Anyway.
That’s it. I saved the world. J.Lo helped.
We can’t take all the credit. For months after the Gorg left, stories poured in from around the world about humans fighting back. I can’t get into all of them here, but let’s just say the Gorg were not prepared for the Chinese. Ditto the Israelis and Palestinians, who managed to work together, for a change. And I hear they didn’t even set foot in Australia. And word even got around about a group of Lost Boys living under Happy Mouse Kingdom who made life miserable for a local Gorg encampment. And we couldn’t have done it without the Chief.
Frank Jose, the Chief, died this past spring. He was ninety-four. He said it was his time, but I wish his time and mine had overlapped more. We donated some of his war things to a museum, and gave away everything else. Except Lincoln. Lincoln we kept.
The Boov were in a much weaker position than before, and they owed us humans for getting rid of the Gorg, even if they weren’t sure how we did it. They helped people all over the world relocate, signed a lot of treaties, and left Earth for good on Smekday, one year after they’d arrived. Word is they’re thinking of trying one of Saturn’s moons, but it’s a bit of a fixer-upper.
Mom and J.Lo and Pig and Lincoln and I moved back home, but then we moved again. We all agreed to be very slow and careful about revealing J.Lo to the world, and slow and careful was not going to work in a big city. GM bought our patent for the floating car, so money wasn’t a problem, and we bought a nice house near a lake.
So far we’ve only introduced J.Lo to close friends and family, but it’s gone well. Every now and then I catch him looking at the sky, and I figure I know what he’s thinking. But then he might notice me and say he’s considering building an escalator to the moon, just for day trips, so I don’t know what to think.
One day he discovered that his name wasn’t as common as he thought, so he decided to change it. For a while he went by Spoon Possums, and then he was Dr. Henry Jacob Weinstein, and for a couple of days he was The Notorious B.B. Shaq Chewy before changing back to J.Lo, which I’d never stopped calling him anyway.
And speaking of famous people who get married too much:
Right now you’re probably wondering why I never told anyone about what J.Lo and I did. Maybe you even think I’m lying. A person would have to be crazy not to want the fame, and the spotlight. Well, maybe I am. I’ve earned my crazy. But let me tell you something about the famous Dan Landry.
He hasn’t had a moment’s peace since the Gorg left. Not one. His every movement has been reported, his every word recorded, his every stumble and blockhead idea captured on film forever. He has, in fact, in the past year alone, been married twice (pop star, anchorwoman), divorced three times (clerical error), and suffered one very public nervous breakdown (Chinese restaurant, wrestling). At the moment, I understand, he’s recovering from “exhaustion” at a hospital in California.
If that’s not enough to convince you that keeping quiet was the right thing to do, then think about this: I saved the world. I saved the whole human race. For the rest of my life, even if I live to be a hundred and ten, I will never again do anything as fantastic and important as what I did when I was eleven. I could win an Oscar and fix the ozone layer. I could cure all known diseases and I’ll still feel like my Uncle Roy, who used to be a star quarterback but now just sells hot tubs. I’m going to have to figure out how to live with this, and I sure don’t need everyone I meet bringing it up all the time.
So.
You asked what the moral to my story was. I’m not sure real stories have morals. Or maybe they have so many it’s impossible to choose. But here’s one: what goes around comes around. And as far as pets go, a cat is a nice thing to have.