me, crawling up and trying to fit her body alongside mine. I would nudge her away but every effort to teach her boundaries proved fruitless. The more I tried to establish distance the closer she got, her feelers appealing to me, waving in supplication. I shut her into the living room each night. I couldn’t have her in bed with me – I would never be able to sleep. Every night, I lay awake, listening to the tip-tapping of her feet as she scuttled across the room. I suppose she was searching for me, for some comfort, like a motherless puppy.
When I re-entered the living room in the morning, she would rush at me, chirping, suddenly ungainly in her need, almost tripping over her trembling legs.
“Whoa! Steady, Elaine,” I would say with a false grin, as she scrambled up my body to kiss at my face with her feelers, her touch exploratory and as light as feathers.
Then I would feed her, she would eat her breakfast with indecent enthusiasm and we would prepare for our daily walk.
Everywhere I looked now I saw Pet-Z and their owners. It was like walking through an alien world. Pet-Z were on every street corner, leashed and gambolling alongside their humans. Some of them were clearly older than Elaine and twice as large. They dominated the parks, chasing merrily after dogs – who seemed to like playing with them – and receiving hearty pats from passers-by. Elaine always pulled at the lead, desperate to join in, quivering all over with excitement. I never let her. I had no desire to be in the centre of thirty or so clacking legs, all moving at different times. I would tug her away and cross the street, or slope into a far empty corner of the park and smoke under a tree.
The more time we spent in public, surrounded by Pet-Z the more I realised that my aversion to Elaine, my distaste for her, was abnormal. I watched humans pick up the creatures and bury their faces, smiling, kissing, cooing, into their wriggling bodies. I saw children slip bits of their lunch under café tables, straight into the receptive, open maws of their Pet-Z.
It was clear I was the strange one. I was the only person who couldn’t seem to relax around these things.
After six months Elaine was much larger. She was now as thick and long as a log, and her legs moved twice as fast. I could barely support her now when she crawled up my leg in the morning and I knew soon she would become too heavy for me to lift off the sofa. I now spent an unhealthy amount of time scrutinising my fellow human beings. I tried to detect flickers of distaste or discomfort but there were none. Everyone seemed to love their Pet-Z. Everyone but me.
I tried to look up re-homing options but there was no public avenue to do so. The only information I found disheartened me and I quickly gave up on the idea of giving Elaine to a more loving family.
Apparently Pet-Z are unable to switch affections, like dogs are known to gradually do when rehomed. They are more like ducklings – they imprint. Being abandoned would leave them with a broken heart. It’s important to note that even this was speculative. It seemed that no one had yet abandoned their Pet-Z and I didn’t want to be the first. I worried about what all this said about me – was I really so cold and uncaring?
Apart from anything else, I had grown largely used to Elaine. The way she moved still unnerved me and sometimes I would feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise as she scurried towards me. But, selfishly, I liked the way she loved me, the way she devoted herself completely to me. I didn’t want her to fall sick from abandonment anxiety and heartbreak. But I was also glum and felt a little ill when I contemplated her life span – thirty years. Thirty years of Elaine being the first thing I saw in the morning. Thirty years of her trying to press herself against me, cooing. Thirty years of cloying, insectile love. She reminded me of a large grey centipede missing the required number of legs. Her eyes, however, remained distinctly puppyish even as she grew older – they were wide and sweet.
When I was a boy I had a fear of centipedes. I could pluck spiders from my sister’s bedroom walls and put them out to the shed or the garden with no fear. I didn’t mind wasps, even in late summer when they got sugar drunk and aggressive. But centipedes, which I used to find under our damp old rugs, and out in the rotting woodpile, terrified me. They would scuttle out whilst I was trying to collect logs for the fire, their legs moving independently of each other in eerie undulations. One memorable morning a centipede ran up my arm and I screamed, logs tumbled onto the ground. My shrill cry of pure terror startled my dad and he dropped and broke his coffee mug on the patio stones. I got a slap across the back of my legs for that. I never quite recovered from the incident. When I was asked to fetch firewood, I would whine and cry until I was sent to my room without tea. The hunger and the scratchy throat from crying seemed a small price to pay. I was terrified. Living in the city, I haven’t seen a centipede, or its slow-moving cousin the millipede, in years. I don’t know if I still have that phobia. But I do know that I don’t like the way Elaine moves. And I wonder if I would like Elaine more if she had eight legs and a silk sac. I worry that I probably would.
