Nightmare #2: Kittens
	By Allie Freed

The purchase of your prior government came with many exciting changes. For those like you, altered by the previous regime, there were many surprises in store, with a general policy of replacing outdated comfort items with new, Buyer-sanctioned ones. For you, one of your greatest comfort items was Mr Tips. Tips was a comfort item and friend cat, provided to prevent negative behaviors in individuals suspected of withholding discontent at confession. You held him and pet him all day long, overjoyed to hear his soft little purr that meant "I love you!". And now, Mr Tips has been deemed obsolete - despite your quiet protest, he was found guilty of bias to The Seller, and was unceremoniously taken the morning after The Purchase by a pudgy woman in a cheetah-print suit, smiling disgustingly.

With the failure of Mr Tips to serve his duty comes the quite enticing potential for Success. A notice in the mail came yesterday to let you know of your unanticipated and involuntarily privilege to receive a new comfort item, listed on the included voucher as "Mrs Limited Time Arby's Turkey and Swiss Gobbler". This impressive creature was sure to leave you grinning from ear to ear, and you are thrilled for the gift of waiting in queue to receive such an enticing treat.

The following work week passes slowly, with much discomfort and anticipation as you fantasize about your new companion. Will she be anything like Mr Tips? Is she as nervous as you are? Will she be afraid or upset? - or, will she become your truest pal, and purr and nibble at The Treats? How will you introduce yourself? The unknown surrounds you like the darkest gloom, and you become distracted. Your productivity suffers heavily. The outside world becomes a monotonous buzz, as you dream only of kittens and yarnballs and velvety ears in the warmest sunlight.

You hardly sleep the evening of the acquisition, tossing and turning. What if she hates you? What if she sees you as only an another assignment? With bloodshot eyes you greet the shuttle waiting outside in the darkness, your voucher clutched tight in your hand. It's 1 in the morning, and you feel sick.

Your shuttle finally stops in the parking lot of a Walmart, one very far from home. An older woman in reflective clothing glances at you as you exit - she looks just as exhausted as you do, and she gestures in the direction of the store's entrance, smiling weakly as she whispers a single word in a hoarse voice - "pets". She sounds utterly defeated, crushed. Smiling back at her, you make your way toward the sliding doors, feeling cold sanitized air rush past as you enter.

Almost immediately you spot it, against the wall, beside several arcade and vending machines. A rusty, bright-orange kiosk bearing the silver logo: Vend-a-pet.

You approach the kiosk - a faint burnt smell hangs in the air. Standing before it, you feel more nervous than ever to meet your new best buddy. Feeling butterflies, you insert the voucher into the designated slot, the machine beeping in recognition of an official Buyer comfort item voucher.

Immediately the machine comes to life, and you the hear machinery within begin to whir. You stare deeply into the orange kiosk, unable to see the inner workings but entranced in the sounds coming from inside. Suddenly, you hear a loud THUNK emanate from inside the machine. Taken aback, you try to relax and listen to the hum of the machine when you hear another, much louder, THUNK. You look around the store, hoping for some guiding hand, but (THUNK) see no-one. The THUNK sound becomes (THUNK) more frequent, beginning to (THUNK) accelerate into a (THUNKTHUNK) sort of (THUNKTHUNKTHUNKTHUNK) vicious chugging sound, like something furious is caught in one of it's many razor sharp gears inside. Your heart racing (VRRRRRRRR), you run to the nearest cashier, still hearing the kiosk's angry sounds grind on in the distance.

The cashier glares at you and tells you that the machine has not been refilled for some time - that, due to rations, refills are only to be obtained when the machine is no longer operable. They show no emotion, and avoid any eye contact as you begin to tear up, more afraid than you have ever been. Everything feels ruined, beyond repair. You feel ill.

Finally, the noises come to an abrupt halt. A grating chime sounds, and a bright arrow flashes, pointed toward the retrieval area. You pause, and hold your breath as you press your hand past the door, feeling a warm damp mass down toward the bottom of the compartment. Hesitantly, you grasp the item and pull it out, placing it gently before you on the store's tiled floor.

An newborn kitten lays before you, encased in a transparent pink placenta. The creature writhes weakly, hardly breathing. You don't have any scissors, so you tear it open with your hands along the perforated guidelines, your hands shaking.

The kitten makes a tired little sound as it takes it's first breath of fresh Walmart air. Her black short fur is slightly moist, and she's very very wrong.

There's only fur in the spot where her eyes should be - she has only her little ears, a damaged nose and mouth. Her entire back half is missing - she simply ends at her fuzzy little torso. Her two forelimbs are just short stubs. No whiskers, either.

You're not sure what to say to her. You're not sure how you can feel. This is not the kind of Pet you were expecting, but you could still be the best of friends. But you need to introduce yourself. You look down at this pathetic broken newborn, lying on the filthy Walmart floor. You take a breath.

"I'm so happy to finally meet you, Mrs Limited Ti-"

You're cut short as she begins to convulse violently, mewling quietly in some mixture of terror and confusion. Her mouth opens to reveal only blood-red gums.

"Are you..."

You trail off.

"I-I think we should get to know each other a little... Do... Do you like Treats? I picked this out, just for you...". You hold out a little processed treat you chose so eagerly for her, with capnip inside, placing it before her expectantly. She begins to tremble, pushing uselessly at the slippery floor with her two limbs as she hyperventilates in fear, oblivious to the savory treat's presence. Her mouth opens and closes, entirely silent now. You need to keep trying. This is your new buddy - this is a privilege - you must be grateful.

You grip the cat gently on both sides and pull it up into your lap as you sit crisscross on the store floor. She flails her stubby arms in fear, unsure of anything that is happening to it, or why. You feel the urge to vomit, but press onward, helpless do anything else.

"So... My, uh, my old kitty - Mr Tips is his name, I'll tell you lots and lots about him - he really likes it when I do this, and... I think you'll like it too, so..."

You begin, very tenderly, to caress the kitten, stroking it's tiny little malformed head with just two fingers, scratching gently behind it's delicate little ears. You run your hand down it's short fur, feeling like you may crush her if you pressed just a little bit too hard. You smile cautiously as you continue to give the little one it's first pet, just waiting for the purring to start. Waiting. She continues to move her limbs, pitiful, straining to vocalize in what sounds like a significant amount of pain. You know that there is nothing you can do to help her. You just continue to stroke her fur, softly, tears flowing freely.

"Come on pal, purr... for me... I'm your pal... it feels good, right? You like this? Please? You like it?"

The purring never comes.

EPILOGUE

It's 3am. Flies buzz in the moonlight around a Walmart trash bin, excited to meet their newest friend.