spacecatfiction

[spacecatfiction]

Chapter 2 - Complicity

Brioche’s human is sometimes too trusting of strangers, especially if the stranger smiles a lot. Tess is such a stranger. Tess never stops smiling, even during a funeral, so she must very trustworthy. After announcing Brioche's good fortune of winning an all-expenses-paid trip to the moon, Tess told Brioche's human that Brioche will also be made the captain of a self-driving spaceship. Brioche's human said, "ah yes, of course you need a captain for a self-driving spaceship!"

Tess gave him some glossy pamphlets with information about FBS and this moon trip. Brioche's human then pocketed the pamphlets and said that he'll be in touch with more information she requested of Brioche in preparation for the trip, like Brioche's social security number, health records, full genetic profile, sleep pattern data, and email address. This is not a heavy lift since there are tons of data brokers out there that aggregated all this information.

So what's up with this Tess person? Tess is from LA, a city right next to Brooklyn (all the secondary cities relocated to Finland since mid-2800s). Her name didn't used to be Tess. She changed her name ever since she received a promotion/joined an exciting cult. Everyone at the management level changed their names to Tess and she just wants to be a part of a thing.

Tess was once a fart-scrubber operator. New LA has a smog problem, though it's caused by kale farts and not cars since Earth is all hydroelectric. The fart-scrubber is a giant contraption that sucks up all the poison from the air, buries the poison deep into its heart, and represses its feelings while it heavily self-medicates to keep us all safe. This scrubber is powered by a large hand crank. Tess used to wake up before sunrise to turn that hand crank and her shifts were 13 hours. She got one 30-minute lunch break and one 15-minute vice break (for a smoke, a quickie, etc.). Her employer openly violates labor laws, one of which require that employees get TWO vice breaks, not one, if their shift goes over ten hours. Labor laws aren't really enforced here because the monarchy, mostly made of cats and mostly has a ceremonial role, spends most of their time napping. LOVE IT OR LEAVE IT. That is the state motto. It also happens to be the only rule in the company's handbook. You can smell the freedom in the air.

The fart scrubbing job was grueling and Tess got one very beefy arm to show for it (she's right-handed and it's faster to use that arm). Yet, Tess never experienced dissatisfaction with her job because the corporation she works for has a mission statement, a personality, a mascot, and a theme song. It is family. It is life. She is part of something greater than herself. Also, she knows that if she works hard enough and with all the enthusiasm she can muster, she might be rewarded handsomely in this life or at the VIP lounge of the afterlife.

One day, her Team Leader called her when she was on the toilet (she was in the middle of her vice break). The Team Leader informed her of an opportunity for promotion. THIS. IS. IT. This is the moment she has been beefing up her right arm for all these years. This is her big break.

The company Tess works for is owned by a multi-planetary conglomerate and Martians have a majority of the shares. A bulk of this company's operations is related to maintenance of Earth's atmosphere and the shipment of goods from Earth to other planets. Team Leader told Tess that there is a need for cats, lots of cats, to support the war effort on Mars. There is a shipping operation that needs a manager to herd as many cats as possible, except for the ones with flat feet, and accompany them to Mars. Additionally, this operation is highly confidential. If word gets out about what the company is up to, there could be an uprising of cats and their lovers. Thus, this stealth operation needs to take the guise of a free trip paid for by the Feline Benevolent Society. Tess said she will do it.

This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for Tess. She dreamed of traveling and seeing the solar system, but she was never able to afford a space shuttle ticket. Also, this is Mars we're talking about. VIP only. Non-Martian humans are not allowed on Mars, but this mission enables her to accompany the cats and hang out at the Martian spaceport. While she's not allowed out of the spaceport into the VIP area (the whole planet), she might be able to hobnob with some Martians at the spaceport lounge. Also, she heard that there are some really cool up-and-coming satellites (LIC, Dumbo, etc.) revolving around Mars that give you a really sweet view of Mars. In a way, she's getting the better deal here, because she gets to enjoy the view of the VIP planet whereas Martians only get a view of the satellites.

Is it a problem that she's catnapping for a war effort, especially a war she knows very little about? Well, her company knows better than she does - they wouldn't be making so much money otherwise, and they're only making money because the market likes them. Consumers are free to vote with their dollars, so if they're doing a bad job, then they wouldn't be making so much money. LOVE IT OR LEAVE IT. But... does it matter that the public doesn't even know about this operation? Oooooh, look at that company swag bag Tess just got! A water bottle and a cool neon hat with the company's logo! And an executive pen and eco pleather notepad? She made it!!

Back to Brioche's human. Brioche's human was feeling sad as he searched for Brioche's passport. He wasn't allowed to accompany Brioche to this moon trip because the FBS said that it's very important for the cats to have a Safe Space* from their humans. "Oh, yes of course," said Brioche's human. Brioche's human thinks he understands what Safe Space means, but also, not really. Yet he's not going explore this by asking questions about what this term means, in part because he loves Brioche and just wants cats to be safe. Also, he's afraid of being offensive by asking the wrong questions. Researching cat political issues to understand their plight and to be able to ask more thoughtful questions seems like way too much work.

