For some time now I have had my suspicions that a black hole is forming in my house. I thought it might make a handy garbage disposal unit, and possibly also account for all the things I can’t find. Well I did find some of them and so far I haven’t found a black hole. I don’t count the septic tank in this by the way, for reasons I won’t go into just at the moment. I do live next to a swamp which certainly looks like a black hole in places, and there’s no doubt anything that falls in would be unlikely to return. All the same, I did read that black holes tend to devour surrounding matter and my house is still here despite the efforts of a local woodpecker to demolish it last week.
In fact properly trained, black holes might even be an asset. If some bothersome town planner decides to site a nuclear power plant at the bottom of your garden, just switch your black hole to “devour” mode and watch your property resale values soar with every bite. Take care though if your neighbour also owns one, for if their black hole merges with yours then they may get up to no end of hanky panky together that they wouldn’t think of doing on their own. They do have a tendency to merge, I’m told and mergers are all the rage these days. For decades now, large corporations have been swallowing each other up in the business equivalent of astrophysics.
Black holes are known experts at packing enormous masses into small spaces – they are the best, say the scientists. But then they’ve probably never met my friend Sue who has enough possessions to fill the Albert Hall (and that’s only under her bed). And I’m not so bad myself – sardine-packing fridges is one of my specialities. You know that feeling two days before Christmas when the fridge is so full that you can’t get another brussel sprout into it, then someone says “you haven’t forgotten Keith’s gone to get the 40-pound turkey? It’s got to go in too, you know.” No problem! Send for me. I have a way with ornery fridges.
Another friend I have tells me that she always thought black holes were full of black cats. Actually I think there’s something in this, because of Maya. Maya was a very wise black cat I used to have, who had an uncanny ability to find things. I know what you’re thinking – that’s normal enough for a golden retriever or a cocker spaniel, but a cat? Trust me on this. You lose your car keys. You look everywhere. Twice. Then you look again until there simply isn’t anywhere left to look. In frustration you look at Maya and say “Maya where are my car keys? I just can’t find them anywhere. Oh good grief what am I doing, asking the cat. I must be off my head.” And off you go to carry on looking. Except a small idea has just begun to take shape in your brain. “Oh wait a minute,” you think. “I didn’t look in the front door, did I?” And there they are. Another time it’s that book you were reading. It just isn’t anywhere. You look everywhere. In the bed. Down the back of the sofa. Even in the microwave (for after all, you aren’t getting any younger, are you?) When you run out of places to look you ask Maya. Nothing happens. Well it wouldn’t, would it – she’s a cat for heavens’ sake. You give up and decide to make coffee. Halfway through pouring out the coffee you suddenly stop. “Wait a minute – I didn’t look in the car, did I?” And there it is. I rarely knew her to fail. Sadly she’s no longer with me and I’m the one to be lost now. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to find out either that Maya came from a black hole, or had influential friends in one, allowing her access to all those lost items swallowed up by black holes.
And you thought the new energy-efficient, front-loading washer ate your socks.
Maya in a black hole
The Blethering Ant 