Kickass, the doorstop dog, tries to ignore the keeper’s laments about being coronavirus-confined since, by comparison to some others, his suffering is minor league. He frets, for example, about not having any place to go with his newly acquired vehicle, especially with $1 gas available. There was a time when, trapped in congested traffic, the keeper was wont to mutter, “Where the hell is everybody going!” Now, out there on the byways’ the question is, “Where the hell has everybody gone?” Home, of course. They have all gone home, and they, along with the keeper and Phyllis, will be staying there for who knows how long.
In a species conditioned to think it was invincible and immune to natural occurrences, the old “fight or flight” decision was made with the same alacrity of cave-dwelling predecessors. One of the differences between the present stoned age and the Stone Age may be “wheels,” but aside from that kind of gadgetry advance, there isn’t really any meaningful distinction to be made between the occupants of caves and houses when it comes to shelter and self preservation. The catamounts or the coronaviruses are out there and they always will be; and the keeper and his ilk would do well to retreat to their garages and sit in their unused vehicles and think about that.