It had taken a couple of weeks to set up her base, and it still wasn't exactly what Taylor...
Man's Best Friend
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1.1
- Location
- The Netherlands
It had taken a couple of weeks to set up her base, and it still wasn't exactly what Taylor wanted it to be. It had once been an abandoned warehouse, before it had been turned into an abandoned office building that was later re-purposed to become an abandoned thrift shop. Now? Now it was simply abandoned, and Taylor was glad for it. It allowed her to drag the floral couch with questionable stains in from the street corner, to buy cans of bright paint and cover up the red bits she hoped weren't blood stains on the wall. A couple of trips around the Docks netted her some mismatched office chairs and a low table, one of its legs broken. Her best find had to be the chaise lounge she salvaged from 'Piss-Poor Psychiatry', which used to be the go-to-guy for poor people with psychiatric needs. Needless to say, they too had gone bankrupt pretty quickly.
Pretty much everything that had once been inside the office there had already been taken by others, save the lounge. Which wasn't odd, considering that it had a green-and-pink leopard print pattern. If she'd been a little less desperate, she would have left it. Unfortunately, she was that desperate, which had her awkwardly dragging the thing to her not-so-abandoned warehouse.
Looking around her 'waiting room' with its eggplant walls and the cactus standing in the corner. Her five office chairs lined the wall on one side, the table resting on a stack of old newspapers a few feet away. The floral couch was on the other side, next to the door that lead to the only other room she had salvaged. That was her 'office', with its leopard print chaise lounge, the least moldy of all her chairs, and pretty orange walls. It was bare, but that wasn't a problem. It wasn't like her customers would mind.
Smiling brightly, Taylor duck taped the cardboard sign to the front door. 'The Animal Whisperer – Animal Psychology' was now open for business.
"Tell me about your mother."
The dog did, and did so loudly. Soulful eyes filled with the untold struggles of their youth gazed brokenly into Taylor's own.
"I was always the last one to get to eat, you know? Always. Maman said it was my due, being the runt of the litter, but papa would always say that I should just buck up and be a man. I tried, I did. But my brother, Eugéne, he always sabotaged my attempts as self-improvement. Whenever I wanted to impress maman with my shiny coat he would push me in the mud. Mud takes forever to get out of the crevices between your paws and it clogs up the pores like crazy. And whenever that happened she would come and try to drown me, I barely escaped with my life. She would put me in the artificial lake of death with its never-ending rain." The poodle shivered and let out a plaintive whine.
Taylor offered him a treat, which he accepted gladly.
"Merci, mademoiselle. My master never lets me have treats," he said, tail thumping weakly against the cushioned surface of the chaise lounge. "He thinks I'm too fat."
Another long, drawn out whine escaped Flower Power's muzzle ("I refuse to answer to that plebeian name, my grand-mère named me Jean Paul Eustace and I shall accept no other!"), and Taylor felt bad. She'd never known animals could have such deep issues, that they could experience emotions to such extents. It was humbling, in a way, to have your problems compared to a Bulldog's that was a guard dog but dreamt of a professional career in doggy dancing. Or Miguél, the cat that wished to fly so badly that he tended to jump off tall buildings. Ravager the rat with his multiple personality disorder, and Pamela the parrot that refused to sing anything but opera as a way to honor her recently deceased father.
And Spot, poor, simple Spot, who was so stupid he kept forgetting things like where he lived, or who he was, or that he was supposed to do his business outside and not on the couch.
Mister van Ede ("Call me Viktor, please.") was one of her regulars. He came in for the first time a few weeks after she opened, and his appearance heralded the age of 'no more druggies with sad, underfed animals'. He came in wearing a perfectly pressed button down and sand colored slacks, even his blonde hair was done in a way that made Taylor jealous. He was simply so wholesome, in a weird way, and a bit of a Stepford-dad. If she'd been maybe ten years older, and not quite as afraid of his unnaturally aura of perfection, she would have totally been in love. Mister Stepford always claimed to be an accountant, but Taylor knew better. He was probably some kind of high paid surgeon, or a heroic lawyer trying to lock up criminals, or maybe he was a one of those secret service agents that saved lots of people. It wouldn't be a far stretch, he was always so supernaturally nice and polite.
His dog was not.
"I told that fucker to keep his nose out of my bitch's ass, you know? Just some respect between dudes, you don't go pawing all over someone else's territory like that. Asshole refused to listen and I had to shut him up real good, which the big dude always hates, but I got in some good bites before the sucker pulled me back. I pissed over those ugly shoes of his in revenge, you know? He fucking deserved it, prissy little idiot."
Maximilliaan (with two a's), 'a pure-bred Dutch partridge dog with one of the best pedigrees you'll ever find', held little love for his master. He chewed up shoes, peed on furniture and really shouldn't be allowed to go anywhere without a muzzle and one of those guns vets use to sedate rampaging rhinos.
She spared the dog a glance. He was still talking.
"Olivia is nice, you know, for a stuck up two-leg sissy. But she's good people, gives me food and don't yap at me so much. And her belly rubs, damn girl, makes me wanna wiggle my toes like some snot nosed puppy. If only she'd stop with the perfume, I keep breaking the stupid bottles but my idiot just keeps buying her the stuff. Asshole."