One Sunday I woke up, parched and hungover, in desperate need of a rehydration tablet, some paracetamol and a bacon roll. When I blearily opened the kitchen door, Elaine chirped and ran across to me. She pushed her broad head into my hands and her eyes shone as she rubbed her flank against me, purring.
“Hello. I see you,” I muttered, holding her back. I hoped I was imagining the reproach in her eyes. I had been out drinking since four pm with a large group of friends. I groaned as I switched on the kettle and a wave of shuddering embarrassment rolled over me. I couldn’t be sure but I thought I had probably tried it on with Mary. She had been one of Lillian’s bridesmaids at the wedding. I had a vague recollection of being a couple of centimetres from her face, trying to convey how much I wanted her through my stupid blurry drunk eyes. I then dropped my two am packet of chips on her shoes and her lip had curled into a sneer. She reminded me of Lillian, then. Thinking about the chip fiasco suddenly reminded me that I hadn’t fed Elaine her dinner. I felt another lurch of guilt and shame.
“Here,” I said apologetically, ripping open a new packet of pellets. She fell onto them hungrily.
“I can’t even look after myself. How am I supposed to look after you, too?” I opened the fridge and pushed aside a lump of hardened mouldy cheddar to get to the bacon.
After I had my sandwich and a cup of coffee, I sat on the sofa and let Elaine nestle into me. I stroked her absently, my hand slipping over her cool flat head. I didn’t mind moments like this. The moments where she was stationary and silent, and I could almost feel the strength and heat of her love. It was enough to make me feel wanted – I needed it after Mary’s rejection. I petted her for much longer than usual, aware that I had slipped straight to bed the night before and Elaine had been locked in the kitchen alone for hours and hours.
“Why don’t I take you for a walk?” I decided. I wanted to make it up to her. She wriggled up me, her feelers kissing my cheek.
“You like the sound of that, don’t you?” I shoved her off me and stood up. A walk would do me good, too. I needed the fresh air.
The sky was grey – clouds rolling ominously along the horizon. A fine drizzle wetted my skin and Elaine snuffled along the puddles. We went to the green, which was mercifully quiet. I took a deep breath to steady myself then let Elaine off her lead. She immediately darted away, falling and rolling on the damp grass. I watched her play and smoked a cigarette. She came back to me often, as if reassuring herself of my continued presence. As I ground the butt under my foot, I saw a hazy figure approach, three lumpy silhouettes in tow.
“Elaine,” I barked. She came back to me immediately. I put her lead back on, preparing to head back. As the man and his Pet-Z came into focus, Elaine pulled at her leash, backside waggling.
“Elaine,” I said warningly. To my irritation, the man made a beeline towards us, beaming down at Elaine. He had soft springy hair that caught at the rain droplets, and three hulking Pet-Z, all larger and fatter than my own pet.
“She’s beautiful,” he said looking down at Elaine as she prostrated herself before him, her belly up and glistening like a fish. I watched her roll around and made myself smile tolerantly. He rubbed her abdomen and she wriggled in delight. He stood up, grinning.
“Really, she’s gorgeous. There’s some of them only an owner can love, eh? Bit stunted, a bit squashed in, no quite right. A bit like Ricky here.” He patted one of his brood affectionately. I couldn’t see anything noticeably different about Ricky. He looked like every other Pet-Z to me.
“You have three,” I exclaimed weakly, watching as Elaine’s feelers met and tickled at the feelers of another pet.
“I can’t get enough of them,” he looked down at them affectionately. “We talked about getting a fourth but my wife was not for it.”
