[ WP ] The year is 2120 , and you have just successfully cloned a Dog after 100 years of extinction .

Josh sighed as he covered up his latest illegal attempt at creating a `` pet''. He learned all the legal ramifications of this experiment the one time he actually bothered listening in history class, pets are a waste of the limited edible resources we can grow outside our nuclear bunkers, blah blah blah. But he also knew -- or at least had heard of -- the happiness an animal could bring its possessor. Unlike his classmates, he possessed the curiosity to read the literature buried in the `` Classics'' section of his tablet, and he also possessed the scientific aptitude needed to work against the Greater Good and attempt this experiment. He wanted a friend. A creature who respected him no matter what. A creature who loved his company no matter how strange he was. And he was going to get it. Man's Best Friend, it was called. 
 
 He had snuck back in to use the school's science equipment after hours. God knew he could n't afford his own stuff. All he could get was the e-tool needed to bypass security. He popped the DNA out of a somatic cell he found in the back of the cell bank, in the Restricted labs, in a little box labeled `` Household Pet cells'', which in turn held several vials with long-faded paper labels. He suspected his last two attempts had used DNA from the wrong animals. This was vial number three, and hopefully three was his lucky number. The incubator, containing one embryo, half Household Pet, half cow -- shone its green light dimly from under the tarp he'd thrown over it. He replaced everything he'd used and tiptoed out of the lab, mentally promising the Frankenpet he'd made that he would be back for it in a month no matter what. 
 
 Twenty-nine days were gone. Time felt like a rubber band -- it snapped by so fast when he was preparing his companion, but stretched out to a million centimeters when waiting for his friend to grow. He unlocked the first floor apartment door and let himself in, eating whatever plain food the local helpers had left in the kitchen chute. He forgot to taste it before he swallowed. As usual, it was just barely enough, calculated to be just enough calories to last until more food was delivered tomorrow morning. His homework was already done, so he lay on his cot and thought. 
 
 How was his experiment going? He'd reworked the lab schedules today -- primitive ASCII secured system, no biggie -- so he could sneak in tonight. Some little corner of his brain was busy listing all the ways his experiment could fail while another corner nodded sagely and his conscious mind shuddered at what it heard. Was he really brash enough to play God and create life? Had he created some monster he would have to murder in cold blood? What if it attacked him, as he had heard so many creatures did? Even the cows were genetically modified to lack teeth and hooves in order to make sure they stayed docile hunks of beef. Worse yet, what if it liked him just enough to make the experiment a clinical success, but not enough to truly be a friend? He sighed as he polished off his last few bits of homework and turned off his tablet for the night. The clock read 2200. His father should be home by now, meaning that he should be asleep with his door locked. Maybe the drunkard was off with his new girlfriend somewhere. Josh certainly hoped so. At best, Dad was ignorant and rude; at worst, abusive. Josh preferred him when he was drunk. At least then he'd be too busy puking to lift his fist. 
 
 Whoops. The click of the door latch indicated that Dad was home, and the subsequent thuds ( and swearing ) indicated he was sober enough to whack his son. Josh turned off the light and locked his door. Footsteps... footsteps... stopped. Right outside the door. Josh held his breath for a split second, then remembered to close his eyes and breathe. Alas, the door opened, and silhouetted there was Josh's father. Holding a primitive rifle. Josh weighed his options for about two picoseconds before hopping out the window, landing in the conveniently placed shrubbery. He waited and listened for the heavy footsteps above to recede before dashing around -- he forgot to pack a jacket when launching himself out the window and it was chilly -- to the front door and tugging. Upon finding it locked for the night he sank to the steps in thought. He could try to wait out the night and sneak in in the morning. He could run back to the social workers who would give him a warm bed after he filled out a week's worth of paperwork. 
 
 Or he could go check up on his companion. 
 
 At the school, he parked his bicycle out front -- no point locking it now -- and snuck in using the security codes copied on the back of the homework lurking in his pocket. He flew to the lab, then stopped. He hesitantly lifted the tarp. Then the lid. Then he slowly took out the creature inside. 
 
 Ooh, it worked. It worked, all right. But what Frankenstein was this? Its fur was longer than he thought it was. He could overlook that. Its ears were pointier than he thought they would be. But he could overlook that too. He just hoped he hadn ’ t gotten one of the giant breeds that could eat his food without leaving any for him. As it stretched out its tiny paws and opened its tiny eyes and looked at him, he felt strangely empty. Where was the rush of emotion, the bond, that he had read about? Then it spoke a single syllable. A strange, high-pitched little noise. 
 
 “ Mew! ” 
 
 Oh. Oh. Now he understood why his father liked cursing. He whispered a few choice inflectives to himself as he held this little furball and realized that he had gotten a creature worse than a Frankendog. He had got himself a cat. A horribly demanding pestilent creature with claws and a disregard for authority. But it was certainly cute. And cats didn ’ t eat too much, did they? He tucked Mew into his shirt, left the lab, and settled down in the supply closet to wait out the night. On second thought, he might need another way to keep Mew warm. Something wet was trickling down his chest. More inflectives ensued, but he held still as Mew purred. 
 
 Five years later, Josh smiled as he came home from work to find Mew curled up on his sofa. The full-grown lynx had been his faithful friend for years, ever since it chased out his father, who had promptly been thrown in jail for illegal possession of liquor. It was the darling of the neighborhood, who valued its mousing abilities; no one wanted to jump through the bureaucratic hoops to request mousetraps, so the mice who lived in the nearby dilapidated fossil of a strip mall came and went as they pleased before Mew came. Best yet, it loved him. 
 
 It might not have been man ’ s best friend. But it was Josh ’ s best friend. And that was all he needed.
