In the Year of the Cat (Queen or Freddie Mercury Fanfic)

10. Meeting the Gang

At about seven o' clock, I set down the bowls of cat food and waited. Within half a minute all three of Freddie's cats bounded into the kitchen: first my orange, self-appointed new best friend, Oscar; the dark brown and lethargic Tom; and the pretty calico named Tiffany. At this point I had yet to learn Tom's name, but since I write this story many times the wiser, I can tell it to you now.

"Oh, sure," I remarked softly. "You get your lazy arses off the couch for chow time. All the rest of the day, you sleep. The flat could burn down around you, and you'd sleep amongst the ashes. But someone gets out the can opener? Stampede."

At that, Oscar looked up at me, and I swear to God he beamed a sneeze right into my eyes.

"AAA-CHOO!" I rubbed my nose. "Oh, Oscar. Why do you find my allergies funny?"

I wandered into the living room. I really hadn't done a lot of exploring around here. Did I mention the walls were a warm burnt orange? No? Well, there you go. Gold records hung where art and crystal apparently didn't reach. There was a television on one side -a dinky little box by today's standards. Nearby stood the all-encompassing entertainment center. I was tempted to see if there was an auxiliary jack for my smart phone anywhere in there, but common sense prevented me from that search. Just beside it was the same kind of intercom speaker I'd seen in the kitchen and in my bedroom (I was thinking of it as my bedroom now). I had pretty much ignored them until now. The actual receiver was fixed in the wall at the top of the stairs, complete with a microphone and a radio dial.

I turned it on, whispered, "Test? Test?"  My voice echoed all around me.

"Hello?" I said in a normal voice, and the walls boomed with the word. But I shut it off before I got too carried away. Mischievous notions were already seeping into my brain- but not the one which would actually transpire.  Not yet.

Inside the entertainment center, I found vinyls, 33s and 45s, in numbers so great my fingers tingled with excitement. I pulled out one of his Aretha Franklin records (and he had many)- Lady Soul, as I recall- and placed it on the turntable. Before long, "Chain of Fools" purred through the speakers and the flat was filled with her soulful magic.

"I should see what Dr. C was talking about," I said aloud. "Those instructions probably won't do me much good here, being for ol' Alinsky and all- but that journal will be a great place to record my, shall we say, Freddie observations?"

So I traipsed back up the stairs, dragging along my backpack.  Sprawling comfortably upon my bed, I laid the journal out before me and flipped to the first page.  I read:

"Congratulations, Whom It May Concern!  You survived the first part of the experiment- an experiment no one has ever attempted before.  The second part- which involves bringing you back - may be a stickier situation, but chances are, if you made it this far, it's all downhill from here on out.

"You have arrived in the year 1971-

"Wrong," I said aloud, interrupting myself.  "It's 1977, you only thought I was going to fall into the hands of Mr. Rules for Radicals.  Not so!  Ha ha."  I continued:

"You have arrived in the year 1971, if our calculations hold true.  Do not panic.  If you follow these simple instructions, you will keep yourself safe."

What followed were my Three Commandments (which I was keeping pretty well so far, if you can excuse me showing Freddie the Relic), only worded differently.  Keep a low profile, don't talk about where you come from, et cetera.  After that, the list of questions I was supposed to ask Mr. Alinsky.  I could show you those questions, and I would, but it was in the waiver I had to sign that the questions, answered or unanswered, remained classified.  From their perspective, I can certainly understand.