“Is she…? Does she not like them?” I ventured cautiously in a hushed tone. Even the mere suggestion seemed dirty somehow.
“Oh, no! She loves them, of course. Says she couldn’t get another kind of animal now. That’s it for her budgies. It’s all about the Pet-Z now, so it is. They’re just costly to buy from the breeders. Rover was our first.” He indicated a particularly beastly Pet-Z, the length of my leg and double the width. Its sides were bulging with muscle – it was a meaty specimen.
“Digger and Ricky we got from breeders. Ricky was the runt of his hatch.”
I watched as his Pet-Z converged around Elaine. I had the suspicion they were communicating through their light touches and quiet chirping. It made me feel uneasy.
“If you’re interested in breeding her, I can set you up.”
My head snapped back up. “Breeding her?”
“Aye, she’d give you some good strong pups. And it looks like she’s getting to that age. Aye! Look, she’s putting on a wee dance for Rover, aren’t you, doll?” I looked at Elaine as she wriggled her lower half excitably. Rover was sniffing at her with an indecent intensity.
“Oh, no…I don’t think…” I began, trying to hide my horror. Did they live birth or lay eggs? Why hadn’t I ever thought about it before? I assumed they had all been concocted in test tubes and were sterile – an immaculate scientific conception. This man’s multi-generational Pet-Z proved otherwise.
“There’s a strong community of breeders now. Even talk of setting up a show, like Crufts. And there has been some beautiful pups. Albino ones white as fresh snow. There was a blue merle one up in Abernethy, just the one. This was before we got Ricky here. Never seen anything like it. Dappled blue and grey, just like a collie. Stunning wee thing. Of course it went for thousands. Reserved as soon as it was born. My missus was in love with it but I’ve no got that kind of money!” He laughed agreeably, giving me a wink. I smiled back weakly.
“I can’t. That’s not for me – for us.” I tugged Elaine away from Rover.
“Fair enough. It’s painful for the females. Difficult to witness. But the results are worth it.” He looked at Elaine wistfully then plucked a business card from his wallet.
“Here’s my number in case you change your mind.”
“Thanks. See you later,” I slipped it into my pocket without looking at it.
I trudged away and Elaine followed reluctantly. The man watched her go, smiling; his eyes were soft and gooey like he was looking at a kitten or a baby.
I shut Elaine into the kitchen and lay in my bed, morose. I sat up periodically to slug at my Lucozade but otherwise was horizontal. I felt very sorry for myself. Meeting that man had lowered my mood even further. He had been so invested and so proud of his Pet-Z. What was wrong with me? Listening to Elaine skitter about the kitchen made bile rise up the back of my throat, bitter and burning. I wanted to meet just one person who felt like I did – one person who had been disappointed by the creature he had taken so naively into his home. I scrolled through the internet on my phone listlessly, looking at feeds and comments under videos. The problem was the apparent chasm between opinions on Pet-Z. I seemed to be the only one who had fallen into the gap. People either loved them or they hated him. But they only hated them because of their own prejudice or moral beliefs. There was the fringe element of violent dissenters and also those who spurned them on religious or ethical grounds. Nobody mentioned their appearance or showed any revulsion in their leaflets or protests or online rants – in short, nobody felt like me. Now, a lot of the protests had gradually dissolved and some of the animal rights activists had even succumbed to the lure of a loving pet. The people who violently objected to Pet-Z didn’t have an issue with their appearance or behaviour either. They were the sort of people who refused vaccines and spurned masks – the kind of people who believed in global conspiracies. They thought Pet-Z were planted with bugs, that the Government were listening and collecting personal information to use against us. They thought that powerful people could flick a switch in the White House and get them to attack us en masse. Most of it was online – in tweets and in subs. But there had been a few acts of rebellion and violence.
Last week a Pet-Z lab in London had been burnt down. A solemn reporter had stood in front of a billowing column of black smoke, unable to keep the tears from his eyes. I had seen videos on Twitter from eyewitnesses. You could hear the Pet-Z in the burning building – their high-pitched keening, the crackle as skin blistered and split and crisped up.
