Dawnie-7 and Captain Blackbird: Thanks so much for the reviews guys! It's great to know somebody's reading and enjoying this :)
Mort awoke with a jerk and remembered what had been nagging him earlier. Pulling on his shoes, he headed out to the Jeep and his forgotten new house guest.
He walked carefully around the spilled dog food on the porch and around the side of his Jeep. It was dark out now and when he opened the passenger's door, the overhead light came on. He watched Sandy the rat scurry into dark security of the cardboard box. Mort wondered if he'd act the same way if the sky above him opened up and the night was suddenly lit from a surprise, unnatural light source. Considering he barely left his cabin these days, he decided that reaction was a distinct possibility.
Mashing down thoughts of the sky opening above him, Mort cursed his writer's brain.
'Month's of block and NOW you want to give me ideas?' he snarked inside his mind and he lifted the cage off the seat.
"On the other hand, if you help me get my writing going again, you might just convince me to kick Chico out of his chair and give it to you," Mort said to the hiding rat.
Making his way again very carefully around the spilled food, Mort decided somebody was going to have to clean that up. Considering Mrs. Carvey wasn't due in until the day after tomorrow, Mort narrowed down the possible cleaners quickly.
"Chico!" Mort hollered as he stepped back into the cabin, this time leaving the door leading to the porch open behind him. "Get you furry butt down here mister!"
Surprisingly, moments later, Mort heard the squeak and thump that signaled Chico getting off his chair. Mort watched as the canine deftly navigated the unseen stairs.
"Chico, I got you fo-"Mort began, stopping when his canine's still fully functional nose led the blind dog right past his master to the trail of spilled dog food.
"You're welcome," Mort grumbled. Lumbering up the stairs, caged rat still in hand, he continued, "Why no, faithful companion, it was no trouble at all going 20 fucking miles into the city, braving nosey shop keepers, talking about YOUR lack of bodily actions to fawning ladies. I just LOVE getting out for some fresh air and civilization," he finished, his tone dripping sarcasm.
Mort set the cage down on the side of his cluttered desk. "And one more thing," Mort added, raising his voice to carry down to the main level and out onto the porch where he could just make out the sounds of happy munching, "You remember this next time you come looking for Doritos, buddy. Oh you might feel fine now, but just remember how you felt earlier."
Mort flopped down in his desk chair. Today he'd talked more than the last three weeks combined. His throat actually felt somewhat raw though he'd barely raised his voice.
'Yeah, talk on the phone, uh-huh,' he thought in disbelief, remembering the dream.
Looking over at Sandy, he found the critter still hiding in his box, but now Mort could make out the rat's face at the opening, staring back at him. "If you start telling me to make phone calls I'll put you out on the porch with Chico," he threatened before moving to turn on his monitor.
Mort stared at the blank screen.
And stared.
And stared.
He stared until the square of light was visible even when he shut his eyes, burned into his memory. It was a blank square, a blank screen, and it had been blank for months now.
He could feel ideas itching to pour themselves out of his fingertips but somewhere between the creative part of his brain, and the part of actually controlled typing and organization, things got lost. Somewhere deep in his mind was the greatest story he'd never written.
It would have been nice to actually know what it was about though.
And that was what really drove him nuts about the situation: he knew the ideas were in him somewhere. He could feel them trying desperately, attempting to leap out of his brain. The ideas though, he had no clue what they were whatsoever. Even if he'd had an inkling he could have used it, could have written SOMETHING but as it was, no matter how hard he tried, not a damn thing came out. And unlike Chico, Mort couldn't blame the Doritos.
Mort glanced over at Chico's chair. He often looked at and spoke to Chico when he got stumped. Truth be known, Chico was just about the only other living soul with whom he had spoken more than a few words in months and it was always a rather one sided conversation at best.
The chair was now empty, Mort could still hear the crunching of kibble drifting through the open space of the cabin, up to his desk. He hoped Chico wouldn't eat so much that he got sick. Having just cleaned up the not so little "present" in his living room a few hours ago, Mort decided he REALLY didn't want to deal with anymore of that, he definitely didn't want his dog to have the opposite problem of the earlier situation.
It reminded Mort of when they'd first brought Chico home as a puppy. Amy had insisted an Australian Cattle dog was the perfect breed for them. After reading a couple books, Mort was considerably less sure...
"But Mort he's perfect," Amy said as they sat on the floor of their home. They were sitting with their backs against the sofa, watching the tiny puppy madly romp around and play with his new toys.
"I'm not saying he's not cute, honey. I'm just saying he needs a lot of exercise. The books say he needs to run-"
"He can go jogging with us every morning," Amy had said, not seeing the problem.
"Yeah, but what if we don't always go jogging?"
"What are you talking about? You love jogging."
"Right now, yeah. But what if we stop doing that?"
"Oooooh," Amy said, figuring him out. "You mean what if one of these days those mornings we skip and spend 'in bed' pays off." She looked happy he was thinking about that.
It wasn't what he'd meant at all.
"Well, I guess you'll have to go without me for awhile then," Amy said, matter of factly. She grabbed the end of a toy as little Chico tugged at it.
"Yeah, but what if I don't want to go alone?"
"Mort," Amy said, her tone changing to reflect the fact that she thought he was obsessing over a moot point. "You ran before you met me and I'm sure if I couldn't go you'd still do it."
"But if you're not there-"he'd began. Even today, Mort still remembered the end of that unsaid line, "But if you're not there maybe I wouldn't have a reason to do it." But he'd never finished that thought because the little puppy had decided that it was washroom time right then and there on the carpet. The interruption had ended the conversation and Mort had never brought it up again.