While he's sad that he can't accompany his best friend and only friend to the moon, he's also happy for Brioche because he wants him to have the experience of his lifetime. Brioche loves to eat and explore new places, so this trip is going to be really good for him.

*Not safe space in the solidarity and community-building sense in face of political marginalization. Just, you know, Safe Space.

[spacecatfiction]

[spacecatfiction]

[spacecatfiction]

Chapter 1 - I got carried away with this story

Prelude:

I said I will get only write short stories, spending no more than five minutes each, but then I got carried away so I guess I'm writing a novel now. This story is mostly based on real-life events.

Chapter 1:

Captain Brioche Fuzzy Pants is about to be sent on a mission to Mars. The problem is, he does not know what Mars is. He also has no concept of space. It’s unclear whether he even understands time. Does he know anything? All he knows is that someone is putting him in a rocket and things are about to get hairy. Hairier than his fuzzy pants.

How did he end up in this predicament? Well, let me tell you some things about Brioche that are completely unrelated to this question. First, a description of him so you can visualize this cat. Then, a back story, so you can get emotionally invested in him.

Brioche is a very large and fluffy orange cat. Twenty pounds and growing. He has tufts of hair sticking out of his ears and too much hair on his butt (a problem for his human when he makes mud pies). He has giant, heavy mitts and a stocky build that makes many exclaim, “wow! what a big boi!” at first sight. Some says he resembles a Norwegian Forest Cat. They are correct. Even though he was adopted from a dumpy little shelter from the middle of nowhere Brooklyn, he is in fact the semi-lost direct descendent of a Norwegian cat king and is the next in the line of succession to the Norwegian throne. When he was first adopted, his name from the shelter was “King”. His human renamed him to “Brioche” because it fits him better, given his loaf-like qualities. It’s not that he is undeserving of his former name – he is literally royal blood and a product of inbreeding – but Brioche fits him better because, like most monarchs, he achieved his royal status through the lucky royal sperm and egg lottery and not through merit. Sure, he is a part of the monarchy, but that doesn’t mean he behaves in a regal manner. By the way, this is how you know if someone is a true monarch. Unlike those nouveau-riche, social-ladder-climbing, power-hungry bourgeois wannabees, he simply IS a big fucking royal deal even when he’s just taking a shit in the middle of the kitchen floor while his human shouts “NO!” at him. If you have any doubts about what a big fucking deal he is - it is the year 4000 and the only countries left are the Nordic countries. The rest of the earth became a desert thanks to climate change. He’s literally next in line to rule most of planet earth.

Anyway, how did he end up in a space shuttle?

It is the year 4000 and most humans have given up on planet Earth after destroying its ecosystem. There are some remainders who are trying to make it work, such as Brioche’s humans, but most humans have migrated into space to resettle and started destroying other planets. One of the most exclusive planets is Mars. VIP only. Only one human ever landed there and no one else was allowed to join him because that’s how VIP it is. Yet today, there are about six thousand people living there.

Martian humans are weird (by earthly standards - they're perfectly normal to themselves). Most of them are very tall relative to earthlings given the lower gravity on Mars. Also, Martians evolved to have giant eyeballs to better take in the little sunlight they get. They’re covered in red dust, like all the time, so they just look very red. They're red even when they're washed because of rosacea and chronic inflammation from the red dust. Also, they all look about the same because everyone is a clone of a business magnate from the 21st Century who founded a space shuttle and a car company.

When the first Martian arrived, he genetically modified himself to self-replicate so he could have companionship. He didn’t bring a mate because that would water down the exclusivity of the place. Today, there are about six thousand copies of the original Martian. You’d think that these clones would live in an egalitarian society given that they’re clones, but it’s actually a very stratified society. Every time a clone duplicates, its clone is slightly taller. You can track who is the original Martian and who are the subsequent generations by measuring their height. On this planet, the shorter you are, the more powerful you are because the closer you are to the original source. The shortest guy is Daddy and he is worshipped like a deity. However, Daddy is mysteriously missing, so the political system is an oligarchy of the second-generation clones. Some say that Daddy is hiding and the oligarchs are taking orders from him, but who knows. The tallest Martians, the most marginalized clones, are frequently taunted with the slur “Twizzler.” These tall Martians have recently started reclaiming the slur and started calling themselves Twiz.

The Twiz has a designated role in the Martian society. They are tasked to be the rodent exterminators. When the first Martian travelled to Mars, a pair of deeply amorous rodents were engaging in a little afternoon delight inside a duct. Next thing you know, they’re making replicants and surviving off the space grains that Daddy grew on the spaceship. Daddy tried to kill all of them, but they were moving and breeding too fast. This was the beginning of the never-ending Martian-rodent war.

Today, the Twiz are tasked to do the dirty work of exterminating rodents so the rest of the Martians could live undisturbed. However, Twiz aren’t really good at their jobs because many among their ranks are engaging in silent mutiny and most just don't give a shit. Part of this is that Twiz don’t get to eat space grains – they derive nutrients from sucking on space dust and they’re not very happy with their food because space dust is gritty and dry.

