by Dick Johnson

Scientists recently discovered that animals much less sentient than dogs and cats also display feelings similar to our own. More precisely, they exhibit moods and mood swings. Recent research involves tortoises. Although we are not yet at the point of diagnosing whether a tortoise might be bipolar, it won’t be long. There is also an astonishing breakthrough that expands a whole new world of interspecies communication.

We are speaking, of course, of the iPhone 17, which is capable of instant translation across different languages. Because no one thought to test it with animals, no one imagined that it could translate their conversations as well.

The animals somehow discovered it before the humans did. Barely had I acquired my new iPhone when a tortoise approached me on my patio, demanding my help. This particular tortoise, who allowed me to call him “Mr. T,” asked if I would help him apply to be a resident at Havenswood Gardens. At first I shook my head. What a silly idea. Then it hit me: Havenswood needs new residents, and the small studios are going begging. Many questions emerged, such as where would a tortoise get the money? But I was already way out of my league. I agreed to take the tortoise to a higher power: someone in marketing.

A woman I did not recognize allowed us into her office. I took a chair and Mr. T settled on top of her desk, alongside my iPhone. He seemed surprisingly comfortable, and I soon discovered why.

The woman, whom I will call Ms. M, seemed humorously intrigued by this experience and decided to play along. After all, it was Monday, and things seemed rather dull. She began by explaining the fee schedule, which provides a discount if you enter Havenswood at a young age. Eager to demonstrate her math skills, she asked Mr. T how old he was.

“One hundred thirty-seven years” came the reply.

Ms. M inhaled quickly, looking as if she had just swallowed a rather large bug. Gasping slightly, she looked first at Mr. T, then at me. Her eyes narrowed while her lower lip began to quiver.

“Well! Well, well, well.” She took a deep breath, gathered herself, and tapped her pencil vigorously. I wondered if my iPhone would translate that too.

“Give me a moment, Mr. T, to put that figure into our computer. You might find it too exp … Oh my goodness!” My phone started sending signals that Ms. M’s blood pressure was dangerously high.

“Perhaps we should come back tomorrow,” I ventured.

She shook her head. “Here, let me show you. Whoever created our formula assumed that no one older than 110 would apply for residency. For God knows what reason, the fee schedule then starts to unwind and go in reverse. At 125, the fee becomes zero. At 137, it says, you won’t believe this, we have to pay you $221,000.”

Ms. M and I looked at each other with astonishment. I thought I detected a certain smugness from Mr. T. Is it possible that he knew already?

“Shall we negotiate?” Mr. T counseled.

I thought Ms. M was about to faint. Her breath came is short bursts. She fumbled with the papers on her desk. “What … do … you … uh … have in mind?”

“I really don’t need a studio,” Mr. T replied. “A small space by the southmost koi pond, one that would not disturb the ducks, would suffice.”

Ms. M exhaled a large sigh of relief. She appeared to see a light at the end of the tunnel. I began to admire her. Some Mondays are unlike anything you ever expected.

“We can work this out, Mr. T,” she said. “A revised founder’s fee could come to $13.20. Lettuce would be free. You would have to pay your own medical bills, and we will not consider you eligible for lifetime care. Monthly fees would be waived if someone, perhaps Mr. Johnson, would claim you as a pet. How does that sound? Do you have references?”

The tortoise nodded at me, and I produced several recommendations he had emailed to me. I read aloud:

“A master of the arts of contemplation and relaxation. A model for all those wishing to bring serenity into their lives. Better than a goldfish, and with more promising longevity. A most valuable antidote to all those health fanatics who say you must spend more time at the gym.”

Mr. T spoke up.

“That should suffice,” he said. “As for payment, I propose to teach a class, ‘The joy of laziness.’ New residents of the type drawn here have led incredibly busy and productive lives. It’s a major shift for them to learn to be lazy and love it. Would you accept that as service in lieu of payment.”

Noticing that Ms. M’s jaw had once again threatened to hit her desk, Mr. T quickly added, “Of course, if that is any problem, I can pay you from my residuals.”

“Residuals?”

“Yes, from theater and movies. Perhaps you have seen me. I was the paperweight in Tom Stoppard’s ‘Arcadia.’ Fascinating play.”

There’s only so much one can take on a Monday morning, and we had exceeded that. Ms. M snapped her jaw shut, sat upright, and said, “We’re done here. I will draw up the contract for your, uh, signature. Thank you for coming in, Mr. T. We at Havenswood are pleased to welcome you and your many talents. I wish all new residents were as compatible as you.”

Dick Johnson came to Claremont in 1962 and rarely left. He taught history at Cal Poly Pomona and now lives at Mt. San Antonio Gardens.