Schrödinger's Ferret

Last night, I went to bed early, but the freakin’ ferret was bothering me again: running around the apartment, jumping on the bed, rubbing up against my face; squeaking and chirping; being generally a pain. Like a hyperactive, furry snake: that’s what she always reminds me of.

Things used to be simple. She was my ex-girlfriend’s ferret. Emma took care of her. So I never had to or, for that matter, did I particularly care for her. Although her fur is sleek and straight, Emma named her Curls. Emma and I would fight and make love and fight, and everything was cool.

But when Emma split on me for the West Coast, I was stuck with Curls. Nobody wanted to adopt her, so what could I do? I kept her, but I didn’t like her, and I liked her less and less as time went on. Less and less and less!

Anyway, an hour or so later, I was sleeping when Curls jumped on my face, claws out and nipped me on the nose. She wanted dinner! I yelled and slapped her off. She didn’t bother to retract her claws, so she flew off with more of me than I wanted to part with, and I was bleeding. I fed the little bitch, and that was when I resolved to do her in that night, without any guilt or responsibility. I’ve never valued either of these traits, so to ignore them and rid myself of Curls was only natural. After a few hours of brown liquor and brown marijuana, I came up with the perfect plan!

Down in the basement there were some tools and piles and piles of junk left over from the house’s previous tenant who was some kind of inventor wannabe. From the junk, I pulled out a solid, airtight steel box, with a lid that fit on really well. At the workbench, I soldered on dragon clips that I found in a tray of electrical stuff to both sides of the box. Then came the fun part. Somehow I knew it would be there. And in the deepest, darkest part of the basement, I fished out a nice old Bell Telephone transformer with a trip switch that could deliver a very nasty, freakin’ shock. To all this I wired up the kind of switch that people use to open or close the garage door when hooked to a cellphone.

Or a computer. With a little searching, I found an app that would (A) produce a random number between 00 and 99; (B) if the number was odd, the computer would send out a Bluetooth signal; (C) if the number was even, no signal.

By now, you’ve probably figured it out: (i) the app generates an odd or even number; (ii-a) if odd, there’s a signal via Bluetooth; (ii-b) or no signal if even; (iii-a) if odd, the switch turns power on in the transformer; (iii-b) or no power if even; (iv-a) if odd, a current goes to the steel box; (iv-b) or no current if even; (v-a) if odd, Curls in the steel box is dead; (v-b) or freakin’ alive if even.

Poifect!

So about 3:00 in the morning, I completed all the work down in the basement. I fed Curls what might be her last meal, which service she received with her usual insanity. Then I took her down the basement and stuffed her furry snake ass into the steel box! I made sure the transformer was plugged in. Then I went upstairs to contemplate my endeavor in an internal dialog.

“Your purpose is to eliminate or vastly reduce your guilt and responsibility with regard to Curl’s demise? True or not?”

“True.”

“So by making her death a random act of the universe, an odd or even number chosen stochastically, you think you’re doing this.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re satisfied with this little delusional paradigm?"

“Yes.”

“And you’re aware that most people would think you’re just flipping a coin as to whether or not you’re going to murder this animal?”

“Yes. But I disagree with that.”

“I know you disagree. So long as you know also that others will disagree with you.”

“I really don’t care at this point.”

And with that done, I sat in my chair staring at the app on the computer screen and wondering when I would open it; generate the number; send the signal to the switch (or not); turn the switch on (or not); and kill freakin’ Curls (or not).

But then, into my mind entered the name of perhaps the most famous beast in history. No, not Puss ’n Boots or one of those loathsome canines in “101 Dalmations.” But none other than that ubiquitous hero of cosmic mystery: Schrödinger’s Cat.

Oh my!

So, unintentionally (unconsciously?), without even thinking about it, I had set Curls up like Schrödinger’s cat! As soon as I start the system: generate the random number, and send out the signal (or not), until I open the box, Curls would be in a state of superposition: neither alive nor dead! How cool was that? But once I opened the box and famously collapsed the famous wave famous function, Curls would have her fate.

So for rigor’s sake, I checked the whole system one more time. I went down the basement and checked Curls in her box: The little creep was probably asleep. The transformer as plugged in and the power was on. The garage switch looked okay.

I went back upstairs. One more drag; one more drink. Then I opened the app, and it was hello / goodbye // hello / hello Curls.

I waited about half an hour before I went downstairs. The transformer had automatically shut itself down. Everything was quiet. I opened the box and collapsed the wave function. And there was Curls, quite alive, looking up at me with a look of annoyance on her squeaky face. Then I heard Emma’s voice.

“And I suppose you’re going to tell me you never heard of quantum entanglement!”