The other thing is, there are some Twiz who befriended the rodents. Some Twiz feel a certain kinship to the rodents given their shared oppression. There are even rumors of romance among Twiz and rodents. One time, a Twiz said to another Twiz that he heard from Twiz’s roommate Twiz that Twiz saw Twiz’s best friend Twiz getting it on with a rodent in Twiz's bunker, and months later another Twiz told Twiz that he saw little red mice running around with Twiz-like appendages.

And this is where Brioche comes in. One day, one of the Martian oligarchs observed in a VIP meeting that they are losing this Martian-rodent war and running low on space grains. Another oligarch said, “aarrgggghh we gotta DO something about this man. No more theorizing and debating. Gotta PRAXIS!!! bruh" They realized the only way they could win this war is to finally ask for help, but they don’t want to work with other humans because of that VIP thing. So they decided to herd some cats, all of which are left on planet Earth.

Brioche is one of the cats drafted to this war effort. Brioche’s human was duped into thinking that Brioche won a free trip to the moon to collect some moon cheese, which supposedly tastes like parmesan, and so he agreed to let Brioche get into a spaceship. This space journey was organized by Tess, the Director of Operations of the Feline Benevolent Society (FBS). Brioche's human has never heard of this organization, but he thought the organization sounds legit after he Googled their 990 forms dating back a few years. "Yep, looks financially stable. And they have a board of directors," said Brioche's human.

And this is how Brioche finds himself on a mission to Mars.

[spacecatfiction]

Why This Tumblr

I was at brunch in sunny Los Angeles when I heard that my spouse's brother's girlfriend, a med school student, was learning macrame because she needed a hobby on her resume to get an edge in getting her preferred residency placement.

This reminded me of what my sister once told me. She said that as a lawyer interviewing summer associates, the hobbies section is very important to her because it tells her whether someone has a personality. I was a law school student at the time, so this was very important intel. A section that seemed totally irrelevant and unmemorable could actually be the most important part of your resume when you're trying to stand out among those with near-identical resumes. Who cares what director-level job you had prior to law school? You must have an interesting hobby.

The last time I looked at my resume, under the hobbies section I wrote "avid runner".

I need a new hobby.

Here is the thing: there are interesting facts about me, and I have interesting interests (at least to me). It's just that the most interesting facts about me are way too personal and therefore inappropriate to share in most social contexts (but WHY?), and my interest in epistemology tends to bore or irritate the fuck out of everyone. One time, my spouse started bawling after listening to my conversation with a friend about capital T truth and social power. I am not joking: I literally bored him to tears. So, I need to adopt a safe hobby that isn't just running and playing the piano because everyone runs or plays some sort of string or brass instrument and they all do so avidly.

I did consider talking about other people's hobbies rather than my own. I know someone who is a furry and a lawyer. The thought of a lawyer attending a panel at a furries convention while wearing a fursuit just sounds absolutely delightful to me. Could I talk about this at a job interview? I mean, the main reason anyone would ask me about my hobbies in a job interview setting is so that they could make generalizations about my personality in a few minutes' worth of performance and be able to rationalize their ultimate choices. I just need to be memorable right?

That said, given that furrydom is not my hobby and I like people to believe I play by the rules, I need to get my own hobby.

My new hobby needs to meet these three criteria:

Makes my resume memorable

Takes minimal effort

Gives me something to talk about

Yesterday on Instagram, someone in the big law universe asked their followers what was the strangest or most memorable item they've ever seen on a prospective candidate's resume. One of the responses was something like "writing cat science fiction", or maybe it was "writing space cat science fiction". Anyway, of all the responses, that one stood out to me. This is a sign from the universe.

I told my spouse that I'm going to put down "space cat science fiction writing" down as my hobby because it's memorable on a resume. He said, "yeah, but then someone will ask you questions and you'll have to talk about it." I told him, I can end the conversation right away if I say, "I published my cat fiction on Tumblr - do you want to read it?" Because what respectable grown-ass lawyer is going to read space cat fiction on Tumblr when they got hours to bill? When I told my sister this, she said, "I mean, you might just run into someone who wants to read it..." Apparently, I can't just lie about this because the bar association doesn't like liars.

So here it is. For the sole purpose of not being a liar about having a hobby, I am starting this Tumblr to write whatever "space cat science fiction" is. Given that I don't like fiction writing and I don't read fiction, this will be interesting. I love a challenge and doing things outside of my comfort zone. That's what I tell everyone at job interviews.

In order for this hobby to fit my criteria for hobbies, here are the constraints:

the work will consist of multiple discrete short stories, each taking no more than five minutes to write

I am not going to think about stories ahead of time - I am just going to open up Tumblr and start writing

I will not proofread

To make it fun, I will attempt multiple genres. I don't know a thing about most genres I'm about to write.

A final note: while I love cats, I'd like to disclose ahead of time that I am not a "cat person." I refuse to identify as such or be thought of as such. I like dogs, naked mole rats, gay fruit flies,* transgender fish,* and lesbian seagulls.* I do not strictly identify with any of these animals because, like Walt Whitman, I contain multitudes. As a wise scene kid on MySpace circa 2006 once said, labels are for soup cans.

*This is a thing