Captain Blackbird: Thanks! And here's more...
Mort drove out of town with several big bags of dog food in the back seat along with the Pepto from the vet's. The whole excursion had been exhausting and Mort was reminded again of why he avoided leaving the cabin. He felt like he'd run a marathon and gone through final exams and been dumped before the prom.
At least he'd got what he'd needed.
'And something that you didn't,' he added, looking at the cage on the front passenger's seat. Inside was Sandy the rat, hiding in his box and hanging on for dear life as the Jeep bounced over the bumpy back roads.
Mr. Truple had let Mort have the rat for free, eager to get the no longer friendly animal out of his store. Mort wasn't sure what had possessed him to take the rat home.
'That's right, Mort, the cabin is home now, you're finally getting that through your thick skull, huh? Oh, by the way, it's so nice to see you're identifying with all the animals there Tarzan,' his internal voice snarked.
Mort turned on the radio to help drown out the sound inside his head. It had never worked before but he thought maybe one of these times the outside sound would be enough to keep things inside quieter.
Pulling into the driveway what felt like hours later, Mort got out of the Jeep and shoved the door shut only to remember he had stuff to bring inside.
'Isn't it enough that I drove all the way out there and bought it?' he whined internally.
For one long moment he seriously considered ripping open one of the bags of dog food and leaving the door of the vehicle open for Chico to climb in when he got hungry, but Mort really didn't want to have to chase out all kinds of wildlife next time he needed to drive somewhere.
'Great, it'd be an excuse to not drive.'
Reaching inside, Mort hefted one of the big bags onto his shoulder.
"Shit this is heavy. Come carry your own damn food Chico," Mort grumbled to himself, kicking the Jeep's door shut.
Mort tottered his way to the screen porch door, the food balanced precariously on his shoulder. It felt like it weighed as much as a person slung over his shoulder.
'Does that remind you of anything, Morty?'
He remembered the last time he'd tried to open the door with a burden on his shoulder:
It had been just after they'd signed the papers to buy the cabin, him and Amy. They'd driven right over and Mort had insisted on carrying Amy over the threshold.
Laughing Amy had protested, "It's not like we're exactly newlyweds Mort! You can put me down anytime now." Despite her words Mort had felt her tighten her hold around his neck, pull herself closer to his chest.
"Well, if you insist on fighting me..." Mort had said, grinning. He'd quickly maneuvered Amy from a wedding carry into an awkward, but effective, fireman's carry as he approached the screened porch.
"Mort!" Amy had screamed, from her position slung over Mort's shoulder, laughing as she kicked her legs futilely.
"Careful there, don't want to get one of those pointy shoes kicked right through the screen," Mort had said half in warning, half just to further tease his playfully struggling wife.
"Oh I'll tell you where these pointy shoes are going to end up, mister," Amy said. Her tone was threatening but the look on her face gave away her amusement as Mort set her down.
"Really?" Mort said, raising his eyebrows suggestively as he opened the screen door for her. Bowing like a gentleman, Mort held the door open and waited for Amy to go inside.
Slipping past him, Amy made sure to "accidentally" rub her denim clad rear against him.
"Promises, promises," Mort said, following his wife inside...
Repositioning the bag of dog food Mort fumbled with his keys. The bag felt about a hundred times heavier than Amy had and it wasn't doing any playful wiggling. Of course it wasn't going to bed with him either.
Mort made it inside the porch but failed to get the bag through before the swinging door clipped the end of it, ripping and spilling out kibbles.
"Shit!" Mort swore as he tried to right the bag but only succeeded in spilling more bits of food. Hurrying to the cabin door, a wide trail of dog food pouring out behind him, Mort slammed his keys into the handle.
By the time he managed to open the door most of the food was spilled out onto the porch and he was holding a considerably lighter bag.
He tossed the mostly empty bag onto the floor.
"I hope you know I'm not cleaning that up," Mort said to Chico, though the dog was nowhere in sight. "Better damn well appreciate all this."
Mort saw the couch beckoning him in all its cuddly, squishy, avoidance filled goodness. Suddenly he could think of nothing else.
'Just a few more steps,' he told himself, yanking off his coat and letting it fall to the ground. Mort toed off his shoes as he closed the seemingly never ending distance between him and his target.
And then he stopped cold.
Mort looked down only to find that the warm squishy substance he'd stepped his sock clad foot into wasn't a stray article of clothing like he'd hoped. Craning his neck around, Mort noted that he had indeed neglected to open the doggy door before leaving for town.
As the horrible smell finally hit his nostrils, Mort concluded that Chico was now over his problem.
Tbc...