Taylor glanced at her watch. Five-forty, thank God, his appointment was over. "Good talk, buddy. Same time next week?"
The dog in question nodded enthusiastically, jumping off of the couch and sauntering over to the door. He strutted over to his owner, and sat down with a dull, ungraceful thump.
"Hi mister van Ede." Taylor waved her hand awkwardly, confidence vanishing when faced with his creepy perfection. "I think we really made some progress today."
Had they? She wasn't sure, some of them just needed a full hour of bitching to someone that actually understood them. She didn't mind, they didn't mind, it was a mutually beneficial situation that ended with her getting paid. She liked that, money. Money was good.
Mister van Ede smiled, wide and just on the right side of genuine-bordering-on-creepy, and Taylor started the countdown in her head. Three, two, one-
Please, call me Viktor.
"Please, call me Viktor."
She shot him her patented awkward grin-and-shrug in return. Calling him Viktor, right, not going to happen. She'd sooner call his annoying dog by his pretentious name than calling Mister-Wholesome by his first name and get garroted by his eerie significant other. His asshole dog liked her, that said enough.
"Maximiliaan always seems so much more balanced when he's had his session," Stepford dad said. Did he even have kids? She'd have to ask his dog next week. "Will today be the day you tell me your secret? How do you do it? All my friends are singing you praises."
Taylor fought to stifle the snort that threatened to escape. Of course his friends were singing her praises, they tried to copy his wholesomeness in every way. He brought his dog to a weird, under aged and unlicensed shrink, they brought their exotic, pedigreed pets to the same shrink. Was the shrink always wearing sunglasses and a facemask, claiming to be extremely allergic to all the furry friends she was treating? Well, if Mister Perfect didn't mind, why would they?
The man standing in front of her cleared his throat. Oh right, he wanted her standard answer.
"Nah, I'm just good with animals." Que grin, grin, grin. There you go, Taylor, good job. Now to round this all up. "Same time next week, mister van Ede?"
He nodded, then handed her her usual fare. All cash, of course, couldn't exactly set up a legitimate business out of a building that wasn't hers, with furniture that wasn't hers, doing something she's not legally allowed to do. She watched them go then, man and man's 'best friend'.
"-like seriously, idiot, I am not some fugly poodle to be paraded around! Hey, hello, are you even listening to me? Good for nothing piece of horse dung, you should be the one going to some brain-twister. Maybe they can find out what happened when yo momma dropped you on your head as a baby."
The door closed. An old lady stood up, cat squeezed against her chest, and Taylor went on to see her next patient.
Author's Note:
Please forgive any mistakes I will inevitably have made, English is not my first language. That said, 'van Ede' is a rather generic Dutch surname, and (sadly enough) the Netherlands would be a decent place for neo-nazis or even white supremacists to pop up as well. Just look at the support the actual nazis had during WWII. There is a political party based pretty much on getting 'non-western foreigners' away, some of its followers can get a bit radical. The Dutch partridge dog exists, I own one, and mine is the biggest loser in existence. The kind that will jump in your arms and almost die of a heart-attack on the one day a year we have fireworks. It is, however, a rather exclusive, expensive and rare breed. And 'very much' a 'national' dog. Also, when I was Taylor's age, I would have gladly married Derek Shepherd, or basically any of the other male doctors from the show except George.
This is also intentionally a bit silly? Sorry? I made this up last night during a discussion with my mom about what my dog (who's the biggest wimp ever) and my horse (who's made up of pure evilness) would say if they had the ability to speak. And then I decided to let poor Taylor be the one to handle their messes.
(I will also add threadmarks somehow if I post a second chapter, which will probably not be this week because I hate European law and it hates me and how dare the Court write case law in all caps lock)
Pretty much everything that had once been inside the office there had already been taken by others, save the lounge. Which wasn't odd, considering that it had a green-and-pink leopard print pattern. If she'd been a little less desperate, she would have left it. Unfortunately, she was that desperate, which had her awkwardly dragging the thing to her not-so-abandoned warehouse.
Looking around her 'waiting room' with its eggplant walls and the cactus standing in the corner. Her five office chairs lined the wall on one side, the table resting on a stack of old newspapers a few feet away. The floral couch was on the other side, next to the door that lead to the only other room she had salvaged. That was her 'office', with its leopard print chaise lounge, the least moldy of all her chairs, and pretty orange walls. It was bare, but that wasn't a problem. It wasn't like her customers would mind.
Smiling brightly, Taylor duck taped the cardboard sign to the front door. 'The Animal Whisperer – Animal Psychology' was now open for business.
"Tell me about your mother."
The dog did, and did so loudly. Soulful eyes filled with the untold struggles of their youth gazed brokenly into Taylor's own.
