Schro and His Cat

These are some pretty weird prompts, so please don’t read more into it than there is.  This is just for fun.  Prompts:  Jesus was an agnostic, Schrodinger’s cat is gone, two days he’d been waiting, Sweet William-my guitar, the serial killers

 

 

Two days he’d been waiting, sitting on the front porch in a canvas lawn chair. Schrodinger strummed a guitar he called Sweet Willa Mae that he’d named after his cat.  Jesus came by, walking his trio of Doberman hounds and Schrodinger looked up expectedly.  “Sorry, Schro,” Jesus told him.  “No sign of your cat.”

Schrodinger said nothing, lowered his head and went back to picking out the melody for Bohemian Rhapsody. Jesus perched on the bottom step and let his dogs off their leashes.  Secretly he called the dogs the Serial Killers.  It brought him a perverse satisfaction when they brought home a dead rat.  “Don’t let them go after the birds,” Schrodinger said, but Jesus scoffed.

“Saving the birds for your cat?” he asked sarcastically.

“My cat is a bird watcher, not a bird killer,” Schrodinger proclaimed.

Jesus rolled his eyes, bracing himself for another argument about the nature of reality.  How many times did he have to tell the guy that he was an agnostic, he was undecided, he was up for anything.  But old Schrodinger seemed determined to prove something, or was it that he didn’t want to prove anything?  It was very confusing.  Whatever he was talking about, Schro seemed willing to risk the life of his beloved cat to make his point.  It seemed like a pretty high price to pay.

Suddenly a commotion on the lawn a half block down and the three Serial Killers came racing with their tails between their legs.  In hot pursuit was Sweet Willa Mae Schrodinger, tortoise shell feline.  She was big and domineering, claws extended and fangs bared.  The dogs were subdued.  It was enough to make a believer out of Jesus.

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