We all remember that breathtaking footage of the Apollo 11 mission, where Armstrong, bum first, stepped down a shaky ladder, trying hard to recall the epic phrase he was meant to deliver. Of course, that event had been preceded by the successful landing of the lunar module a while before, again, bum first. Although I would easily join the adoring chorus, my personal attitude toward those events is a bit complicated.
From time to time, a nagging inner voice tells me to hire a bunch of bloodthirsty lawyers and sue NASA and their uncle altogether for infringing my intellectual property. The matter is that I, and not they, invented the bum landing. I did it a year before the Apollo expedition even left the Earth’s pull, and could easily prove it. However, I’m not one who enjoys knocking old heroes off their perch. So, I tell the voice to pipe down and enjoy my modest life without the massive compensation I could lay claim to.
I remember that day very well. I was sitting in my crib, a small roofless cage, looking through the bars — the way the Soviet people saw the world outside. I still couldn’t walk, but I could sit and crawl. Somehow, those wooden bars irritated me. My knowledge about life outside of our modest apartment was very limited, and I was full of courage to extend it.
Apart from a free mind, I had nimble fingers, which helped me to remove one of the crib’s walls. Without thinking twice, I crawled forward, fell out of the crib, and landed straight on my face, blessing the fact that I still had no teeth. I learned my lesson quickly and crawled across the room toward the door, opened a crack, revealing the corridor. There I saw the light at the end of the tunnel — the front door was wide open. That primordial glow astonished me and inspired me to keep moving onward.
Soon, I reached the front door’s threshold. The steps behind it sank down almost flush with the ground, leaving a foot-and-a-half drop beyond it. My eyes adjusted to the bright light, and I saw a yard covered with rammed earth and gravel. In its corner, I recognized a strange structure.
It looked like a lunar crater, but in fact, it was the opening of a cesspit with some garbage scattered around. I decided to explore it immediately. I pulled back, did a 180 turn, and started advancing toward the threshold — yes, like a lunar spaceship, bum first. My face was still aching after that awkward escape, so I decided not to take any risks and land on my bum — the same thing those old guys, Neil and Buzz, did a year later, in ‘69.
The collision with the foundations of the earth wasn’t too bad. In fact, I didn’t fall down from the threshold but rather slid along it, clinging to it and using friction as a braking force. The adventure continued. I crawled forward a few yards toward that bogus crater and sat down, observing the yard and bleak houses around.
Suddenly, I saw a mysterious creature. It walked on four legs and was covered with patches of black and white fur. It also had a furry stick rising from its rear end. The creature had a sly expression on its furry face, decorated with triangle ears and long whiskers. It approached me, sniffed me like a connoisseur, then licked my hand and started purring, walking around, and rubbing against me. It was pleasant and funny. Then the creature waved its tail gracefully and strolled away.
“Don’t leave me, Furry Tail!” I stretched my hands and tried to call it back, but instead, I uttered just a silly cry.
Since that day, I’ve loved cats; and never got along with those who don’t. That random cat not only nuzzled against me for a moment — it saved my life. If not it, I would have crawled across the yard pretty quickly and, who knows, probably tumbled into the cesspit. It had distracted me long enough to let my guardian angel waltz into the scene, who, in my case, looked like a grumpy old woman, hired by my parents to look after me.
She rushed toward me, screeching and waving her hands, like a windmill, mixing Russian and Tatar curses, scooped me up from the ground, and returned me hastily to my child prison. Then, boiling with anger, she left me alone again and went to the kitchen to do her cooking. However, soon the radio started broadcasting her favorite folk songs with accordion accompaniment; her mood improved, and she joined in singing. Was it a saga about Batu Khan sacking Kitezh, or something else — I’ll never know.
Despite all the trauma and distress, I was highly satisfied with my adventure. The world outside was indeed big, full of secrets, mysteries, and lovely creatures I was yet to discover; preferably without breaking my neck.
© 1995–2025 Alexander Daretsky. All rights reserved.