Halfway up the hill, Morgan turned-off his headlights. There was a drop-off, to the right. I could see emptiness beneath us, blackness, and our impending explosion with one wrong turn. Morgan was driving Hitler’s car—a slug-bug. I wanted to hit him so hard. He was wearing his night-vision goggles that he used for hunting coyotes, or at least, that’s what he told me. Morgan lied to himself a lot.
“There’s the wall,” he said.
It followed the driveway for 50 yards, until, the gate.
There was a tower nearby, and one of those floodlights that wasn’t turned on. The place reminded me of a concentration camp.
“This is as a good a place as any,” Morgan said
“How do you plan on getting over the wall?” I asked.
“We’ll use my ladder.”
“I loan it to Charlie when he has to snake cats out of trees. It’s a foldable one that extends, see.” He popped the hood of his bug and retrieved it.
“It will support, even a guy like me.” He climbed to the top of the wall and looked over. “You’re not going to believe this.”
“What?” I asked.
“Well—do they look well-fed?”
“I can’t tell. All I can see are their yellow eyes. They’re black.”
“That’s bad luck.”
“Only if you believe it.”
“Isn’t that as stupid as saying, ‘Satan is only real, if you believe he’s real.'”
“That’s not stupid. There’s a rational explanation for everything.”
Hearing this from someone who was completely irrational, didn’t put my mind at ease.
Morgan went on, “When we get old, we want company. The older we get, the more cats we want, until, they start breeding. Then, they eat our food, and look at us with sandpaper tongues…”
To be continued…