"I was always the last one to get to eat, you know? Always. Maman said it was my due, being the runt of the litter, but papa would always say that I should just buck up and be a man. I tried, I did. But my brother, Eugéne, he always sabotaged my attempts as self-improvement. Whenever I wanted to impress maman with my shiny coat he would push me in the mud. Mud takes forever to get out of the crevices between your paws and it clogs up the pores like crazy. And whenever that happened she would come and try to drown me, I barely escaped with my life. She would put me in the artificial lake of death with its never-ending rain." The poodle shivered and let out a plaintive whine.
Taylor offered him a treat, which he accepted gladly.
"Merci, mademoiselle. My master never lets me have treats," he said, tail thumping weakly against the cushioned surface of the chaise lounge. "He thinks I'm too fat."
Another long, drawn out whine escaped Flower Power's muzzle ("I refuse to answer to that plebeian name, my grand-mère named me Jean Paul Eustace and I shall accept no other!"), and Taylor felt bad. She'd never known animals could have such deep issues, that they could experience emotions to such extents. It was humbling, in a way, to have your problems compared to a Bulldog's that was a guard dog but dreamt of a professional career in doggy dancing. Or Miguél, the cat that wished to fly so badly that he tended to jump off tall buildings. Ravager the rat with his multiple personality disorder, and Pamela the parrot that refused to sing anything but opera as a way to honor her recently deceased father.
And Spot, poor, simple Spot, who was so stupid he kept forgetting things like where he lived, or who he was, or that he was supposed to do his business outside and not on the couch.
Mister van Ede ("Call me Viktor, please.") was one of her regulars. He came in for the first time a few weeks after she opened, and his appearance heralded the age of 'no more druggies with sad, underfed animals'. He came in wearing a perfectly pressed button down and sand colored slacks, even his blonde hair was done in a way that made Taylor jealous. He was simply so wholesome, in a weird way, and a bit of a Stepford-dad. If she'd been maybe ten years older, and not quite as afraid of his unnaturally aura of perfection, she would have totally been in love. Mister Stepford always claimed to be an accountant, but Taylor knew better. He was probably some kind of high paid surgeon, or a heroic lawyer trying to lock up criminals, or maybe he was a one of those secret service agents that saved lots of people. It wouldn't be a far stretch, he was always so supernaturally nice and polite.
His dog was not.
"I told that fucker to keep his nose out of my bitch's ass, you know? Just some respect between dudes, you don't go pawing all over someone else's territory like that. Asshole refused to listen and I had to shut him up real good, which the big dude always hates, but I got in some good bites before the sucker pulled me back. I pissed over those ugly shoes of his in revenge, you know? He fucking deserved it, prissy little idiot."
Maximilliaan (with two a's), 'a pure-bred Dutch partridge dog with one of the best pedigrees you'll ever find', held little love for his master. He chewed up shoes, peed on furniture and really shouldn't be allowed to go anywhere without a muzzle and one of those guns vets use to sedate rampaging rhinos.
She spared the dog a glance. He was still talking.
"Olivia is nice, you know, for a stuck up two-leg sissy. But she's good people, gives me food and don't yap at me so much. And her belly rubs, damn girl, makes me wanna wiggle my toes like some snot nosed puppy. If only she'd stop with the perfume, I keep breaking the stupid bottles but my idiot just keeps buying her the stuff. Asshole."
Taylor glanced at her watch. Five-forty, thank God, his appointment was over. "Good talk, buddy. Same time next week?"
The dog in question nodded enthusiastically, jumping off of the couch and sauntering over to the door. He strutted over to his owner, and sat down with a dull, ungraceful thump.
"Hi mister van Ede." Taylor waved her hand awkwardly, confidence vanishing when faced with his creepy perfection. "I think we really made some progress today."
Had they? She wasn't sure, some of them just needed a full hour of bitching to someone that actually understood them. She didn't mind, they didn't mind, it was a mutually beneficial situation that ended with her getting paid. She liked that, money. Money was good.
Mister van Ede smiled, wide and just on the right side of genuine-bordering-on-creepy, and Taylor started the countdown in her head. Three, two, one-
Please, call me Viktor.
"Please, call me Viktor."
She shot him her patented awkward grin-and-shrug in return. Calling him Viktor, right, not going to happen. She'd sooner call his annoying dog by his pretentious name than calling Mister-Wholesome by his first name and get garroted by his eerie significant other. His asshole dog liked her, that said enough.
"Maximiliaan always seems so much more balanced when he's had his session," Stepford dad said. Did he even have kids? She'd have to ask his dog next week. "Will today be the day you tell me your secret? How do you do it? All my friends are singing you praises."
Taylor fought to stifle the snort that threatened to escape. Of course his friends were singing her praises, they tried to copy his wholesomeness in every way. He brought his dog to a weird, under aged and unlicensed shrink, they brought their exotic, pedigreed pets to the same shrink. Was the shrink always wearing sunglasses and a facemask, claiming to be extremely allergic to all the furry friends she was treating? Well, if Mister Perfect didn't mind, why would they?
The man standing in front of her cleared his throat. Oh right, he wanted her standard answer.
"Nah, I'm just good with animals." Que grin, grin, grin. There you go, Taylor, good job. Now to round this all up. "Same time next week, mister van Ede?"
