The humans I have been studying have become increasingly erratic. I can't imagine these two living without a dog; they wouldn't last two days.
Mid-week, they began to fret about the weather. According to the all-knowing woman living in the tiny disc in the kitchen, frigid air was coming, and it would be the worst deep freeze ever. The weather was added to the list of things that would kill them: Variants, tots with guns, caravans of migrants driving up 95 to take your house, Chinese balloons, and Jewish space lasers.
I wasn't worried. The last time I stepped on the ground, standard time had yet to begin. I pee inside more and hit the target more frequently than my dad. I run errands with my parents but am safely in my bag. I hope it is insulated,
The wind howled ferociously and slammed into our tiny house built by Three Little Pigs Construction. I knew I needed to stay near my parents, so I wouldn't get lost when the house blew away like Dorothy on her way to Oz. I was sitting on Mommy's lap, hoping to anchor her to the soft recliner because if we did take flight, I demanded to fly in comfort when suddenly we were in the dark, as our power went out.
My mom hates when that happens, plus with the cold, the threat of frozen pipes, and believing the pukwudgies were not done with us, she tensely waited for the power to return; my parents were no longer connected to their devices, and they reverted to what they did in the 80s, sitting in the dark, listening to each other breathe and praying for the sweet release of death.
But I refused to go into the cold night so quickly. Do you know how parents make a disaster plan and have a bag with everything they need to survive a catastrophe? Me neither: I became worried when I realized my parents were woefully unprepared.
In the dark, my dad turned on the faucets to keep them from freezing, and it made me think somewhere in the house, an old man had broken in and was relieving himself.
He then found the flashlights in the closet. One didn't work, one barely worked, and one was shaped like a lantern, which caused me to mistake him for Bray Wyatt and bark ferociously at him.
Then he began looking for the candles hidden in a Tupperware container in the laundry room closet. He opened it, then, because he doesn't smoke, was slightly less successful at striking a match than Charle Brown was at kicking the football.
The candles were scented, which did not give off much light but would cover the smell of decaying bodies when someone checked on us in the spring.
Daddy got out the blankets, then found a podcast about mental health and people wanting to kill themselves, and it made me think of technology. The Donner party had to bring depressing books that made them wander into the dark woods and die with them, but thanks to the iPhone, they are readily available for people who want to be pushed to the edge but don't want to risk eye strain.
Luckily the lights came on before total despair set in, the pipes froze, and most importantly, I missed supper.