Please Don't Open the Box

Whatever you do, please, please don't open the box. I'm asking you, begging you, please don't open the box.

Erwin, that vindictive son of a bitch, put me in here. “A little thought experiment,” he said, “come on step inside, here, kitty, kitty. Look at this shiny bottle, here, kitty, kitty.”

That shiny blue bottle sure did look intriguing. He knows, that Erwin knows, us cats like to play with such things. He's had plenty of experience of tantalising us cats. I know that now, when it's all too late.

Then he slams the lid closed on me. Boy did I screech when he shut that lid. I fought back I did. I can be quick when I want – admittedly it's not that often – and I almost got away. But I was not quite quick enough this time.

I think I caught him a good one, just before he closed that lid, three right nice scratch marks right across his smug face. I saw the blood trickling down his cheek just as the lights went out. Serves him right now everyone will know I fought back. Yes, I fought back. And I heard him complaining, moaning, asking for help, help, help. Like a little baby he was, wanting it all bandaged up. Then he's crying like a little girl when his wife put iodine on it. Yes, I fought back.

This is one mother of a box, utterly and completely sealed. Nothing gets in and nothing gets out, not even an environmentally induced quantum decoherence and that's a tad on the small side. Some may even say tiny.

In here with me there's that shiny bottle Erwin waved at me. Apparently it contains poison; enough to kill me stone dead. How do you like that? But it's not enough to harm them. There all safe enough out there, their not taking any chances, their just 'thinking'.

Hooked up in here is a Geiger counter and if it detects radiation the shiny bottle get shattered. Now isn't that fun, I'm right pleased about that. One bit of radiation and the bottle gets shattered and one whiff of the poison and I'm dead, stone dead. That's what they call fun, call science, call an experiment. I bet there all laughing out there.

What did Mr Erwin Schrödinger do just before he shut the lid? And this was really nice of him, really, really nice. He went and threw in a single radioactive atom. Do you get that, a single radioactive atom? Now normally I have nothing against atoms. Let them do what they want I say. Whiz about or do whatever it is they normally do. But I don't want one in here with me. Not today of all days, not with that Geiger counter. It's not as if I can see the atom, it just comes at you from nowhere. Dam thing keeps catching me by surprise, right pain it is.

It's not as if I can mess with the Geiger counter or bottle. Oh no, they don't trust me with that. It's all sealed off from me. It's all the same to them if I live or die. And I don't want to be a quantum indeterminacy. I don't like being a quantum indeterminacy. What is a quantum indeterminacy anyway? No one bothered to tell me, bitches.

So please don't open the box. Please, please, please don't open the box.

* * *

About a week ago I was in a nice pet shop all lounging about and licking my... well you know, my proverbials. Just as my proverbials were getting to a nice state of cleanliness in walks Erwin. He strolls in, all nonchalant like, wants another cat. He seemed all right so I went off with him. I admit I was in a bit of a relaxed state at the time.

The other cats in the shop were a bit iffy. They said, “He's had a few new cats recently.” Now, how was I supposed to know? I just thought he liked cats like, you know like that batty woman down the street likes cats like. I didn't know what he was doing to them. How was I supposed to know?

He turned out to be Erwin Schrödinger some professor of something or other. Professor of murdering cats, I think that's it, must be that. If this was his own species he was 'thinking' about there'd be complaints. Yes, there'd be complaints.

So I moved in and at first it was all nice. There was a warm spot to sleep in by the fire and the grubs not too bad. I lounged about a bit and Mr Schrödinger had his two wives to play with. Nothing wrong with that, I can understand that. In fact where I come from that's positively frugal.

Then one day: “Here, kitty, kitty” and I'm in this box. Currently, apparently, weirdly I'm both dead and not dead. I'm dead and not dead at the same time, at the same moment? How do you get that? It's only when that bitch of a professor gets to have a look it all gets decided. When that misery of an observer opens the box the big decision gets made. I'm either lying here having snuffed it or leap out into Erwin's tender loving arms all grateful like.

And why does he get to decide? It all happens to me. I want to decide. I should decide. I want to be the observer. And I don't want to die. Why can't I be the observer? At least before the box is opened I might be alive. In fact I am alive in some parallel universe.

Help, I hear some rumbling. That must be the hateful Schrödinger. It sounds like that hateful Schrödinger. He's come back to get me, to check if I'm dead. I guess I've been trapped in here about an hour. Not an hour, please not an hour.

Please don't open the box. Please, please, please don't open the box.