Orwell's Luck Read Free

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    Orwell didn't die. He made it through the night, and maybe it was just my optimistic imagination, but he seemed to be perkier than the day before. Equally reassuring was the message in the newspaper's daily horoscope guide for Monday.
    Horoscopes give you the lay of the land for an entire twenty-four hours in one short, simple phrase. If good things are destined to happen to you that day, you can be ready to receive them with open arms. On the other hand, if bad things are in store, you can be on your guard. Either way, you know what to expect.
    The horoscope messages in the newspaper are hidden from the casual reader. They consist of twelve tiny boxes, one for each sign of the zodiac, with each box containing seven numbers and a little circular moon.
    Depending on what kind of day you're going to have, the moon wears a smile face or a frown face, or, if your day is "neutral," it has no face, but is presented as half dark and half light. Between the two vertical rows of message boxes is a long list of words that correspond to all the numbers. To find out what's going to happen to you, you must first decode the message.
    I am a Scorpio, like my father—
exactly
like my father, since fate long ago decreed in a curious coincidence that we share the same autumn birthday. The horoscope for Scorpio had a moon with a smile face and seven numbers that I hurried to decipher.
    The first word was "take." I looked up the next one. It was "friend." Then came "to," followed by "exclusive" and "restaurant." In my haste, I almost made a mistake on the next word. At first I thought it was "explode," which gave me a start, but then I realized that I was looking at the word above the word for me. My word was "treat." The last word was actually two words stuck together. It was "him/her."
TAKE FRIEND TO EXCLUSIVE RESTAURANT
TREAT HIM/HER.
    Huh? I didn't get it. What did this have to do with a broken rabbit in my mother's not-quite-finished new bathroom?
    Then it came to me. Of course! The friend was Orwell. And at this very moment he was the only customer in the most exclusive restaurant in town—my place! I was already doing what the horoscope recommended! I was not only on track, I was a little bit ahead. No wonder the stars gave me a smile face moon!
    The Monday holiday passed into history. Two days of the new year had been encountered and survived by all, Orwell included. There was still the matter of the medical evaluation to deal with, but so far, so good, I figured. So far, so good.

Luck of the draw
    My father's willingness to make the trip to the animal hospital, in spite of his forecast of Orwell's doom, was a good sign. Even better, he didn't seem to mind my being late for school after such a long holiday break.
    With a hopeful heart, I searched for more encouragement in Scorpio's horoscope for Tuesday, the third day of the year. Decorated with the face of a smiling moon, the encryption when decoded said
CONCENTRATE ON MECHANICAL REPAIRS
ENJOY AMUSEMENTS TONIGHT.
    I double-checked my deciphering because, once again, the horoscope did not make much sense to me. The smile face made it seem good, and the word "enjoy" was a welcome ingredient, but what sort of "mechanical repairs" and "amusements" did the stars have in mind? After giving my brain a workout, I finally decided they must be talking about getting Orwell's legs fixed. Repairs like that would provide plenty of amusement later on.
    Equipped with these astrological insights, I was feeling pretty cheerful by the time we walked into the animal hospital.
    I don't know why they call them animal "hospitals." They're really just little office buildings with a few tables and pens in various sizes, more like pet stores than hospitals. This one was called Family Pet Care.
    I waited restlessly for the veterinarian to finish examining a cat that was one can of Chicken of the Sea over the line, followed by a big red Irish setter that was being vaccinated for the latest in dog