Slowly, the sound of a cat meowing bored into James' psyche.

He groaned and rolled over in his bed. To his dismay, this did not affect the meowing in the slightest.

He opened his eyes and sat up, regarding the cat with some dismay. "Yes, Bob?"

"Meow?" the cat asked.

James had been hoping for something more profound than that. Throwing the sheets away, he got up and put his robe on. On the far wall of his living room sat a small ceramic bowl and a slumped-over sack of cat food. Walking out of his bedroom and over to the empty dish, James opened the bag and reached in, scooping up a cupful of food for Bob. He dumped the food into the bowl and replaced the cup to the bag. Bob, at least, seemed pleased.

James looked up at the clock. Eleven thirty-six. General principal stated that James shouldn't wake before noon, but the cat's hunger seemed adequate incentive. At that, James realized that he himself was hungry. Walking over to the tiny kitchen which was separated from his living-room by a small bar, he switched on his coffee maker. As the pleasing sound of water percolating through it met James' ear, he walked over and opened his door, stooping down to get that morning's paper.

Suddenly James stopped. He wasn't exactly fully conscious yet, but something about the bottle sitting on top of his paper struck him in odd, that-shouldn't-be-there kind of way. Then it struck him: it shouldn't be there. He sat back on his haunches and brought the bottle up to eye level. It was apparently the bottle of a rather expensive and, if James recalled correctly, good kind of beer. To his annoyance, though, the bottle seemed devoid of any kind of a liquid. Instead it appeared to contain a rolled up piece of paper, though the top was still seemingly stopped with the original cap.

James walked back inside, abandoning his paper on his doorstep, and set the bottle on the table. He proceeded to prepare his coffee, and then sat back down at his table with his coffee and proceeded to twist the cap off the bottle.

Taking a gulp of his coffee, he upended the bottle and let the paper fall with a tiny plink to the table. Unrolling it, he saw a note written out in very neat handwriting. Curious, he read it.

"Dear James," it read. "Please, I need your help. I know I will die if you do not come to my aid. Your help is of the utmost importance. Please come to me as soon as possible. Come to Bootjack, California quickly. Hurry!"

James sat back in his chair, letting the note fall gently to the table. Bootjack? he wondered. He has never heard of a Bootjack in California. And who is this guy, anyway? So many questions. It seemed tempting to go just to find out the answers. But what incentive did he have?

"Meow!" asserted Bob, unseen on the far side of the table. With two quick thuds in succession, Bob was on the table and sniffing the beer bottle.

"No, Bob. There was no beer in there anyway."

"I don't care about beer, you idiot, it's the note that matters."

James considered this, very slowly.

"Ah..." he began, but had nothing to follow up with.

"Um," he began again, and just to be sure, he asked, "I don't suppose you just meowed, did you, and I just thought you spoke?"

The cat meowed, but quickly corrected itself. "Yes, I mean. Sorry. I sometimes I get English and Feline mixed up."

"Sometimes mix them up?" James exploded. "You never bloody well spoke English before!"

"Ah, yes, about that, um..."

James crossed his arms and waited.

"Hey, I'm the talking cat here, bub. Don't you think your standards may be just a tad bit too high?"

"Oh come off it Bob. I know things about you that would make Jesse Ventura blush. Since when can you talk?"

"Ah yes, well, I suppose I just acquired the ability. But I've always been this intelligent."

"I should hope not, mouse-breath," James replied tartly.

"Speaking of which, about that dry food you've been buying--"

"Oh hush," James said. "What's so important about this note?"

"Oh yeah, the note. Sorry. The note, you see, is important."

James regarded the cat coolly.

"Yes, and...?" he prompted.

"I can't give you all the answers you dope! Just go where it says in the bloody note!"

"Fine, fine... ok..." James conceded. "But only because you're a talking cat. I'm not doing this for any other reason. And you're coming with me."

