Humans live such short, miserable lives. One gray day is much like the next for them, and yet each one wants to be special. They carve up their pitiable existence into chunks and put names on them, and identify with them, as if it somehow means anything. This is the “Year of the Rat,” supposedly. What’s next? Guineapigs? Dormice? And the year gets parceled out month by month as well. According to the superstitious system the human female uses, she was born under an astronomical sign that corresponds to water.
I’d dismiss this as mere superstition, except wherever she goes, water misfortunes of one sort or another seem to dog her heels. When she visited an island known for its dry summer weather, it rained. When she went hiking in the mountains in the middle of a drought, it poured nonstop for three days. Her first apartment’s roof leaked. So did the one on the place where the humans spent their first married Yule. The building she used to work in flooded on a yearly basis, and you know how many leaks, puddles, drips, and dribbles I’ve caused for her in the building she works in now.
Which is why she should not be at all surprised that her Prep Staff minions have just called on the walkie-talkie to let her know that the autoclave is leaking.
A lot, a lot. Scummy, rusty, autoclave-guts water.
One of the Techs has located the water vaccuum and is employing it with vigor. The human female is on the phone, requesting help from Slow, Silent, and Costly, urging them to be faster than they normally are.
Curses! Another one of the techs has located the water cut-off valve.
And here comes SSC. That means my little prank is over. But it brightened up an otherwise boring workday and inconvenienced a lot of people, so I’m willing to let it go.
On to the next mischief!