He nodded, then handed her her usual fare. All cash, of course, couldn't exactly set up a legitimate business out of a building that wasn't hers, with furniture that wasn't hers, doing something she's not legally allowed to do. She watched them go then, man and man's 'best friend'.
"-like seriously, idiot, I am not some fugly poodle to be paraded around! Hey, hello, are you even listening to me? Good for nothing piece of horse dung, you should be the one going to some brain-twister. Maybe they can find out what happened when yo momma dropped you on your head as a baby."
The door closed. An old lady stood up, cat squeezed against her chest, and Taylor went on to see her next patient.
Author's Note:
Please forgive any mistakes I will inevitably have made, English is not my first language. That said, 'van Ede' is a rather generic Dutch surname, and (sadly enough) the Netherlands would be a decent place for neo-nazis or even white supremacists to pop up as well. Just look at the support the actual nazis had during WWII. There is a political party based pretty much on getting 'non-western foreigners' away, some of its followers can get a bit radical. The Dutch partridge dog exists, I own one, and mine is the biggest loser in existence. The kind that will jump in your arms and almost die of a heart-attack on the one day a year we have fireworks. It is, however, a rather exclusive, expensive and rare breed. And 'very much' a 'national' dog. Also, when I was Taylor's age, I would have gladly married Derek Shepherd, or basically any of the other male doctors from the show except George.
This is also intentionally a bit silly? Sorry? I made this up last night during a discussion with my mom about what my dog (who's the biggest wimp ever) and my horse (who's made up of pure evilness) would say if they had the ability to speak. And then I decided to let poor Taylor be the one to handle their messes.
(I will also add threadmarks somehow if I post a second chapter, which will probably not be this week because I hate European law and it hates me and how dare the Court write case law in all caps lock)
So Victor tried to steal Taylor's skill only to find out he can't because it isn't a skill but powerz!
I wonder if he would send Hookwolf to Taylor?
I wonder if he would send Hookwolf to Taylor?
I am sad, I don't have a Thor meme for that.
Anyway, I really like where this is going, keep it up.
- Location
- United States
Eliza Thornberry?
.... what did I just read? why is it so damn funny to me as well? whatever, I'll watch it for humor potential. I just see Taylor unknowingly getting all sorts of capes to visit with their pets and she just misses all the clues, happily being paid for all her work. only thing is, I want to see Rachel and her dogs in this psychologist as well.
Virgo with cheer
Also The Evil Within, just so Yaknow.
- Location
- The Place of No Return: Canada
Ah, the noble Dog whisperer. And cat whisperer. And bird....you know what? i'll just say she doolittled it. i look forward to more. 
1.2
- Location
- The Netherlands
Taylor leant back on one of the school's many wooden benches, and gazed up at the overcast sky. Her scarf made for a decent pillow, stuffed under her head as it was, and she hadn't yet switched to a lighter coat for just this reason. There were twenty minutes left of her lunch break, twenty blessedly uninterrupted minutes.
"Hebert-" a voice called to her right.
She glanced up, breath hitching in her throat. She released it seconds later. The perpetrator was a girl her age, dressed to the nines in the latest fashion. Madison. That was good, for a bad thing, Madison could be dealt with. Moments later a white blur shot out from under the weeds lining Winslow's fence, bolting towards Madison. It moved like one of those old slow-motion pictures, the feline's spine stretching out with every leap, only to curl up when its hind legs met the ground once more. It took less than four razor-quick leaps before the cat had reached its target and latched onto Madison's leg.
"Jesus, Fuck!"
The hissing could be heard even from a distance away, some people hanging around on the school's edges glanced over before dismissing it. A catfight was nothing new, even when one opponent was an actual cat. Madison screeched loudly, kicking her legs in all directions in her hurry to rid herself of the feline had hooked its claws in her coloured jeans. It let go seconds later, tearing out a few shallow gauges of bright fabric in the process. The brown haired girl walked off, taking large, quick steps and digging through her bag. The cat, however, stalked over to Taylor. It moved with its head held high, tail waving from left to right. She knew a couple of white cats, some of them vicious enough to do this, but only one walked like that.
"Thanks Blofeld." Taylor rested her head back on the scarf. "You shouldn't do it too often though; it would be pretty distinctive if people keep getting attacked by animals whenever they try to bother me."
Blofeld hopped up on Taylor's stomach, seating himself there proudly. His fluffy white tail lazily curling around his paws. His green eyes regarded her for a second or two, before he turned his gaze away. "I don't particularly care."
She sighed. "Of course you don't."
"All humans deserve a particularly unpleasant and humiliating death." Blofeld paused for a moment, licking at a piece of already pristine white fur on his front paw. "You excluded, of course, you'd make a suitable throne."
"Thanks." Did cats understand sarcasm? Taylor made a mental note to figure that out during one of her next sessions, one with less deranged patients.
"And once you die I shall fashion an even grander construct out of your bones. Something fit for a king, for I am first and foremost the number one amongst all others. You should be honoured I enjoy your company; I am destined to go places you can only dream of." Weight shifted, Taylor ooph-ed, and Blofeld hoisted himself to his paws. He turned around once, twice, and sat down on what was basically the same spot on her stomach.
