What happened to my socks?
A Vampire must not smell like death and blood if he wishes to survive in this modern world. No longer with servants I used the machine in my home to clean my clothing. I am not an idiot. I followed directions. I put fabric softener in the correct cup. I used the correct amount of soap. I used the correct temperature. I used no bleach because all of my clothing is black. I used cold water so blood stains would not set in place forever on my shirts. I put the wet clothing in the drying machine. Now my clothing is soft with a clean fresh smell.
I should be happy, but I am baffled and angry at this new technology.
My socks are now all just a sock. The mate of each has vanished.
I do not understand.
Where are my socks?
This evening as I walked to the mail box my cat followed me. Her two kittens followed behind. One is solid black. The other is black with white paws and a white face, as if she is wearing a mask.
The reason I even speak of the cat and her kittens is that because I’ve become fond of them. It is an emotion I rarely let myself feel. I have found homes for three of the kittens with Vampire friends. We do not believe in drowning kittens or leaving them in fields. We do not kill them, then stuff them and dress them, then pose them around tables as if they are having a tea party. We do not eat them. They are cats. Cats have value beyond being domesticated animals. Cats are their own beings.
At the mail box my neighbor was opening her mail box. She smiled at me. I smiled back, not showing fangs. She thinks I am cute.
I asked her if she needed a kitten.
She picked up the black and white kitten, cooing and talking precious baby talk to it. She touched her nose to the small felines. She hugged the tiny creature to her chest.
“No, I can’t take one right now,” she said.
Why did she hug and hold the tiny animal like that, as if it was a baby she dearly loved?
“Why not?” I asked her.
“I already have a dog.”
I looked at her and captured her eyes with mine. “You need this kitten. You love this kitten. Your dog will love this kitten. Your children will love you more if you bring this kitten home.”
She relaxed and smiled. “You’re right. I will take this kitten.”
Vampires do more than suck blood. We can convince people through our mental prowress to adopt kittens.
“You ought to get your cat fixed,” she told me.
“There is nothing wrong with my cat.”
“No, I mean fixed so that she won’t have anymore kittens.”
“That can be done?”
“Of course it can. Vlad, you’re cute but you’re so out of touch. I’ll give you the name of my Vet.”
She then thanked me for the kitten and took the small creature home with her.
I looked down at the remaining kitten and decided that it would live with me and his mother.
But if a kitten is cute then why did my neighbor call me cute?
I am nothing like the kittens. I do not understand.
As I got ready to go out I found I had no matching socks. All of the solid black socks were gone but one. The black patterned socks were missing their mates. Why do they call them mates? They do exactly the opposite of reproducing.
My neighbor told me that she has named the kitten Socks.
I lay in my bed thinking about my existence. Gillian, my lover, was curled up next to me, her arm around my chest, her leg over my hip, her head on my shoulder. I could smell her perfume, a mix of roses and her own cool skin. I closed my eyes. She stirred and kissed my neck.
We made love on top of the sheets. The window was open, letting the cold breeze into the room. As I gently kissed her face, claws sank into my leg.
The kitten had used me for a scratching post. It jumped to the floor.
Gillian laughed, then she flipped over and looked down under the bed.
“I found you Mr. Kitten,” she said to the small black beast. Then she flipped back up to the bed with me. She laughed again and kissed me. “Vlad, my love, there must be twenty socks underneath your bed.”
I said nothing. It was easier just to take Gillian into my arms than to wonder about socks.
Sometimes I am unable to make sense of this world, but then again, sometimes, in those times without socks, in the arms of my love, it just doesn’t matter.