Some had escaped the holding pens and imprinted on their attackers, who had rushed the flames, black-clad, balaclavas hiding their faces, as they crushed and stamped at them with their Reeboks and army boots.
The poor little things squealed and writhed, looking up at the person they had been created to love, still loving them as they were smashed and beaten to a sticky pulpy mass. It was difficult to watch. I knew I could never hurt Elaine like that. It was the worst imaginable thing to do – like kicking a baby, something trusting and loving and fresh.
In the darkest hour of my hangover, clutching a pillow to my ears as she whimpered in the next room, I imagined getting rid of her. I thought about slipping poison in her bowl, in with her pellets. But she trusted me – I couldn’t hurt her. Nobody, nothing, had ever loved and admired me like she did. It felt hopeless.
I spent weeks scrolling for information on Pet-Z. I neglected my work, my diet, any form of exercise. I stopped taking Elaine for walks – instead I picked up her shit and put it in the outside bin. She was full of nervous energy. It was almost like she could sense my depression, my anxiety. She constantly tried to touch me, to snuggle into my neck. I pushed her away. Once I started crying, “No. Please, no. Leave me alone. Just leave me alone.” And I felt her probing little mouth, tasting my tears.
I didn’t neglect her completely. Sometimes I wrapped her up in a blanket so I could just see the top of her head, her big wet puppy dog eyes. I felt a rush of dopamine then. I would cradle her in her shroud. They had got the eyes right – those NexTGenPet scientists. I felt paternal and protective, something primal coursed through me as I rocked her and she purred.
But most of the time she repulsed me. And neither of us could change this dynamic. The more she wanted my acceptance, the more she frightened me. I would wake gasping from nightmares where thousands of legs crawled up my spine and thrust into my mouth, choking me, reaching down my throat – I couldn’t breathe!
One morning I came into the kitchen and found tufts of greyish fur around the door. There was a clump, quivering, at Elaine’s maw. I pulled it from her curiously, stepping into something wet and soft. I shrieked as I realised I had trodden on a half-eaten mouse. I scrubbed stringy pink flesh from my slipper then vomited. I discovered, online, that Pet-Z were great pest-catchers – they ate bugs, spiders, even mice. “And they’re so hygienic!!! Best pets ever!!!”
I was an anomaly, a freak. People gushed about Pet-Z online, so much so that I took down Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. I couldn’t bear seeing all those pictures of Pet-Z and their proud, happy owners. A Reddit user spoke at length about how he could trust his Pet-Z around his newborn, something he could never do with his dog. “Dogs are domesticated, sure. We all know that. But they still come from something wild. That wildness will always be in them, no matter what. But Pet-Z are just pure love. And they love your offspring too – something to do with genetics I guess, but Candy looks after my kid like her own!”
I thought having a pet would cure my loneliness, but I had never felt more isolated and cut off from the rest of the world. The Americans and the Chinese had caught the bug, too. Pet-Z were everywhere.
But then I found something. A small comment in the corner of the internet, under a YouTube video. Just one word – “Gross”. I stared at it, feeling the underside of my jaw ache. I had been clenching at it as I read the comments under My Pet-Z Has Her First Bath :)
Gross? I hesitated, not daring to believe just yet. Was there somebody else out there like me? I clicked on their profile and read through their other video comments.
“I don’t like them.”
“They creep me out.”
“AM I THE ONLY ONE THAT THINKS THEY’RE WEIRD???”
I put down my phone and had my first full night’s sleep in about two months. I woke up, refreshed, and then clicked on their profile link to Instagram.
Derek, 28, Civic Engineer. I sat back, disappointed. Half of his Instagram feed was pictures of his Pet-Z. Was I too late? Had he been converted? I checked the YouTube comment again – it had only been posted a day ago. I scrolled down. All the photos of his Pet-Z zoomed into its face. Admittedly they looked sweet when all you could see was their big eyes and thin little faces. I paused, deliberating, then re-downloaded Instagram and sent him a message.
I tried not to think too hard about it – I didn’t want to talk myself out of it.