Places the furry menace was destined to go to? The vet, for one, and wherever cats went whenever they were let out that weren't the schools their pseudo-psychologists went to. Maybe trees, didn't cats get stuck in trees? A quick glance at the cat in question dismissed that possibility, future King Blofeld didn't look like he got stuck in trees. He'd probably make firemen climb trees out of fear for their life instead.
Taylor raised a hand and slowly started scratching him near the scruff of his neck. Blofeld closed his eyes and nuzzled her wrist. He was a weird cat, yeah, but nice.
"Off again, Taylor?"
Taylor looked up from where she'd been tying her shoelaces. She smiled, and her dad mirrored the movement. "Yeah, I'm going to meet some friends. I'll be back before dinner though."
Over, under, loop, some fiddling with another loop underneath the first one -and pull. She grabbed her backpack from where it hung from the coat rack, and then took her coat too.
"It's good to see you hanging out so often with your friends." Danny looked his daughter over, the coat, the smile, the dirty sneakers. "But don't forget about your homework, okay?"
Taylor opened her mouth, Danny held his hands up.
"I know, I know. I'm your dad, I'm supposed to remind you about boring stuff like school. Now go and have fun, okay?"
Taylor smiled and waved at her dad. Then the front door closed, leaving Danny alone.
Being back before dinner meant she couldn't help more than two animals, which meant only two paying owners. She didn't have an evening appointment either, which meant even less income. Taylor frowned, narrowing her eyes and scrunching her eyebrows together. She was going out after school daily now, always with some excuse, but she couldn't very well not come home anymore because then her dad would get suspicious. But keeping either a part of the afternoon or a chunk of her evening free meant less money.
Something jostled against her shoulder, and Taylor stumbled. Her backpack, that had been hanging from one shoulder, slipped to the ground.
"Watch where you're going!"
Taylor picked up her fallen bag and turned towards the speaker. It was a girl, older than her, and with long black hair. Their eyes met, and Taylor recoiled. She looked mad. Her mouth was curved down and her dark eyebrows formed angry lines.
"Sorry," she mumbled the words, averting her eyes and started walking again.
The girl didn't say anything back, nor did she follow her, which Taylor was glad of. She had an afternoon full of animal problems scheduled, and people-problems tended to be a lot more trouble than they were worth. People problems also lacked pay, because people could go to actual psychologists instead of, well, her.
Taylor changed into her 'costume' a couple of streets from her office, shuffling behind a dumpster to put on her sunglasses and face mask. It still looked weird, but she was drawing less and less looks every week. Though a passing car that screeched by did swerve to the other side of the empty road when they passed her, the driver looking a bit shocked with his open mouth.
She reached her unlawfully obtained office a few minutes later. The street was empty, save for a parked ice-cream van, which was good. She'd had surprise customers waiting on sidewalk a couple of times, most of them a little bit high, or a little bit drunk, or a bit of both, and she really hated having to send them away. Their animals tended to break her heart.
One depressed Labrador and a bored Chihuahua later, Taylor left for home.
Thursday evening, she reached her office a bit after dinner, and there was someone waiting there. There was no car nearby, save for a construction van that read Peter's Plumbing at the end of the street, which meant the person had probably walked there. Which usually meant they were one of her least favourite types of customer. People that lived close by enough to walk here tended to be the ones she didn't really like. It was a girl, she noted once she came closer, and the entire right side of her head had been shaved, which was also not a point in her favour. Most of her regulars these days were nice, well-dressed people about her dad's age. This girl was her age and looked, well, a bit creepy. Her lips were painted a bright red, her eyes lined a bit too enthusiastically and what hair she did have was so blonde it was nearly white.
"You're the pet voodoo girl?"
"Well-" Taylor began.
"You need to fix my neighbour's cat, okay? He keeps dumping the pest on me whenever he goes out and I swear it's trying to kill me!"
"I'll kill you and feed your bones to piranhas, you unworthy witch! Let me out or I will unleash hell on you like you've never experienced before! I swear, your death will be gruesome and terrible and very drawn-out-"
There was a hiss from the pet carrier she was carrying, holding it at a distance from her body that must be doing hell on her arms, and-
"Blofeld?" Taylor gasped.
"Great, you know the nuisance. Wait, how did you even? Never mind, I don't even want to know. Just take him, and here-" she shoved a few wads of bills in Taylor's hands. "Have some fucking money, I'll come back and pick him up whenever, okay? Bye."
"If you even think of touching me again I will rip apart everything you own, everything. How about I piss on your bed and spit in your food, I'll salt the ground and tar your-"
The girl dropped the carrier on the ground unceremoniously, the tirade from the cat inside not pausing, and walked off. Leaving Taylor with one hand full of money, and one angry cat.
Author's Note:
Am I or am I not ignoring the 60+ case law files I need to remember by tomorrow because I have an exam on Saturday (why? Why?). Well, I am, but this basically wrote itself. I have a couple more snippets already written down for a next chapter. By the way, cats hate me. I'm the type of girl that will coo at a cat and get scratched on my arm for the trouble, which is a true story. All cats hate me. I'm pretty good with horses and dogs though, despite doing things that would not ever be recommended by professionals. Don't get between two fighting dogs, okay? I did it, got lucky, but bad idea.
