EMAIL: parkerr@mail.fwi.com
NAME: Ron Parker
TOPIC: Imaginary Worlds
COPYRIGHT: I SUBMIT TO THE STANDARD RAYTRACING COMPETITION COPYRIGHT.
TITLE: Here we go a-borrowing
COUNTRY: USA
WEBPAGE: http://www2.fwi.com/~parkerr/traces.html
RENDERER USED: POV-Ray
TOOLS USED: Photoshop (JPG conversion)
RENDER TIME: 
HARDWARE USED: K6/266
IMAGE DESCRIPTION: Things I've given up for lent.

DESCRIPTION OF HOW THIS IMAGE WAS CREATED:
This image was modeled entirely by hand, including the "sheet" 
on the bed and the bottle cap on the "table."  No bicubic patches
were harmed during the production of this image.

THE STORY:

February 20, 1999

Dear Journal,
Today I found the strangest thing.  I was watching Monstervision
on TNT, and I'd just gotten up to get myself another beer.  On the 
way to the kitchen, I passed the hall closet and saw the cat pawing
at the door.  "Stupid cat," said I.  "Nothing in there but the camping
supplies and that Thighmaster I only used once."  For some reason, I
felt the need to prove my intellectual superiority to the cat, so I
opened the door.  In a flash, the cat had entered the closet and begun
sniffing at the trapdoor that leads to the crawlspace under the house.

Now I've never liked rodents.  Dirty, ugly little things that spread
disease.  If this cat was on the trail of a mouse, by george, she was
going to have a mouse.  So, I opened the trap door.  The cat was gone
before I finished opening it.  Within seconds, I heard her miaowing as
though she were about to die.  (When don't cats sound like they're 
about to die?) 

"Great,"  I thought.  "Stupid cat's probably gotten herself cornered
by the mouse."  Grabbing the flashlight from the shelf, I crawled in 
after her, cursing the fact that I would now miss the end of one of
the most awful movies ever made, and the commentary of the ever-witty
Joe-Bob Briggs.

I finally found her in the corner of the foundation.  The corner 
furthest from the trap door, of course, and a place I'd never go but
for that stupid cat.  She was staring into the corner, paralyzed in 
fear.  When I saw what she was staring at, I too was paralyzed, but 
with wonder.  For what should I see before my eyes but a tiny little
studio apartment, just the right size for a person four inches high.
No trace of any people about, but it was obvious that someone had been
there just moments before, for dinner was on the table.  Three peas,
roasted to perfection, sat in a bottle cap atop a makeshift table in 
the center of a room made from an unfolded cardboard box.

Against one wall I spied what passed for a stove, and probably a sink
in a pinch.  After a moment, I recognized it as the potpourri pot my 
wife had brought back from one of her spending sprees at Pottery Mania
last year.  I never liked the smell of potpourri, and I left no doubt
about that fact in my wife's mind.  So, when the potpourri pot turned 
up missing one day, suspicion fell on me.  "Ha!" thought I. "Now 
she'll see!"  

I slithered backward toward the trap door, reached up through the hole
into the light of the real world, and found my old Polaroid.  In a
moment, I was back in the corner, long-since vacated by the cat. She
had probably resumed her station as protector-of-the-house atop the
warm air vent in the living room.  I snapped a few quick pictures, then
ensured another six months of chiropracter bills by attempting to 
return once more to the aboveground world.

Now, looking at the pictures I took, I can see that everything down 
there under the corner of my bedroom is something from my house.  The
clock on the wall, held there with used bubblegum, is the cheap Chinese
watch I picked up at the Flea Market.  I think it might have lasted a
week before the band broke off, taking a chunk of the watch case with
it and ensuring a speedy trip to the trash.  Below the clock, a sponge
from the kitchen, covered with one of my handkerchiefs.  Poor guy leads
a pretty spartan lifestyle, probably because I'm such a neat freak.

His (I've taken to calling him a him.  Could he be a her?) back must
be in even worse shape than mine.  No pillow, and only a champagne
cork for a chair.  I think I'll leave an herbal tea bag in the closet
for him.  One with chamomile would make a nice pillow, I should think.
And tomorrow I'll run out to Hobby Village and get him some proper
furniture in the dollhouse section.

February 21, 1999

Dear Journal,

I was about to show my wife the pictures of my find from yesterday, but
at the last second I decided that nobody would ever believe I didn't 
set that thing up myself.  Not relishing the thought of spending the
rest of my life in one of those comfy rooms with all the extra padding,
I've decided this little secret will have to remain with just me, the
cat, and whoever is living in my crawlspace.  

When I got up this morning, the teabag was gone, as was the note I had
left with it.  Now, I'm off to Hobby Village.  This could be an 
interesting year...