Pet Mother

Guy opens a cabinet. He tells me, Curt is to butter as Guy is to kombucha.

There are jars and jars of the stuff. He takes one out and shows it to me, lets me hold it, and says that I should take it, that I should take care of his mother. I say, Don't tell me what I should do, and he says, You can take one if you'd like, it would be something like a pet.
A pet? I say.

Now, at home, the mother is on the table, my new pet. I watch it for a while, but it doesn't do much. But I am afraid that I might kill it, that something will happen and it will get loose and I'll never be able to find it, or that it will get run over by a car.

I pour a little bit of the kombucha into a glass and take a sip. It is sour, burns. It fills me, and Dad walks in and asks what the h*ll it is! I say, It's my new pet. Well, he says, get it out of here, it looks filthy! So I take the mother into my room. I set it on my bureau. I try to come up with a name. I fall asleep.