The Disgrace of Peter Pan

Peter Pan had found life to be one of easy luxury. Days full of sleeping. Eating. Smelling the rubber band on the carpet. Is it alive? I shall pat it thus. Dreaming. Watching life outside. When will she be home?  

And then came the day when it all would change.

Where life was once bright, darkness has now enveloped. Between his legs, a pulsing battle ensues. Peripherals malfunctioning. What did I do to deserve this? Lethargy. Is this the end for me? The bed seems so far away. The cabinet he could once pounce atop cannot be summited any longer. Days are endless. Life grows mundane. The itch behind his ear goes un-scratched. The small pebbles of food do not taste the same. Bland. Will this last?

She comes home, finally, but he does not have the energy to leap up per protocol, greet her with a warm meow, and paw at the bottom of her leg. She’s worried. She wonders if he’s hurting. He lays there, his eyes glazed over. It’s been two days. She wraps her fingers around his neck. A little pressure, and then the world opens up. Light filters into the edges of his eyes, brightening and shaping the pupils. I can fly. Peter Pan shakes free of the phantom bond, and springs to the floor.

Oh, the cleverness of me!

From days of endorsing his own despair, stiff joints protest. He stretches high and low, and proceeds to bring life to his creamsicle fur. He licks his paws and his chest. He moves to his stomach, and then lifts his right leg… Something appears different about the space between his hindlegs. Something is missing. Numbess remains. He licks at the fur there, watering the dead soil… She makes a sound of reprimand. He looks up, and then darkness blankets him once again.


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