That said, I'm glad people like this. Have some imaginary hugs
"Hebert-" a voice called to her right.
She glanced up, breath hitching in her throat. She released it seconds later. The perpetrator was a girl her age, dressed to the nines in the latest fashion. Madison. That was good, for a bad thing, Madison could be dealt with. Moments later a white blur shot out from under the weeds lining Winslow's fence, bolting towards Madison. It moved like one of those old slow-motion pictures, the feline's spine stretching out with every leap, only to curl up when its hind legs met the ground once more. It took less than four razor-quick leaps before the cat had reached its target and latched onto Madison's leg.
"Jesus, Fuck!"
The hissing could be heard even from a distance away, some people hanging around on the school's edges glanced over before dismissing it. A catfight was nothing new, even when one opponent was an actual cat. Madison screeched loudly, kicking her legs in all directions in her hurry to rid herself of the feline had hooked its claws in her coloured jeans. It let go seconds later, tearing out a few shallow gauges of bright fabric in the process. The brown haired girl walked off, taking large, quick steps and digging through her bag. The cat, however, stalked over to Taylor. It moved with its head held high, tail waving from left to right. She knew a couple of white cats, some of them vicious enough to do this, but only one walked like that.
"Thanks Blofeld." Taylor rested her head back on the scarf. "You shouldn't do it too often though; it would be pretty distinctive if people keep getting attacked by animals whenever they try to bother me."
Blofeld hopped up on Taylor's stomach, seating himself there proudly. His fluffy white tail lazily curling around his paws. His green eyes regarded her for a second or two, before he turned his gaze away. "I don't particularly care."
She sighed. "Of course you don't."
"All humans deserve a particularly unpleasant and humiliating death." Blofeld paused for a moment, licking at a piece of already pristine white fur on his front paw. "You excluded, of course, you'd make a suitable throne."
"Thanks." Did cats understand sarcasm? Taylor made a mental note to figure that out during one of her next sessions, one with less deranged patients.
"And once you die I shall fashion an even grander construct out of your bones. Something fit for a king, for I am first and foremost the number one amongst all others. You should be honoured I enjoy your company; I am destined to go places you can only dream of." Weight shifted, Taylor ooph-ed, and Blofeld hoisted himself to his paws. He turned around once, twice, and sat down on what was basically the same spot on her stomach.
Places the furry menace was destined to go to? The vet, for one, and wherever cats went whenever they were let out that weren't the schools their pseudo-psychologists went to. Maybe trees, didn't cats get stuck in trees? A quick glance at the cat in question dismissed that possibility, future King Blofeld didn't look like he got stuck in trees. He'd probably make firemen climb trees out of fear for their life instead.
Taylor raised a hand and slowly started scratching him near the scruff of his neck. Blofeld closed his eyes and nuzzled her wrist. He was a weird cat, yeah, but nice.
"Off again, Taylor?"
Taylor looked up from where she'd been tying her shoelaces. She smiled, and her dad mirrored the movement. "Yeah, I'm going to meet some friends. I'll be back before dinner though."
Over, under, loop, some fiddling with another loop underneath the first one -and pull. She grabbed her backpack from where it hung from the coat rack, and then took her coat too.
"It's good to see you hanging out so often with your friends." Danny looked his daughter over, the coat, the smile, the dirty sneakers. "But don't forget about your homework, okay?"
Taylor opened her mouth, Danny held his hands up.
"I know, I know. I'm your dad, I'm supposed to remind you about boring stuff like school. Now go and have fun, okay?"
Taylor smiled and waved at her dad. Then the front door closed, leaving Danny alone.
Being back before dinner meant she couldn't help more than two animals, which meant only two paying owners. She didn't have an evening appointment either, which meant even less income. Taylor frowned, narrowing her eyes and scrunching her eyebrows together. She was going out after school daily now, always with some excuse, but she couldn't very well not come home anymore because then her dad would get suspicious. But keeping either a part of the afternoon or a chunk of her evening free meant less money.
Something jostled against her shoulder, and Taylor stumbled. Her backpack, that had been hanging from one shoulder, slipped to the ground.
"Watch where you're going!"
Taylor picked up her fallen bag and turned towards the speaker. It was a girl, older than her, and with long black hair. Their eyes met, and Taylor recoiled. She looked mad. Her mouth was curved down and her dark eyebrows formed angry lines.
"Sorry," she mumbled the words, averting her eyes and started walking again.
The girl didn't say anything back, nor did she follow her, which Taylor was glad of. She had an afternoon full of animal problems scheduled, and people-problems tended to be a lot more trouble than they were worth. People problems also lacked pay, because people could go to actual psychologists instead of, well, her.
Taylor changed into her 'costume' a couple of streets from her office, shuffling behind a dumpster to put on her sunglasses and face mask. It still looked weird, but she was drawing less and less looks every week. Though a passing car that screeched by did swerve to the other side of the empty road when they passed her, the driver looking a bit shocked with his open mouth.
