The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: I’m not I’m not I’m not a baby by Dev Murphy

I.

I walked beside my Man for a while, back and forth behind the KFC and the Bank, in conference about many Serious Matters.

Together we found a Squirrel in the shade of the awning of the Bank, and the Squirrel was positioned in an upward facing dog.

While my Man stood watching me (he is often watching me) I dropped to the level of the Squirrel and laughed, delighted at its stance, all seriousness abandoned for the moment. “He is doing yoga!” I said. But looking closer I saw that the Squirrel’s heart was beating very rapidly. Panicking at my gaze, the Squirrel began to crawl, pulling itself by its front paws, and I saw that its back legs had been crushed by a car.

I fell against my Man and emitted a cry—all the more horrified by my initial belief that this was playfulness!

II.

I sat beside my Man for a while, in the Private Table at the Mediterranean restaurant, in conference about many Serious Matters.

The Private Table was shrouded with curtains and hanging plants, and I, being at this time eager for Clippings to plant myself and make my home lively and green, began, after the waiter left us, to tug at a segment of Vine. My Man watched me (he is often watching me) and smiled. The Vine was hearty and waxy, and I could not break it with my hands. “Why is this so difficult?” I asked, amused and perplexed.

When the waiter returned, I quickly acted as if I were doing nothing, and hoped he would not see the creased Vine. He gave us our wine, and when he again left us, I took a butter knife to the hanging plant. My Man kept smiling.

But when I sawed through the stem, I found it was hollow and plastic—not alive at all, but an imitation!

III.

I waited for my Man for a while to pick me up in his Golden Sedan, and while I waited I was lost in thought over many Serious Matters.

My Man drove up and I met him in the Driveway by the Gorge, and together we walked to his car. And when my Man asked me what was on my mind, I told him, “All is well.”

When we arrived at the Golden Sedan, there was on the back window, tucked under dead leaves, a small Bird, and though I felt me sinking, I craned tiptoed over the window in the hope of a living passenger. But the baby Bird, crumpled, with matted feathers and a bulging red neck, was dead. My Man watching me (he is often watching me), I shrieked.

My Man rushed over and brought me clear, and then he with some sturdier leaves scooped up the tiny corpse—not knowing what to do with it, he flung it from him, right into the Gorge!