“Hey, I came here from your YouTube. I don’t like the way they look either.”
I set down my phone and it buzzed immediately.
“Hey man. They’re weird right, make my skin crawl haha.”
“But you have one?”
“Yeah. Have you got one? Where are you? I don’t think I should talk about it here.”
“Glasgow. Yeah, I got one. Talk about what?”
“OK, I’m in Leeds. Do you think you could make your way down? Take your pet.”
I set my phone down, surprised. I didn’t know this guy – why was he so willing to meet? What was the urgency? Was there something he could do to help? The first thought that rushed to my head was hypnosis or cognitive behaviour therapy. Clearly something in his life had changed – judging by his Instagram alone he seemed devoted to his Pet-Z. I chewed my lip anxiously and picked up my phone again. It felt a bit like a spy movie. Questions continued to assault my brain – why couldn’t he just tell me? If he had a Pet-Z, why did he publically hate them so much? His Pet-Z looked better fed and more loved than Elaine. A surge of guilt rushed through me. I had to do something, not just for me but for her as well. She didn’t deserve to live like this – locked away, pining for me. Besides I was desperate to meet someone like me – to feel that I wasn’t alone anymore.
“OK, I can get a train tomorrow?”
“Cool. You should book a hotel too. A pet friendly one. Text me details, when you arrive etc.”
I booked my train and hotel. I didn’t want to over-think it or give myself a chance to chicken out. Whatever was happening, whatever Derek knew, he had managed to overcome his fear of Pet-Z. Or maybe just his fear of his own. That was all I needed. A cure. A way to love Elaine back like she needed.
Elaine was beyond excited to leave the flat. I looked at her listless, pale skin – the slight scabbing on her head from where she had butted against the door again and again – and felt awful.
“I’m sorry, I’m going to see if we can make this all better,” I whispered. She wrapped herself around my legs and purred lovingly.
The journey was uneventful. Elaine played with some children on the train as I ate a sandwich, drank a can of beer and got some sleep. At Leeds Station we disembarked and I looked for Derek. He was waiting by the exit. He was alone – no Pet-Z in sight.
“Hey, man,” he slapped my back. Elaine tried to reach him to say hello but he quickly stepped away from her.
“What’s happening? What’s going on?” I asked.
“I can’t talk about it here, out in the open. I know, I know!” he laughed, throwing up his hands, “It sounds ridiculous. Look, I’ll take you back to my flat – you can meet Thad. Thaddeus, my little man.” There was genuine affection in his voice. I narrowed my eyes, trying to get a feel for who Derek was. I didn’t feel threatened or uncomfortable so I followed him, alert and cautious. We walked for around twenty minutes, Derek talking about his job and his brother and his old flat. Innocuous, harmless subjects. His current flat was modern and large with high ceilings. As he unlocked the front door, I listened for the scuttling of his Pet-Z. I couldn’t hear anything – no loud, unsettling tapping. The door swung open and I saw Thaddeus sitting in the hallway. My mouth fell open. Thaddeus had the big wet eyes of a Pet-Z and he had the grey-blue colouring and thin, intelligent face but the similarities ended there.
“Hey, Thad!” Derek’s voice raised in pitch, like he was talking to a baby. “Hey, little man!” he cooed. Thad lurched towards us, ungainly on his four shortened legs. He walked like a new-born calf – treacherously and slowly. His legs shook slightly from the effort. I noticed stitching on his legs, his body – which was also shorter than a regular Pet-Z. Elaine, who had been straining at her leash, stopped short and looked up at me curiously. I watched Thad kiss at Derek’s hands, cooing softly like a pigeon.
Derek turned to get my reaction. He laughed, “That’s what I was like when I first saw Thad after the operation – stunned.”
“I- I...” I stuttered.
Thad staggered towards me, greeting Elaine along the way. He pushed his head gently against my leg and I looked down at him. He was really very sweet-looking. I felt my heart soften as I cupped his face in my hands. “Hello, boy,” I said weakly.