It was a good thing Chico was as old as he was now because Mort couldn't jog to the end of the driveway, let alone around the lake like he'd used to. Hell, lately he was hard pressed to haul his dragging ass off the couch. Sometimes Chico was the only reason he bothered to get up, after all, with the exception of ripped and spilled bags, the dog couldn't very well feed himself. Maybe it was a good thing he'd let Amy have her way and get Chico. If they'd bought a Basset Hound like he'd wanted, Mort would have been even more depressed when he looked away from his blank screen if he was met with a mournful expression.
At the moment though, there was no Chico in sight so his eyes roamed over to the cage at the edge of his desk. Sandy had his head poking out of the box, staring at Mort. The unblinking look reminded Mort of the enormous rat in his dream and he found himself again staring back. After several minutes Mort lost again.
'Loser,' his mind nagged right on cue.
Rubbing his now overly dry eyes, he turned back to his computer screen. After a few moments, Mort could feel an idea coming to the surface, ready to be created. His hands inched toward the keyboard, moving cautiously as though trying not to scare the thought away like a frightened animal. His fingers poised above the keys, ready to take commands from his too long deadened mind.
And then Mort Rainey made a fatal mistake.
Glancing over towards Chico's chair before beginning, his eyes were drawn to the cage. Sandy was staring at him. Mort looked back at the screen but again his attention shifted to the caged rodent before his first keystroke was made. Two black, unblinking eyes stared at him. Suddenly Mort was acutely aware of his audience.
Chico never stared at him like that. Of course Chico couldn't really SEE him so that could have something to do with it.
Now caught in another staring match, Mort felt the tip-of-his-fingertips idea being sucked back into the black hole that his brain had become. Looking up at the ceiling, (and losing your third man vs. rat staring match – but who's counting?) Mort sighed deeply and yanked both hands through his hair.
'What was that you said about not forgetting things?' his mind questioned right on cue.
Several minutes later Mort, now wrapped in his tattered robe, made his way back upstairs. He was determined to regain the idea he'd almost been able to know and express earlier. He carried with him the staples of a bag of Doritos and a can of soda. He also had something he'd purchased at the pet store when he'd got Sandy.
Mort dumped his meal on the desk before turning his attention to the cage. He looked down at the metal running wheel in his hands then to the small door on the side of the cage. It was quickly obvious that there was no way he could get the wheel inside without pulling the cage apart. Mr. Truple had warned him that Sandy had began to bite ever since his mate had escaped, so Mort was not eager about handling the unfamiliar animal.
'Uh huh, cause you need those fingers in tip-top shape for all the typing you're not going to do, right?'
Determined to fix the situation, Mort decided to dump the contents of the cage (Sandy and all) into his now empty waste paper basket. This was, of course, easier said than done.
After much fumbling, a couple curses and several close calls for his fingers, Mort finally had Sandy in the basket, a copy of one of his own hardbound books over the top to keep the animal contained. Sandy could see out the tiny holes in the wire waste basket and watched Mort's every move.
After some trouble, Mort got the wheel in and wired it to the side. He was still amazed how even the simplest of tasks were determined to make themselves as difficult as possible for him lately. Or maybe it was his fault, Mort was never really sure anymore.
'And there's a situation that's reminiscent of other things, huh Morty?'
Mort successfully returned his new pet to the cage, dumping wood shavings all over the floor in the process.
'Oh well, it'll give Mrs. Carvey something more to clean up,' Mort decided.
He set the cage back on the desk and plopped back down in his chair. He was more than ready for a nap now – after all he'd probably accomplished more today than the last 4 weeks combined. A nap wouldn't be unjustified but Mort had the feeling that if he didn't sit down and get something written his temporary flash of ideas and inspiration of earlier, would be lost forever.
Mort stretched and settled back to wait for Sandy to start running in his wheel. He saw the rat come out of the box and sniff at the new object, touching it with his little paws, giving it a test lick. It looked like he was poised to get running and Mort, satisfied with himself for finally solving a problem successfully, turned his attention back to the screen. Out of the corner of his eye he peeked at Sandy.
The rat had abandoned its investigation of the wheel in favor of watching Mort.
Of all the things that had happened to him today, this bothered Mort the most. He could deal with an ultimately unnecessary trip to town, with the embarrassment of discussing his dog's bowel movements with an attractive young lady. He could live with the fact that he cleaned up dog shit not three feet from his favorite sleeping place. He could stand that he was sometimes haunted by strange dreams that played like warped versions of ominous warnings. But he could not stand that Sandy the rat choose to play audience to his attempts to write after he'd given the critter a perfectly nice wheel to amuse himself with.
With an audible growl, Mort stood up and roughly grabbed the cage. He stomped down the stairs, stormed through the living room, intent on putting Sandy on the porch so he could get some writing done before he totally lost his idea, the idea he swore was ready to make itself known to him if he could just get some peace and time in front of his computer without a pair of black, unblinking eyes following his every move.
In his haste, Mort was not as careful as he had been earlier. Just outside the doorway he slipped on a stray dog kibble. There was an odd moment during his fall in which Mort noticed that his feel were higher in the air than his head and his robe was flying out around him like some kind of ineffective, backwards parachute.
"SHOOT!" he yelped as he fell, followed by a grunt of pain when his head finally met with the porch ground with a sickening thump. Unfortunately, his head contacted before his shoulders and back and the force was enough that Mort's vision instantly blacked out. As he quickly lost consciousness he wondered oddly that he had yelled "Shoot!" rather than his customary panic curse response of "Shit!"
Tbc...