She reached her unlawfully obtained office a few minutes later. The street was empty, save for a parked ice-cream van, which was good. She'd had surprise customers waiting on sidewalk a couple of times, most of them a little bit high, or a little bit drunk, or a bit of both, and she really hated having to send them away. Their animals tended to break her heart.
One depressed Labrador and a bored Chihuahua later, Taylor left for home.
Thursday evening, she reached her office a bit after dinner, and there was someone waiting there. There was no car nearby, save for a construction van that read Peter's Plumbing at the end of the street, which meant the person had probably walked there. Which usually meant they were one of her least favourite types of customer. People that lived close by enough to walk here tended to be the ones she didn't really like. It was a girl, she noted once she came closer, and the entire right side of her head had been shaved, which was also not a point in her favour. Most of her regulars these days were nice, well-dressed people about her dad's age. This girl was her age and looked, well, a bit creepy. Her lips were painted a bright red, her eyes lined a bit too enthusiastically and what hair she did have was so blonde it was nearly white.
"You're the pet voodoo girl?"
"Well-" Taylor began.
"You need to fix my neighbour's cat, okay? He keeps dumping the pest on me whenever he goes out and I swear it's trying to kill me!"
"I'll kill you and feed your bones to piranhas, you unworthy witch! Let me out or I will unleash hell on you like you've never experienced before! I swear, your death will be gruesome and terrible and very drawn-out-"
There was a hiss from the pet carrier she was carrying, holding it at a distance from her body that must be doing hell on her arms, and-
"Blofeld?" Taylor gasped.
"Great, you know the nuisance. Wait, how did you even? Never mind, I don't even want to know. Just take him, and here-" she shoved a few wads of bills in Taylor's hands. "Have some fucking money, I'll come back and pick him up whenever, okay? Bye."
"If you even think of touching me again I will rip apart everything you own, everything. How about I piss on your bed and spit in your food, I'll salt the ground and tar your-"
The girl dropped the carrier on the ground unceremoniously, the tirade from the cat inside not pausing, and walked off. Leaving Taylor with one hand full of money, and one angry cat.
Author's Note:
Am I or am I not ignoring the 60+ case law files I need to remember by tomorrow because I have an exam on Saturday (why? Why?). Well, I am, but this basically wrote itself. I have a couple more snippets already written down for a next chapter. By the way, cats hate me. I'm the type of girl that will coo at a cat and get scratched on my arm for the trouble, which is a true story. All cats hate me. I'm pretty good with horses and dogs though, despite doing things that would not ever be recommended by professionals. Don't get between two fighting dogs, okay? I did it, got lucky, but bad idea.
That said, I'm glad people like this. Have some imaginary hugs
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We Just Write
The Letters Say Who's Talking
- Location
- New England
- Pronouns
- Plural
Well, that particular cat at least.
- Location
- United States
All animals seem to love me. Maybe too much.
No cats aren't evil.
Don't believe me?
Just ask one.
He'll tell you that there's no good or evil.
Just cats, of which he's the pinnacle, and the rest of reality.
I wonder how Taylor and Rachel will get along?
Acairta
Samurai of Boredom
- Location
- USA, PA
I have cats, and have dealt with cats since I was a small child. Now knowing that let me assure you cats are fucking assholes at times, more so to each other. Others are just a bit annoying, have one cat that anytime you walk past he grabs you with a paw with his claws out. He does it lightly and he does it because he must be worshiped with petting.
You start petting and try to walk away? Nope! Claws snatch your shirt and try to pull you back. Cats are self entitled assholes, but are also so adorable. That same cat will look at you and open his mouth to make either silent or squeeky meows and snuggle up with you.
Another jumps up on the backdoor and leans against the window on a tiny little spot and headbutts the window, that is his subtle way of saying "Okay tired of being outside, let me in." He will just stay there and walking by at night with the inside light off causes a massive person-like shadow by the window and startles the hell out of you at times. Of course said cat will only stay inside for a few minutes at most before then wanting to go back out.
The lesson of all of this is simple, cats are adorably selfish assholes that can be annoying at times and any stories that show cat(s) as such makes perfect sense.
You start petting and try to walk away? Nope! Claws snatch your shirt and try to pull you back. Cats are self entitled assholes, but are also so adorable. That same cat will look at you and open his mouth to make either silent or squeeky meows and snuggle up with you.
Another jumps up on the backdoor and leans against the window on a tiny little spot and headbutts the window, that is his subtle way of saying "Okay tired of being outside, let me in." He will just stay there and walking by at night with the inside light off causes a massive person-like shadow by the window and startles the hell out of you at times. Of course said cat will only stay inside for a few minutes at most before then wanting to go back out.
The lesson of all of this is simple, cats are adorably selfish assholes that can be annoying at times and any stories that show cat(s) as such makes perfect sense.
- Location
- Roanoke
Wow Blofeld is such an #icon. But seriously this is so much fun!
HarakoniWarhawk
Striking from the Skies
- Location
- Holy Terra
- Pronouns
- She/Her
The power of Dr Dolittle is truly a magnificent one.
I wonder if Dolittle is her cape name.