"What? Like... in cars and stuff? Nonononono. No my friend... no. Ixnay on the arscay. Not happening. Nope. Sorry. Nix. Nein. Not happening."

"Sorry Bob. This is your journey too. You're making me do it; you're coming along."

Bob emitted a sound only a cat could make; he was clearly displeased.

"Oh come off it. Talking cat indeed..." James trailed off incredulously.

"What, punk? What you say? C'mon, bring it! I can take ya, ya pansy."

James raised his eyebrow at the cat, who turned his face away and jumped off the table.

"I'll just be eating my oh-so-good dry cat food over here if you need me," Bob said sarcastically.

James went off to his bedroom to pack, muttering something to himself.

 

"OK, Bob, it's show time!" James shouted, coming out of his bedroom holding up a pet carrier in one hand and gripping a suitcase in the other.

"Awwwwww..." the cat groaned. "A pet carrier? Can't I do something cool like sit on your shoulder, ya know, like a pirate and his parrot?"

"I don't know what's more insulting," James said, "comparing me with a pirate or yourself to a parrot. Now get in the cage," he said, lowering it to the ground and opening the door.

"OK... but you're not going to close that stupid door, right?"

"Yes I'm going to close that stupid door, Bob. Just get in," he said, exasperated.

After coaxing Bob into the carrier, James closed and locked it. Hefting his suitcase into one hand, James bent and picked the carrier up with his other hand; they were on their way.

 

"Well, OK genius-cat, now what?" James was looking quizzically at a map. Not the entire train station thought he was crazy yet, and in hopes of maintaining that he spoke to Bob only in hushed tones. Having exhausted every other option, he was reduced to this; looking at a map. Oh, the indignity."I can speak English you dope, not read it, how the--"

James leaned down to Bob's cage. "You read the note," he interjected quickly.

"I didn't read the note," Bob replied calmly. "I just... knew what the note said."

James eyed the cat suspiciously, sitting up. Bob, weary of this appalling harassment, made a sharp U-turn in the cage, and laid down.

"Bah. Fine then, I'm just going to ask," James said loudly and crossly, and got off the bench. After a short wait in line, James reached the girl at the desk.

"May I help you?" she asked politely.

"Hello. Yes, well, you see, I need to get to this place, and--"

"What is your destination, sir?" she asked aloofly.

"Ah, err, that's the thing, it's called 'Bootjack', see, and--"

As the woman began to type she said, "I don't think we have any busses going to a 'Bootja...'" her typing stopped. "I'm sorry, there apparently is a bus going to Bootjack. Bus 42, it leaves in..." she consulted her watch, "five minutes. The loading area is outside and to your right. Apparently, there's no fee," she said incredulously, looking again at her computer screen. With a resigned look and a shrug of her shoulders she hit another key and a printer could be heard behind the counter.

"Have a nice trip," she said with a fake smile, handing James his ticket.

"Yeah, thanks," James said, taking his ticket and making his way back to Bob.

"You and your opposable thumbs, you make me sick," Bob spat.

"Oh, you're just jealous," James said. Picking up his bag and Bob's case he made his way out to the landing platform.

 

James stepped out of the bright sunlight and into the gloom of bus 42. Standing on the bottom step all he could see of the bus was its huge windshield and the old, worn man sitting in the driver's seat. James trudged up the steps that lead into the interior of the bus. Setting down his suitcase, James handed his ticket to the driver and surveyed the rest of the bus.

The bus was almost empty, just four people spread throughout. In the back a young couple of twenty-somethings, not far from James' age, were keeping each other occupied. A middle age woman sat reading near the middle of the bus on the right row of seats, and an old, sickly man sat closer to the front and on the left side of the bus. He appeared to be dosing, or meditating -- James wasn't sure. A little piece of spit dangled from the side of the man's mouth. James shuddered and moved on. When you're a god, as the old man happened to be, you can afford to look a little frumpy.

