Dearest Red, My Tell-Tale Heart—
I know that where you were decanted cats probably come equipped with hermetically-sealed posteriors and flawless constellations of ass-nanites to disassemble any business before it becomes public, but here in our sidewise-threaded nest egg of clandestinely borrowed time, dear little Lavender and Violet do most certainly poop into boxes, and those boxes must be cleaned, and I remind you, pyre of my soul, that it is still your turn to do so.
Brightest Blue, my Sapphic Sapphire—
I am all apologies in the affair of Schrödinger’s Catboxes! I suppose I became so wrapped up in that Strand 2263 C21 New Brunswick (Why does the multiverse keep having that place?) business and the sheer number of autonomous photon mines that wanted for disarming, I must have hoped that if I didn’t check the boxes, they would remain in an uncollapsed wave state, neither empty nor full of poop. I have since collapsed that particularly fragrant wave. Recommend that if you must relieve yourself you pop upthread or downthread a few hours to dodge the peak of the aromatic experience. It shall not happen again.
Sweetest Red in Tooth and Claw—
Sorry to have missed you this quasi-morning. I had to get up and run while you were still in some sort of maintenance cycle. Defragging the hard drives of your soul, one supposes, as well as snoring so softly, so adorably. Did you know one of your phased plasma cannons twitches in your sleep? You’re like a kitten playing with dream-prey, which in your case could be anything from a main battle tank to an antimatter-drive cruiser. You did mention you’d have some spare activity cycles, so here’s the weekly shopping list:
• 1 dozen eggs, Strand 343 Normandy C19
• 2 quarts milk, Strand 6624 Wisconsin C20, whole or 2%, either is fine
• Aged Black Balsamic Vinegar, Acetic Caverns, Cernunnos Alpha XII, that C344 we both like
• Soren Kierkegaard (any Kierkegaard EXCEPT the ones with wings, I only need one for a few hours, I’ll put him back myself)
• Treats for Lavender and Violet, your discretion
• Donuts, any provenance, so long as the fillings are red. Surprise me.
Excuse me, but what the fuck do you mean you left the car keys somewhere in Strand 318 C22 Shanghai? Do you know how big that place is? Damn it, babe, sky-filling pigment of my dreams, cyanotic sentry of my heart, I have to bring wine and extra chairs to book club tonight and the car would REALLY help. I’ll get out and look for them while I can, but if that joint Agency/Garden hit team shows up and jumps me again I WOULD appreciate a bit of spousal support. Bring sniper rifles and neurotoxins.
THIS IS JUST TO SAY
I have eaten
The car keys
That were in
our time fortress
and integrated them
into my bio-conceptual matrix,
hunted you as a shadow on the winds of time,
shared the RNA with you ten thousand years ago
you were delicious
and now you can start the car
by snapping your fingers
We’re time-travelers, my treat,
And two can play your game.
There’s never any need for us to be basic bitches.
Yours resoundingly and recursively,