Thad trilled before returning to Derek, his new legs shaking tremulously.
“How?” I managed. I was aware that Elaine had drawn back slightly, uncertain – not her usual boisterous self.
“Well, it’s not exactly ethical. Come through,” Derek beckoned me into the living room. He brought through two bottles of beer and Thad settled at his feet.
“So…Ah, where do I even begin?” Derek laughed. “I’m sure this will sound familiar to you. I was so excited for my Pet-Z. I had done my research, I was confident I wanted one. But when he arrived, I just couldn’t… He scared me. The way he moved, the sounds he made. Honestly I was petrified.”
Elaine was pressed flush against my leg, staring across the room at Thad. I was so engrossed, I didn’t notice her touch.
“I got speaking to a mate of mine, a surgeon friend, and I just confessed. I couldn’t take it anymore. I thought about killing myself all the time and I needed someone to talk to. He went away and thought about it, then said he could help. It wasn’t going to be cheap, he said, and it’s not for everyone but he thought he could probably work on Thad – make him more…ah, palatable for me. I jumped at it. The thing is, I had such complicated feelings about him. I mean, he’s the sweetest soul in the world – I just couldn’t stand the way he looked. I don’t know why – I just hated being near him. You get it.”
I nodded fervently.
“So my mate, Alex, he sorted it. Hired out a place after hours, did the op. I took Thad home that night, all wrapped up in my arms so other people couldn’t see.”
“What about people now? What do they think?”
“Oh, I can’t take him out and about. People wouldn’t understand, they wouldn’t get it. But I wasn’t taking him out anyway back when I was scared of him. He’s happy here, as long as I’m here. Besides, he can’t really walk far now.”
I looked down at Thad. I couldn’t deny it – I liked the way he looked. He was more like a hairless dog now or a big piglet.
“How do I…? Could I speak to your friend?” Just asking made me feel a bit sick, like I was betraying Elaine, cutting into her with a scalpel myself. But Thad looked happy, he was still infatuated with Derek and it seemed like he had a good life.
“I thought you might be interested. I’ve already spoken to him – he can do it tonight. Four thousand pounds. I’ll drive you back to Glasgow tomorrow for petrol money. You couldn’t sit with her on the train all bandaged up – people would look at you funny. You in?”
“Really? You’d help take us back? I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you…”
“Mate, it’s a favour. I want to help. I know how it feels – it feels like shit. I thought I was the only one, I guess I’m just glad I’m not alone.” He grinned at me.
“OK.” I took a deep breath to steel myself. I didn’t look down at Elaine. I didn’t want to see her questioning eyes. “Let’s do it.”
The “lab” was a kind of warehouse – large, grey and empty – in an industrial estate. Dr Alex was waiting, already dressed in scrubs, when we pulled up in Derek’s car. Elaine hummed nervously in the backseat. The night air stung my face as I pulled Elaine out of the car and led her into the warehouse. A big metal slab of a table was set up, surgical instruments gleaming on a tray. Dr Alex was friendly, a large capable-looking man with steady hands.
“If you want to just get her up on the table, I’ll sedate her.”
“She won’t feel anything?” I checked as I picked her up. She wriggled in my arms – it was the first time she had ever pulled away from me like that. I could feel her heart beating against my hand. Did she know what was about to happen? How could she?
Alex and Derek exchanged looks. “I’m afraid we don’t know the quantities yet. We don’t want to risk sedating her too heavily, so there is a chance – quite a strong chance – she will feel it. She just won’t be able to move.” Or run away, I thought.
I hated the idea of Elaine hurting but this was for both of us. I had to think of this operation as necessary, as life-changing. Life-saving even. We could finally be happy, we could finally love each other like we were supposed to.
“OK,” I assented. Alex immediately stuck a syringe into Elaine as she struggled. Her movements slowed and I felt her weight deaden in my arms. I placed her on the table – she lolled, her eyes still wide open and pleading. I looked away.
“This will take some time,” Alex said, “A good few hours. And it’s not for the light-hearted. Are you definitely sure?”