James headed for a seat a few rows behind the old man. As he passed by, the old man's eyelids shot open and he looked up directly into James' eyes. "Nice cat you've got there," he said, without even glancing at Bob.

James paused, taken aback. The man's comment caught James off balance. He hadn't even looked at Bob, had he? And could he sense something about the cat? Over the course of James' brief stay at the bus station, it had become embarrassingly clear that no one else could hear Bob speak.

"Um, yes, he is, I suppose..." James trailed off uncertainly.

"You suppose I am? Will you look at this?" the cat said derisively. Then addressing the old man, "Do you see what I have to put up with?"

The old man smirked. "We all have our lot in life," he said, apparently replying to the cat. "No matter how much we like or dislike it." Then, addressing James, "It was nice meeting you and Bob."

With that, the man picked up a book that had been laying open in his lap and started reading. James stood in shock. Mentally, he compared his exchange with the old man to carrying around a talking cat. Arriving at the conclusion that carrying around a talking cat was weirder, he was able to regain some of his composure and make his way to his seat.

The bus started up and road on uneventfully for an hour or so. After about that long, the bus driver picked up the intercom and made an announcement.

"We'll be stopping at a small market in about a mile. From there on, the fee is five dollars a passenger."

James became perplexed. The woman he had gotten his ticket from said that the bus was free. He reached his hand into his pocket and rooted around. Fist closing around a bill, he brought it out for examination. Good, it was a five; he had enough for his fare. A few seats up, a thought occurred to the old god. Time to test James, he decided.

As the bus pulled into the gas station and market, James got up to use the bathroom. As James was walking down the aisle toward the bus door, the old man grabbed his arm.

"Please, help me," the man said. "I... I don't have the money to pay for my fare. Please, I must get to Bootjack, I must!"

"Look, mister, I--" James was cut off by a sudden ruckus back at his seat. Bob started to meow loudly and scratch savagely at his cage. James went quickly back to his seat to see what was wrong with the cat.

"OK, you dope, here's hint number two; help the guy!"

"What?" James said, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Look, moron, it's obviously very important that this guy get to Bootjack. Just give him your five dollars and find another way."

"Look, cat," James said acidly, "just because some nutjob says he simply must get to Bootjack..."

James wasn't sure how, but Bob managed to glare at him rather effectively.

Gritting his teeth, James said, "OK, OK, we'll play it your way."

Picking up Bob's carrier and his suitcase, James made his way back towards the front of the bus. When he got to the old man's seat he put down his suitcase, and pulled his five dollars from his pocket.

"Here you go, sir, I hope the rest of your trip is a pleasant one," James said flatly, handing the crinkled bill to the man.

"Oh thank you, thank you!" the man cried, gleefully taking the bill James offered him. Hmmmm, thought the god, he did well, but Bob helped him. Another test will be necessary.

James grunted something to the old man which may or may not have meant "you're welcome" and made his way off the bus. As he headed for a bench in front of the little market, he passed the bus driver, who was heading back to the bus.

"Stayin' with us?" asked the driver.

"No," James grumbled. "I... can't pay."

"Oh," the bus driver said, and appeared to think for a second. "That sucks," he said simply, and made his way back into the bus, closing the door. In a few seconds, the bus was back on its way.

"Greeeeaaaaat," James droned sarcastically. He walked over to the bench and sat down, putting his suitcase down in front of him and Bob's cage down next to him on the bench.

"I don't suppose you're going to follow through with any suggestions on what to do, are you?" James asked the cat.

"Meow."

"Oh yeah, that's bloody-freakin'-great. All fine and dandy for you to say. Thanks for the help."

"I think you're closer than you think," Bob said sleepily, resting his head on his paw and closing his eyes.

James narrowed his eyes at the resting cat, but it didn't have the desired the effect on the cat, who -- as far as James was able to tell -- fell asleep in exactly three seconds flat.

