The Human Pet: A Sci-Fi Romance

Part 36

So, I tell the wall unit, "Project the pet care instructions provided by the vet."

The bright blue eyes of the robot stop flashing at me and the robot hums. Approval, maybe?

I skim the instructions and give commands to my wall unit.

"Set the alarm for the administration of antibiotics by integrating the post-surgical pet care protocol as sent by the vet. Also, set a separate alarm to go off every two hours."

The robot does not ask about the extra alarms at two-hour intervals. Alright, the vet does not recommend it, but I need to double- and triple-check the physician's work: stitches might break open or bandages might fall off, and then my poor pet would be injured and helpless.

I had planned to take Kayla to work with me tomorrow, but my boss has sent a message stating that I cannot bring my pet to work until I complete another four pet-free work shifts. Fine. I can accommodate my boss by staying home and caring for my Kayla. How else can I make sure that she eats and hydrates, and most important of all, is well cared for post-surgery?

The next few days with my pet are wonderful, even with the robot that gets in my way.

When I mash fruit for my pet's meal, the robot leans close. The moment I place this sweet-smelling concoction in Kayla's bowl, the robot's luminous blue eyes flash at me. "Optimal diets for human pets are not only composed of fruit. A better diet includes a balance of protein, carbohydrates, and–"

"Silence!"

The blue eyes keep flashing at me. Fine. I mash a few pet pellets into the fruit concoction. The robot stops flashing its eyes at me, except now Kayla gives me a disapproving stare.

"Sorry, Kayla," I say, patting her on the head.

Caring for my pet gives me pleasure. I could do this forever, except at the end of the third day that I take off work, my wall unit alerts me to an important incoming message from my boss. I swipe accept and my boss's gigantic face (with a properly sized nose post-surgery, I might add) glares at me from my wall.

"Are you ill?" asks my boss. "You've taken sick days, but the medical unit has not sent any documentation."

"I'm not ill, but..." I lift my pet and tilt her throat so that he can see the bandages for himself. "My pet. She's had surgery and I am tending to her."

My boss steps closer to the screen, his eyes filling up the entire wall. "Ah yes. I remember your pet."

Is he referring to the incident when she interrupted his operation?

I must make things right. "Don't worry, I'm training her," I say and when his fangs jut out, I add, "May I say that your nose is healing nicely. It almost looks normal."

"What?!" hisses my boss.

Suddenly I'm glad there is a wall unit between us. "Sorry, caring for my pet is difficult and it is hard for me to concentrate."

My boss growls. "You have work duties. Unless you provide me with the proper medical documentation excusing you from work, you must report for work tomorrow."

"Understood, sir," I say, saluting him through the wall unit and his face disappears.

Now that Kayla has finished her meal, I bundle Kayla in a blanket, even though she tries to resist. She needs to nap, though, so that I can cuddle her. I have barely wrapped her in a blanket when the wall unit chimes.

"Incoming message from behaviorist Rigel," says my wall unit.

Ugh. I do not want to see him or his ugly wings but then I glance at my pet, who has already escaped from the blankets and wanders about the room like she is lost. I pick her up, bundle her legs in the blankets, and I press a cup of water into her hands to drink.