Wanted: A Quiet Evening Stroll

By Elise Gilmore

I’m outside for my evening stroll around the fenced-in backyard, wondering how to rid myself of the undignified noises from the neighborhood riffraff when I see it. At first, the white light looks like a shooting star. But on second glance, it’s approaching Earth far too quickly for that.

“Great. Another interruption,” I mutter to myself. I jump behind a bush and watch a spherical spacecraft land in my backyard. As a metal door opens, I wait silently, eager to finally witness life from another planet. My humans, Riley and Austin, were debating about this last night over dinner. I’m curious whether the visitors are little green men—Austin’s assumption—or if they look more like E.T.—the description Riley prefers.

I flick my tail in surprise when a tall, slim girl with long blonde hair walks down the ramp, a pack on her back and a tiny guitar in her hands. I creep toward the edge of the bush. In the back of my mind, I know I should probably heed the warning “curiosity killed the cat” and stay where I am, but I can’t help myself. I stalk out from behind the bush and approach the newcomer as she’s surveying the backyard. When she spots me, she drops down on her knees.

“Look at you!” she coos. “What’s your name?”

I flatten my ears. Being patronized is the worst. “My name is Hank,” I hiss.

She looks at me in surprise. “Ohhh…” she cries. “You’d be perfect!”

The hair on my back stands on end. “I’d be perfect for what?”

Instead of answering, she stares at me blankly for a moment, then she goes back to looking around the yard.

I sit at her feet and flick my tail impatiently.

“Look at you!” she says tenderly when she spots me. “You’re perfect.”

I growl at her. “You said that already.”

“I did? Oh drat.” Her shoulders slump. “Sorry. My name’s Harmony Star, and I suffer from short-term memory loss.” She begins strumming the strings on her tiny guitar.

“Short-term memory loss …huh…” That sounds exhausting to deal with. I pad toward my house’s back door but then turn back around, curiosity getting the best of me yet again. “You said I would be perfect for something. What exactly?”

Her eyes light up. “I have been begging my dad—he’s the king of Terra Star, where I’m from—to let me start a nature preserve filled with animals from all over the galaxy. You would be the perfect specimen with your beautiful gray fur and yellow eyes. And you can talk! Besides,” she says matter-of-factly, “you’re out here all alone at night, so you must need to be rescued.” She picks me up, bringing my face close to hers.

I bat at her blonde hair. “Unhand me, woman! I am perfectly well taken care of.” After she sets me down, I shake out my fur and hold my head high. “My humans just know that I enjoy some alone time.”

Her face falls, perhaps because she realizes I’m not interested in going with her. I turn away and stalk toward the back door. Her happiness is not my responsibility. But when the joyful chords she was strumming turn melancholy, I feel a pang of regret. I flick my tail and turn around.

When I’m a few feet away from her, her eyes go blank again. She stops playing her tiny guitar and starts taking stock of her surroundings. Her short-term memory must have just rebooted. Maybe I can make this work to my advantage.

I slink up to her side and nuzzle her hand. “Hello,” I purr. “My name’s Hank, and I heard you were looking for animals to rescue.”

She leans forward, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Yes! And you’d be perf—”

“Great!” I walk around her slowly. “Close by, there are three which would benefit not only from being rescued but also being relocated to your intergalactic nature preserve.”

She pops up, drops her instrument on the ground, and claps her hands. “Oh goody! Can I meet them?”

I nod and head toward the oak tree standing in the corner of the backyard. When we arrive, I feel the fur on my back bristle. “I believe if you climb up a few branches, you will find an opossum who’s been separated from his family,” I say, despite the fact that he’s actually a pest that’s constantly lurking in this tree.

In no time at all, Harmony has scaled the tree branches. After some growling and teeth baring from the opossum, she manages to obtain the ugly creature. I hear him snarling in her backpack as we continue along the fence.

“Quiet,” I purr as I crouch down. A moment later, I hear the neighbor’s screen door open and close. The incessant barking, which has recently become the bane of my existence, starts immediately.

“Sadly, that poor little dog can’t see well.” I shake my head for show. In reality, I can’t wait to be rid of the pug’s smushed face and constant yapping.

In a flash, Harmony jumps the fence and scoops the tan dog up under her arm like a football. She giggles as he licks her face.

When I hear the garbage can’s lid rattle across the yard, I lead her toward it. “Finally, this pitiful raccoon just can’t seem to find enough food. He spends all his time rummaging in the trash, hoping for a morsel.”

Harmony’s eyes well up with tears. “Poor thing.”

Poor thing indeed. That sneaky little trash panda has stolen food out of my dish one too many times.

Harmony makes her way back to the spaceship and carefully places each animal in a separate cage. “Thanks!” She waves goodbye. “I can’t wait to show my dad!” Then the door to her ship closes and it flies away into the star-studded sky.

The next night, I experience the most peaceful evening stroll I’ve had in quite some time.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Elise Gilmore writes flash fiction and short stories in the sweet romance genre. Her work has also been published by Micromance Magazine, Spark Flash Fiction, and Kissmet Quarterly. She also has a short story, Truffle and Truth, available now. She lives in South Carolina with her husband and two boys. When she isn’t writing or reading, you can find her drinking tea or kombucha, obsessing about Pride and Prejudice, and dancing around her house.

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