Suddenly James heard a loud screeching from the road, and a crash. James' head snapped toward the direction of the sound, and he saw the bus -- somehow turned over on its side -- laying in the middle of the road. He wasn't sure how, but the bus had tipped over, and it looked like smoke was starting to come from the engine.

Several explicative fought their way to James' vocal centers. Bob didn't flinch. James, however, leapt up and sprinted for the bus. Running at top speed, he reached the bus in just under a minute. In a great burst of energy he hurled himself onto what was currently the top of the bus; rows of windows and the main door. It was a surreal experience to see it all from this angle, but James didn't have time to appreciate it. He was very aware of the smoke which now billowed from the engine.

Seeing that the door of the bus was slightly ajar, James made his way over to it quickly, and pulled it open. Getting down on all fours, James peered into the bus to see what was happening. The driver was unconscious, with a gash along the top of his head. The four passengers looked mostly OK, though most had some bruises and were having trouble getting moving. James couldn't tell from where he was looking if the old man was unconscious or just had his eyes closed in pain.

Dropping carefully down into the bus, James first pulled the driver out and to the top of the bus, though not to safety, as he was poignantly aware. Looking down, he saw that some other people from the market had come over and were surrounding the bus. They all kept a wary distance from it, as though being only five feet away would protect them at all if the bus were to explode.

"Help me!" James cried out to the crowd. One man came over to the side of the bus, and James lowered the driver into his waiting hands. Going back into the bus, James made a quick survey of all the passengers. Most seemed relatively OK, considering, but the old man looked unconscious. James was sorely aware that, at his age, the chances of pulling through something like this weren't good.

Meticulously, James and the other man were able to get three passengers to safety as they had the driver -- all but the old man. All the other standers-by had retreated to a safe distance, forming ring around the smoking bus. Gravely, James went back in to the bus. Smoke still poured from the engine. He made his way over to the old man, and took his pulse. It was faint and sporadic. Solemnly, James picked the old man up, supporting him at the shoulder, and started the difficult climb back to the top of the bus.

The bus' engine had been on fire for some time now and finally, without warning, the bus exploded.

The explosion wasn't much from James' point of view. He heard something akin to a loud clap of thunder, but it was cut off by a quick death. Flame burst out from the engine in every direction, and the force of the explosion sent shrapnel flying through the interior of the bus and out into the empty space between the bus and the ring of bystanders. The man who had been waiting for James to hand down the last passenger was blown back by the explosion and badly bruised, but miraculously escaped the maelstrom of debris.

The bystanders got a much more awesome view. A fierce and tumultuous sound like the roar of a gigantic lion or the thundering scream of a enormous motorcycle echoed in their ears. The bus was enveloped in a huge ball of flame which rose majestically in the sky, dissipating into a great black cloud of smoke. Wreckage from the bus flew out from the great ball of fire in every direction.

James opened his eyes. He was standing in the great husk of the hollowed out bus, gutted by fire and debris. Next to him stood the old man, grinning widely.

OK, James thought to himself, lets see. First, it was Bob talking. Then, it was this old guy knowing Bob's name and acting all weird. Now it's this...

"Which is stranger?" the old man asked, responding to James' thoughts.

"I gotta say," James replied, "this."

"I agree," the old man said, his grin growing even wider. "Shall we?" he asked, indicating the way with his hand.

"Better than standing here any longer," James replied. "Any chance that leaving this bus will make things seem normal again?"

"Not a chance in heck. And I would know, I've seen it down there," the man replied. Making their way gingerly over the twisted metal of the wreck, they headed for the doorway; the door blown away completely by the blast.

When back on the pavement, James asked, "So what's your name, anyway?"

The old man looked at James and smiled. Extending his hand forward to James' face, he gently poked James' nose. "Meep," he said.

James' eyes were blinded by a flash of light. Cautiously opening them again, he looked around to see what had happened. He was back in his apartment, Bob rubbing up again his leg.