Author: Scott Adamson

Fred’s Pet World – situated snugly between Babs’ Book Store and Batteries, Batteries, Batteries on Canton Road – opened promptly at 9 a.m. on Wednesday, just as it did six days a week, Monday through Saturday. Proprietor Fred Vernon wondered how soon it’d be before it closed down for good.

A former software engineer who was obsessed with quantum mechanics, Fred soon learned he didn’t care for the rat race – unless it actually involved rats. He preferred to be at arm’s length from people and spend as much time with animals as possible.

So, he quit his job and sunk his money into Fred’s Pet World, which he likened to more of a rescue that a retail shop. He had no tolerance for puppy or kitten mills; his establishment served as something of an overflow when the shelters got full.

And he wasn’t interested in getting rich; he charged just enough to help pay for overhead.

Lately, though, there seemed to be a surge in people wanting to buy “specialty” animals. Most of the dogs in his care were mutts, and none of his cats would ever find themselves feted at a Cat Fanciers’ Association convention.

Still, he was going to do what he could for as long as he could, and on Wednesday morning he raised the interior blinds covering the inside of the main door.

He was surprised to see a customer (at least a potential one) with a small, pinkish poodle.

He opened the door, greeted her with a nod, and watched her head straight to a cage.

“What you got there, a couple of gerbils?” said the woman, probably close to 80 years old with cotton candy-colored hair and dark, drawn on eyebrows that looked as though they had been applied with a magic marker. She had also taken a fashion risk by rocking a pair of silver shorts and gold boots to go with her magenta blouse.

 “Well, they’re actually guinea pigs,” Fred said. “Somebody dropped ‘em off here, oh, two weeks ago, I guess it was. When a shelter won’t take an animal, I take ‘em and hope somebody will give ‘em homes. They didn’t have names, so I call ‘em Angus and Malcolm.”

“What’s the difference between a gerbil and guinea pig?” she asked.

“I think basically, guinea pigs live longer and they’re bigger,” he explained. “And they eat plants, while you can feed a gerbil insects.”

The woman chuckled.

“I know all that,” she said. “I was just testing you.”

She moved in for a closer look – as did the poodle, causing both Angus and Malcolm to survey the situation with wide eyes.

“Hmmm,” she said. “What’s that word you use to talk about things that you do experiments on … are they gerbils or guinea pigs?

Fred was puzzled by the question.

“Guinea pigs,” Fred said. “But none of these animals are used for experiments. I would never allow that to happen.”

“Good, good,” she said. “No offense. Just seems like humans don’t think too much of each other these days, so I can only imagine how they treat animals.”

The woman stooped down and put a gnarled index finger on the cage.

 “Can I let ‘em come up and lick my finger?” the woman asked.

Fred nodded.

“You can try,” he said. “They can get a little bit spooked, though.”

She leaned over and both Angus and Malcom eased closer, cautiously placing their noses on her finger.

To Fred’s surprise, both guys started purring, even after the poodle – Fandango – was introduced to them.

“They sure are cute little guys,” she said. “We’ve got dogs, cats, lions, tigers, ferrets, ducks, lizards, a three-legged deer and a wombat, and those are just the ones I can name off the top of my head,” she said. “To tell you the truth, I like ‘em better than humans – present company accepted, I’m sure.”

The woman made her way through the rest of the store, stopping to admire and “speak to” every animal she came across.

She held every kitten, and played with every dog. Finally, she circled back to Angus and Malcolm.

“How much …” she asked.

Fred smiled, held up his hand and cut her off in mid-sentence.

“Mostly I just want to make sure they’re taken care of and have a good home. Sounds like you have a zoo and – nothing personal – but if you have all those other animals, I don’t see how you can possibly take care of two more.”

The woman threw her head back and laughed.

“Sounds like you didn’t learn much from quantum mechanics, Fred.”

Fred understood how she might know his name, but how did she know about his education?

Before he could ask, she explained herself.

“I’m not talking about money, Fred,” she said. “I was going to ask how much convincing would it take for you and your friends here to join us on Anamalia. Look outside.”

Fred looked through the window of his shop and saw what appeared to be a snow globe on the sidewalk, pulsating with frantic waves of blue light.

Fred stumbled back against the wall.

“You’ve done admirable work here, Fred … admirable work indeed,” said the woman. “But you can make a greater impact somewhere else. I’m from a parallel universe where things are, well, a little easier for our furry friends. Just thought you might want to come with us, especially since you always hoped there’d be a place like this somewhere – and some time.

“You can work there and live the kind of life you want.”

Fred got up again and took another look at the globe.

“Is that …?” he asked.

She gave a thumb’s up.

“Yep, it’s one of those quantum mechanics deals you were tinkering with … something to do with the de Broglie wavelength or some such mumbo jumbo,” she said, producing a device resembling a key fob. “I have no idea how it works; I just know if I press this, we all make a jump – lock, stock and barrel.”

Everything seemed impossible, but as Fred continued to stare at the globe – an object that looked quite similar to one he had once constructed – the more the situation seemed far beyond some elaborate hoax. And even if it was trickery, what was the harm in going along with it?

Worst-case scenario, everyone has a big laugh at his expense.

Best-case scenario, Fred’s Pet World becomes part of a whole different world.

Fred walked to the counter, put his hand on the cage holding Angus and Malcolm, and flashed a toothy grin.

“Let’s do it,” he said.

Thursday morning, passersby walked along the Canton Road sidewalk as they usually did, glancing at the storefronts without giving them a second thought.

Still – for those who stopped long enough to notice – the empty lot between Babs’ Book Store and Batteries, Batteries, Batteries seemed out of place.

Why only yesterday, a store – some kind of store – had been there.

Hadn’t it?