Hunted
The lions hunt the visitors.
Everyone expectsVisitors watch the lions.
What if the main attraction at the zoo was you, as a robot deer, trying not to be eaten by lions?
Follow how it could happenOriginal fiction / Antony Butts
How garden centres finally cracked the pet economy
I like Barry. He’s in a good mood I see, the little screen by him smiling away, but he’s gagging to tell me something and I think I might know why. The screen by Basil had an unhappy animation. A thought bubble above it said “Barry and Tom” and there’s an unhappy emoji. I lie back on the sofa as he tells me his side of the story.
“It’s pesto night in three days,” I say. “Cheer up, Basil”
“You want healthy leaves. I need light!” exclaims Basil. “And Tom’s taking it all himself.”
A week ago, everyone had their own patch of light. Now the tomato occupies most of the upstairs. Perhaps I should bring Mexican night forward and have salsa instead.
“Good idea,” said Basil. “Tom’s getting too big for his pot”.
“I’m carrying seventeen tomatoes,” Tom said offended. “Some of us have responsibilities.”
“And as for Barry-“ Basil said. He’d not finished grumbling. “He’s a total mercenary.”
Barry is a root fungus. A miner who trades the nutrients his mycelium gather for carbon. If the plant can’t pay, the plant doesn’t get his nutrients. The tomatoes pay well, Barry said.
Barry’s a Rhizophagus aggregatus. He’s a bit of a hoarder, mean with his phosphorous and demands a lot of carbon, but he grows fast because of it. I could have got another fungus that wasn’t quite so mercenary as Rhizophagus irregulari, but I need a bit of drama in my life. I’m 75 and dealing with these squabbles makes me feel connected to the natural world.
“Don’t worry, Basil,” I said. “It’s Mexican night tomorrow.”
“But my tomatoes aren’t ready,” said Tom.
“Yes they are,” I said.
“No, they aren’t,” said Tom.
“Yes they are,” said Basil.
I reached in and cut a stem off that was overhanging Basil and blocking his light and took out a tomato and popped it into my mouth. It was delicious.
I realised I’d been neglecting Irina. She’s an oyster mushroom with a screen on her with an animation that said she was a bit dry. Could I mist her? No problem. A few puffs of water and she perked up.
“I think I’m going to fruit soon,” said Irina suddenly. “Will you be around next week? I promise it will be a good one.”
Companion growers have come a long way from the kitchen gardens of old. It seems odd to eat your pet. But I’ve got to face facts. I’m mostly housebound. I can’t keep a dog amused enough these days and cats - I’ve never been that into them. Having an ecosystem to care for is fun. I’m thinking of going to the garden centre at the weekend and getting a little pine tree and Japanese golden chanterelle mushroom who I’ve decided I will call Chantelle. Both need each other. She’ll arrive with her own little pine tree, but they’ll be sharing the growing bed. Barry’s used to treating the kitchen garden as his private estate. Now there’ll be another fungus prospecting for nutrients, with a tree to feed. I wonder how he’ll take that. Barry’s a bit of a villain, and I like the drama.