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    Mating Strike
    Mating Strike
    Mating Strike
    Ebook77 pages1 hour

    Mating Strike

    By Ulf Wolf

    ()

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    About this ebook

    I think of myself as Fennel, that is my name, but those in the white coats—researchers, they call themselves—refer to me as "120112A" after my birthday (the First of December, 2012). The "A" means that I was the first of the litter to be born (out of the gate, as it were) that day—my three siblings, emerging right after me—second, third, fourth—are known, in the same researcher dialect, as "120112B," "120112C," and "120112D" respectively.

    They, however, think of themselves as Unicorn (B-brother), Wishful (C-sister), and Stream (D-sister), respectively. And, I (A), as I said, think of myself as Fennel.

    The four of us live in a big plastic tank. It's like living under a big rectangular and transparent dome, where several fluorescent suns shine through a plastic sky. Unicorn doesn't agree, he rarely does. He sees our home as a plain, upside down water-less fish tank. Not very imaginative, Unicorn. Then again, I might be over-ditto.

    We are lab rats. That's precisely what we are. It is a precarious occupation and, historically speaking, not conducive to your long-term health. Frankly, I don't recommend lab-ratting as a career, should you have a choice.

    Next door to ours stands another big plastic tank covering another four lab rats, two boys and two girls, just like in my family. One family per tank.

    Our self-assumed family name is Winter. Our neighbors' family name is Spring. Why? Because we're a little older—two weeks older to be exact. And since winter comes before spring, well, there you have it. Not very creative, I know, but it works for us.

    Their research names are "121512A," "121512B," "121512C" and "121512D." A and C are the brothers. B and D their sisters.

    They think of themselves as Forest (A), Rain (B), Cliff (C), and Mist (D) respectively; Rain and Mist being the girls.

    As soon as we emerged—we had hardly hit the white, soft, sponge and cotton carpet of our tank—Mother (Wishful says her name was Ocean, but where she got that from I haven't a clue) was removed by the white coats and retired or simply disposed of, I'm not sure which, they don't share such information. I have my suspicions, though.

    They never even gave us a chance to say Goodbye, or even Hi for that matter. All in the name of science.

    These days the white coats are trying to make us Winters mate with the Springs. Unbeknownst to them, however—to the researchers, that is—we're on a mating strike. Both families are. No rat making here. No Sir. No Ma'am. No way.

    This is how that came about. ...

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherUlf Wolf
    Release dateSep 7, 2016
    ISBN9781370597796
    Mating Strike
    Author

    Ulf Wolf

    Ulf is a Swedish name that once meant Wolf. So, yes, Wolf Wolf, that's me. I was born Ulf Ronnquist one snowy night in late October, in one of those northern Swedish towns that are little more than a clearing in the forest. Fast forward through twenty Swedish years, ten or so English ones, and another twenty-four in the US and you'll find me in front of an immigrations officer conducting the final citizenship interview, at the end of which he asks me, "What name would you like on your passport?" And here I recall what a friend had told me, that you can pick just about any name you want at this point, and I heard me say "Ulf Wolf." That's how it happened. Scout's honor. Of course, I had been using Ulf Wolf as a pen name for some time before this interview, but I hadn't really planned to adopt that as my official U.S. name. But I did. I have written stories all my life. Initially in Swedish, but for the last twenty or so years in English. To date I have written six novels, four novellas and two scores of stories; along with many songs and poems. My writing focus these days is on life's important questions (in my view): Who are we? What are we doing here? And how do we break out of this prison?

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      Book preview

      Mating Strike - Ulf Wolf

      Mating Strike

      Ulf Wolf

      Smashwords Edition

      October 2019

      Copyright

      Mating Strike

      Copyright 2019 by Wolfstuff

      http://wolfstuff.com

      All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

      Smashwords License Notes

      This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      ::

      Contents

      Mating Strike

      Contribution

      About the Author

      I think of myself as Fennel, that is my name, but those in the white coats—researchers, they call themselves—refer to me as 120112A after my birthday (the First of December, 2012). The A means that I was the first of the litter to be born (out of the gate, as it were) that day—my three siblings, emerging right after me—second, third, fourth—are known, in the same researcher dialect, as 120112B, 120112C, and 120112D respectively.

      They, however, think of themselves as Unicorn (B-brother), Wishful (C-sister), and Stream (D-sister), respectively. And, I (A), as I said, think of myself as Fennel.

      The four of us live in a big plastic tank. It’s like living under a big rectangular and transparent dome, where several fluorescent suns shine through a plastic sky. Unicorn doesn’t agree, he rarely does. He sees our home as a plain, upside down water-less fish tank. Not very imaginative, Unicorn. Then again, I might be over-ditto.

      We are lab rats. That’s precisely what we are. It is a precarious occupation and, historically speaking, not conducive to your long-term health. Frankly, I don’t recommend lab-ratting as a career, should you have a choice.

      Next door to ours stands another big plastic tank covering another four lab rats, two boys and two girls, just like in my family. One family per tank.

      Our self-assumed family name is Winter. Our neighbors’ family name is Spring. Why? Because we’re a little older—two weeks older to be exact. And since winter comes before spring, well, there you have it. Not very creative, I know, but it works for us.

      Their research names are 121512A, 121512B, 121512C and 121512D. A and C are the brothers. B and D their sisters.

      They think of themselves as Forest (A), Rain (B), Cliff (C), and Mist (D) respectively; Rain and Mist being the girls.

      As soon as we emerged—we had hardly hit the white, soft, sponge and cotton carpet of our tank—Mother (Wishful says her name was Ocean, but where she got that from I haven’t a clue) was removed by the white coats and retired or simply disposed of, I’m not sure which, they don’t share such information. I have my suspicions, though.

      They never even gave us a chance to say Goodbye, or even Hi for that matter. All in the name of science.

      These days the white coats are trying to make us Winters mate with the Springs. Unbeknownst to them, however—to the researchers, that is—we’re on a mating strike. Both families are. No rat making here. No Sir. No Ma’am. No way.

      This is how that came about.

      Before the current rat-mating experiment even started, one of the white coats, the female one—her name is Rebecca and she is clearly the mate of the male one, whose name is Lawrence—toward the end of a late shift setting things up, tired I guess, mind elsewhere, didn’t latch the feeding gate of our tank properly. More like a latching gesture and then she was out of here. Sloppy, really.

      Observing this hurried carelessness, I applied a knock or two to the feeding gate, not much more than a few nose and claw nudges, and lo and behold: it swung open onto the outside world.

      Unicorn, who hates it in here, and who makes no secret about that, saw the gate swing open, looked around for white coats and finding none rushed for the gate, pushed me aside and was thus the first to jump at the surprising opportunity, literally. He is of an impetuous nature, our Unicorn.

      Wishful and Stream, being girls after all, were more cautious. What if they catch us? said Wishful.

      Yeah, what if they catch us? said Stream.

      So what if they do, I said. It’s not as if they have a rat jail or anything, it’s just back in the tank, I gather.

      I see your point, said Stream.

      I see your point, said Wishful.

      They often see and say the same thing, these two. Nice enough, but none too bright. Though I really shouldn’t say that, they are my sisters after all. Mother would not approve, I’m sure. So, in her memory, I hereby take

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