I nodded grimly.
“All right, then.” He drew out a scalpel. It caught the light, winking at me. I stood back and watched, unable to tear my eyes away, complicit.
It was the hardest four hours of my life. I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried. Derek hugged me as I stood stock still, watching as Elaine was cut up into pieces. The pain must have been immense as she was able to thrash about a little and Alex had to get Derek to hold her down. I couldn’t move. The squealing was the worst part – she writhed and cried and looked at me with imploring eyes. Help me.
I couldn’t. I didn’t move once, filled with horror, with pity. At one point, as Alex was folding up part of her body, I uttered a faint, “Stop.”
“It’s too late,” Derek said, putting his arm around me, “He’s got to finish. I know it’s hard but it’s worth it.”
So I watched. I watched as Elaine was ripped open and pulled apart, as bits of her were taken away and dumped in a big oozing bin. The smell filled my mouth, the passage of my throat – it caught at my eyes. It was the smell of blood and flesh and insurmountable pain. She screamed. She made noises I had never heard before, from any animal, any human. Her eyes seemed to fill with tears. She kept searching, looking for me to save her. The sounds of her legs being pulled apart were the worst – a thick crunching. I could hear the tearing of her skin. Her blood was dark, a strange blue, as it puddled on the table. The doctor used antiseptic and threw blood-soaked rag after rag into the bin. At last she stopped screeching. I don’t think she was able to anymore. She lay still, silent, save for the occasional pathetic whimper. Alex continued to work, his face screwed up as he concentrated. He stitched quickly and efficiently. When an owl hooted outside he looked up sharply. What he was doing was very illegal – he was measured in his work but alert.
I looked at Elaine as she lay, still, a tear leaking out of one eye. She gazed at me but I could tell she didn’t see me. Imsorryimsorryimsorry.
Derek drove us home that night. I didn’t need the hotel after all. I held Elaine the whole way, like a swaddled baby – she was silent. Yellowish liquid seeped into the bandages. I was silent, too. I didn’t feel like talking and Derek didn’t try. When we got into the flat, I put her on the sofa. She didn’t acknowledge that she was home. She just lay there, bundled up, only her face showing. She was in too much pain to sleep. Occasionally she let out a faint, thin mewl and I clasped her to my chest. I took her through to my bed and slept with her that night and every night afterwards.
Her recovery was long and arduous and I kept her well-drugged on painkillers. But on the third day her eyes seemed to clear a little bit and she purred at me. I kissed her head.
“I love you,” I said fervently. I really meant it this time.
It was a couple of months before she could walk. She had to learn how to do it. She kept falling on her new legs and yelping at the pain. I helped her as best as I could, cleaning her wounds with antiseptic, apologising as she cried.
The first morning she walked to her food bowl by herself it was my time to cry. I cried hard. I hugged her to me and said, “Well done! Oh, well done, sweetie. I love you so much.” She nuzzled into me, vibrating with pleasure at my touch.
“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me – you make me so happy.” I started every day with affirmations. I didn’t have to search for them, they didn’t feel false in my mouth. I meant them. I loved her so much my heart ached. She was so adorable now, and still so loving. She never once looked at me with hate or fear, even though I deserved it.
When she was fully healed, I opened a bottle of champagne. She still couldn’t walk far or well, and she would never be able to, according to Derek who texted regularly to check in. But that didn’t matter – not to me. I had a pet who loved me and who I loved unequivocally. We cuddled on the sofa every night, even if I did have to lift her up. I took hundreds of pictures of her, as proud as any new dad. I just couldn’t show her off to anyone. That was hard – not being able to share how cute she was online. But it was a small price to pay.
I still don’t know if I did a terrible thing. I’ve decided not to over-analyse it. We’re happy. Elaine’s joints trouble her in the morning and if she’s too enthusiastic sometimes her skin rips and she needs a bandage. But we’re happy.
Sometimes I still dream about the operation, standing, rooted to the cold hard cement, watching her struggle and scream. But we’re happy. We got our happy ending.
The End
