The Rodent Extractor
                                                                                       copyright © 2003 by Robert L. Blau

    When Master called me into his study, I was expecting a good scratch behind the ears.  But he was wearing a "no kitty treats today" expression.
    "Meow?" I inquired.
    "Whiskers," said Master, "I'm afraid you're getting soft."
    "Um, cats are supposed to be soft," I reminded him. "It's one of our most endearing features."  I purred ingratiatingly.
    "No," he continued. "That isn't what I mean.  What I mean is that I think you're losing your edge.  Mouse-catching-wise, that is."
    "Excuse me?" said I incredulously. "Have you seen any mice around here lately?"
    "Well, no," he admitted, "but experts say that competition is necessary to achieve peak efficiency."
    "And just what experts would you be talking about?" I probed.
    "Well, ... all of them," he said. "You know, all our elected and appointed officials and all their advisors.  And the corporations that give them all those big campaign contributions.  They know all about economics and things.  Face it, Whiskers.  You have a monopoly on rodent extermination here.  You must be subjected to unfettered free market forces.  I'm deregulating you."
    My back arched without the participation of my brain.  "Not another cat?" I hissed.
    "Relax, Whiskers," said Master. "No more cats.  I'm getting something better!  A Rodent Extractor!"
    "A what?"  I plumped down on the carpet.  I had no idea what he was talking about.
    "A Rodent Extractor!" gushed Master excitedly. "It's the latest thing.  They're cheaper, cleaner, and more efficient than cats."
    "Wait a minute!" I objected. "How could anything be cheaper than me?  I just showed up on your doorstep one day and mewed soulfully."
    "Well, maybe, but since then, it's been nothing but food, kitty litter, and vet bills.  Why, getting you neutered alone cost ..."
    "Oh, yes," I hissed. "I never properly thanked you for that."  I did a quick mental inventory of Master's shoes.  "So, when does this extractor thing arrive?"

    The big day and a big truck arrived.  Oh, and a crane.  Did I mention the crane?  The crane was needed to move a gigantic wooden crate from the truck to Master's front lawn.
    "Just what kind of contraption is this?" I asked suspiciously.
    There was a loud thump from inside the crate, and one side of the crate burst open.  Out walked the Rodent Extractor.  It was an elephant.
    "It's an elephant," I said.  Rather unnecessarily, I think.
    "No.  I am not an elephant," said the elephant. "I am a state of the art Rodent Extractor from the Rodents R Us Corporation."
    "Of course, it's not an elephant!" said Master.
    "You look like an elephant to me," I said.
    "I have been genetically altered not to be afraid of mice," said the elephant.  I mean, Rodent Extractor.
    "There," said Master. "You see?"  Then, to the elephant, "This is Whiskers, my obsolete rodent control unit.  He can show you around the house."
    "Yeah, around the house is right," I said peevishly. "Since you won't fit inside.  Do you have a name?"
    "You can call me Elsie," said the elephant.
    "Master tells me that you come really cheap."
    Master grumbled something and looked embarrassed.
    "Beg pardon?" said I.
    "The bill was a ... little higher than I had been led to believe," he admitted.
    "That was a bargain," sniffed Elsie. "Without the government subsidy, I would've been a lot more expensive."
    "Government subsidy?" I asked. "What happened to 'unfettered free market forces' and deregulation and all that?"
    "Since I'm a new technology, I need a little initial ... assistance," said Elsie. "Besides, RRU is a big campaign contributor."
    "And that subsidy would come from taxes?" I asked.
    "Public funds," said Elsie.
    "And Master is a tax payer," I continued, "so he's paying for the subsidy, too."
    "Not all of it!" Elsie countered.
    "But just wait!" stammered Master. "This new technology will more than pay for itself down the road.  Uh, right?"
    "Sure, sure," said Elsie soothingly.
    "And low maintenance, right?" he continued.
    "Right," said Elsie. "I only eat about 300 pounds of food and 50 gallons of water per day.  And the vet bills are sure to go down once Rodent Extractors become widespread."
    Master gulped.  "But it's clean!" said Master. "No more kitty litter!  And no more surprises in my bathroom slippers."  He looked at me pointedly.
    "Absolutely true," said Elsie.  Just then she dumped a huge load of steaming elephant poop in the middle of the front yard.  "Aaah!" she said. "I've been holding that since leaving company headquarters."
    "Yikes!" shrieked Master. "How often do you do that?"
    "Just a few times a day," said Elsie.
    "But what am I supposed to do with all the elephant crap?" he whined. "Nobody told me about this!"
    "That's 'Rodent Extractor by-products,'" corrected Elsie. "Relax!  We're working on it.  Some day, someone is bound to figure out how to get rid of it.  In the meantime, we're working on a deal to ship it all to a central location where you don't live."
    "Does anyone live there?" I asked.
    "What do you care," Elsie replied. "as long as you don't?"
    "Well, that sounds very reasonable to me," said Master. "But there's one thing I'm curious about."
    "Just one?" I interjected.  But no one was paying any attention to me.
    "How exactly do you catch, er, extract the rodents?"
    "See this baby?" boasted Elsie, swinging her trunk. "I just suck 'em up with it!  Might have to bust a few walls to get at the little buggers, of course."  She squinted meaningfully at the house and gave the ground a good experimental pawing.
    Even Master was beginning to waver.  "What if I just wanted to go back to my cat?" he whimpered.
    "Gosh, I don't know," said Elsie. "I'm happy right where I am."
    She looked like she was settling in for a long stay.