“Just look at them, Mr. Bungles, just look.” John peered through the apartments front door.
Across the hall, his neighbour Hank was surrounded by his wife and kids. Mr. Bungles didn’t seem to care and continued grooming himself.
“Look at him and his perfect little family unit. ”
The cat stopped licking his paw, looked up at his master, and went back to the more important task at hand.
“I swear. I swear I’ll report him to the Alien Neighbourhood Watch today. No one that perfect can be human.”
John watched Hank motion for his wife and kids to go inside. He approached the door and reached out for the doorbell. John sprang up off the couch, disabled the doors snoop-screen, and engaged the open-lock.
"Hello," John said.
“Hey, John. How are you?” Hank had his stupid patented smile splayed on his stupid chiseled face.
“I’m fine. What’s up?”
“Just being neighbourly.”
“Oh, I see. Well, nothing’s the matter over here.” John pursed his lips.
“I wouldn’t think so. Wondering if you wanted to come over and watch the game later?”
“I’ll think about it.” The door swished close.
John paced the small apartment hallway.
“Goddamn it. The bastard.”
He looked up the Alien Reporting Hotline though he didn’t have to—the number was burned into his mind. He was waiting for the perfect time to call and this would be ideal. Hank would be expecting him to show up to watch the game, but instead, he would be greeted by an Alien Investigator.
John plopped down on the couch and looked at Mr. Bungles. The cat stared back at him.
“Damn you, Mr. Bungles. You’re always right. I’m being jealous again. Why does that bastard get to have the perfect life we’re stuck in this shithole.”
The cat meowed and crawled over to John. He craned his neck up and began to purr. John petted him behind the ears.
“Okay, you win. But I’m taking detailed notes of today. Inviting me over for the game. The goddamn nerve.”
John began to furiously scribble down notes with one hand and continued to pet the cat with the other.
“I’m going to report him today,” Hank declared.
“You said that yesterday,” his wife said.
“I invited him to watch the game and you should have seen his face. Totally alien. And I’ve got a long back catalog of grievances. He thinks we don’t know he’s spying on us through that snoop-screen of his. Studying our comings and goings. Just what an alien would do.”
Hank’s wife rolled her eyes.
This is my entry for the Twenty-four hour short story contest for May 29 hosted by @mctiller.