Lysol and Dettol

Today I forced Des to help me disinfect the entire apartment, and the common corridor too. This was to eradicate all traces of a rather odious little visitor today, Des' ex-pet-seal Zach. And while we were at it, various other stains.

Zach is a dark remnant from Des' days at boarding school, a period of time when we did not keep in touch. Apparently they met at the neighbourhood zoo where Zach was performing a "marvellously entertaining" routine of walking on his front flippers with his tail high up in the air. Hell, anyone could have told Des that you should never bring home a zoo seal, let alone a performing zoo seal. I wish I'd been there to beat some sense into that fat fucker because in my absence, they just got sucked into a dangerously exclusive little dreamworld. Des once cruelly informed me that they did such disgusting things as hold flippers and walk along the beach, toss beach balls to each other, and contemplate a cove by the sea in future. (Maybe that's why Des is so stern with me when it comes to playing with seals.)

Alas, being the ho that all seals inherently are, Zach left suddenly on a sunny Sunday because the "time has come to migrate north, and it's better that I cleanly break off this beautiful symbiotic relationship with you as cleanly as possible...you know I care about you...but I also never liked you much..." and then he just broke down, snivelled and then galumphed away the way frivolous hos are wont to do, leaving Des standing by the door feeling baffled.

As it turned out, Zach was not just a ho, but a woolly-brained ho, because he forgot that all pinnipeds follow the same Migration Chart. Des was actually due to travel north to the very same area a mere two weeks after Zach. So Zach packed his bags and left Des for nothing. (Then again, maybe that treacherous zoo-ho had an ulterior motive, because we later found out that he settled in remarkably rapidly with another walrus named Thunderbird, whom Des and I heartily dislike.) Anyway Des called me after Zach's departure, saying how ridiculous the whole thing was, would I like to migrate and settle down in a new apartment overlooking a seal lagoon together, did I still have that marvellous telescope, etc. I enthusiastically agreed, and comforted Des by saying that I'd seen Zach and thought he looked like a banana.

So here we all are now, years later, Des and I in our hovel of an apartment, and Zach just a few neighbourhoods away. We never bump into him, but today he just decided to pop by and pick up "a couple of things I forgot to take with me". The presumptuous zoo-ho just took for granted that Des would put all his multi-coloured balls, body-gloss and fake whiskers into a special box or something. Well, I'm ashamed to say that fat fucker did, indeed, put all his multi-coloured balls, body-gloss and fake whiskers into a special box. And sealed it. ("With a kiss," Des told me huskily, before I administered a sharp whack.)

When Zach was over, he behaved deplorably in my opinion. He lingered too long and tainted the air. He bounced cavalierly around Des and barked archly, even jumping up to teasingly nibble Des' whiskers, which I saw droop imperceptibly. "Bet you miss that, huh? Fat walrus! Hee hee hee!" Watching Zach, I was enraged. No walrus, not even a steely one like Des, can handle such cruel taunting that masquerades as playfulness. That is just not the way to treat someone you've left, making things more difficult than they already are. I should know. I once commited the very same sin when I was an ignorant, insensitive calf and I lived to regret it.

So I watched Zach torment Des, whose whiskers were trying valiantly but failing to stay turgid, and got more and more enraged and contemptuous with each word he uttered. He cheerfully updated us on his residential status: "oh, I'm living with three magnificent walrie right now. There's Thunderbird, of course---you know Thunderbird---as well as Jabba and Rex. They're a real laugh, and they're nice too! Hee hee! They like it when I do my trademark handstands, and they take turns to feed me fish."

Then his voice got sickeningly low, lispy and wistful: "but whenever they do, even though they heave me heaps and buckets all at once from all directions, I---I---I still think of you." Then he contrived a heavy, poignant silence, full of expectation that Des would soften and melt. The two of them faced each other, completely still. I stared on in disbelief and disgust. Then I decided that I'd seen enough. Without warning, I charged towards the zoo-ho and headbutted him out the door, causing him to bark in surprise and then roll rather ignominiously down the common corridor. Box and all.

I let Des heave a sigh of relief, and even go so far as to say "th---" Then I cut that fat walrus off and told him to get the Lysol and Dettol.