I wonder if Dolittle is her cape name.
1.3
- Location
- The Netherlands
Lift foot, hold steady, put down slo-o-o-owly. Step. Lift, hold, repeat.
Looking down at the creaky step, Taylor moved her foot a bit more to the left. Evasive measures. She held her arms a bit more away from her rump, trying to offset the heavy weight of Blofeld's carrier in her right hand by leaning left. Slowly, ever so slowly, she set her foot back down.
Crrrrrreak.
Wincing, put her foot down anyway, the secrecy gone. She unlocked the front door with her free arm, and let out a sigh before she pushed it open. The hallway was dark, but light shone further away in the living room. That could mean only one thing; her dad was up. She set Blofeld's carrier down to toe off her sneakers and wiggle out of her coat. Time to face the music.
"Act cute," she hissed at the cat. Bending down, Taylor unlocked the tiny metal door and swept up the squirming bundle of fur. "And I mean cute, no hissing or clawing or peeing on furniture."
"You'll owe me," the cat spat back, levelling her with a glare, "for this travesty. Honestly, do you have any idea what it's like, stuck in that thing? I demand fine food, soft music and scratches behind my ear."
Taylor nodded, then steeled her nerves and stepped into the living room. The TV was on, a news anchor saying something about an ABB and E88 skirmish somewhere in the city. A camera showed footage of occasional fireballs shooting up amidst the buildings, followed by a minivan flying into a van. She tore her eyes away to the dining table, meeting her dad's not very impressed gaze.
"Taylor," he said.
"Hi dad." She held Blofeld a bit tighter against her chest and forced a cheery smile. "What's up?"
"You are," he said slowly, folding his arms and putting down the paper he'd been reading.
Taylor tried to school her features into the most innocent expression she could muster. "I'm sorry? My, err, friend .. had a bit of a crisis?"
How did one say they were accosted by an unfamiliar girl who'd handed them what turned out to be over two-hundred dollars in cash, someone else's cat, and then said they'd come and pick him up only never to return, leaving them with the money and the cat? That's right, you don't say anything about it and lie lie lie.
"Did this somehow involve their cat?" Dad didn't look convinced, he was frowning, frowning was a bad thing.
"Her house had to be fumigated," Taylor made up on the spot, forcing her brain into overdrive. "And she could stay at her grandmother's house with her parents, but her grandmother is really allergic to cats and she couldn't find anyone else .. so I said I'd take him in? It's just for a little while, and Blofeld is a really sweet cat."
The cat in question shot her a dismissive glance before suddenly doing a complete one-eighty, blinking adoringly up at her and meowing pitifully. He raised one paw and placed it against her collarbone, eyes doing that sparkly thing only animals in movies only seemed to manage, and they pretended to gaze soulfully into each other's eyes.
When she gazed back at her dad she saw him pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm glad you could help out a friend, but the cat can't stay forever. Just try to let me now if you're staying out late, I was worried about you."
"Thanks dad, you won't even notice he's here!"
The next morning, Taylor swung by her office and taped a message to the door in case Blofeld's crazy catsitter would come back for him. She then took the bus back to Winslow, her backpack swung over her shoulders and a cat nestled in her arms.
"Is this how poor people travel?" His green eyes were narrow slits while he stared at the few people in the bus. "It smells."
Taylor hummed.
"Are you ignoring me?" Blofeld hissed.
She responded with another hum.
"I demand you tell me why you are ignoring me." The cat twisted in her grip, turning his gaze back at Taylor.
Taylor lifted him up a bit. "People can't talk to animals. Normal people can't, anyway, so I keep it a secret." She whispered the words as softly as she could, eyes flicking back and forth to see if anyone had been listening.
Blofeld huffed. "You people always try to talk to us, most of you silly idiots just don't understand us when we talk back. You're all so stupid, it's a miracle you're even still alive. The only nice thing you have are your thumbs, and even monkeys have those. If only they were brains, maybe then you'd be smarter."
An unfamiliar, heavily tattooed boy sat down next to Taylor. He spent quite a bit of time staring at Blofeld.
"Nice cat." He finally said, a few stops further. His voice was weird, a bit quivery somehow. Maybe he was afraid of cats?
Taylor blinked. "He's not mine."
The boy swallowed audibly, and then turned away. He was furiously typing away on his cell phone a few seconds later, seemingly content to ignore her. Taylor turned away too, leaning her head against the window and staring at the passing houses. She didn't look up when the boy got up to leave a few minutes later.
"I think that ugly one liked you," Blofeld commented once he'd left.
Taylor flushed, but didn't respond.
She let Blofeld loose once they stepped out of the bus, this stop a short walk from the school.
"I could just go home," the cat argued. "I walk here all the time, you know that. I'm not going back inside that carrier."
"That would make me look irresponsible!" Taylor looked around, but the street was still mostly empty. It was rather early. "It could even cost me customers if people found out I 'lost' you, because that is what they would think. Just hang around here while I'm at school, and I'll buy you something nice once I'm done for today. Then I'll take you with me to the office tonight, and I hope your babysitter or owner comes back to get you? If we do it that way be both look good."
Blofeld sniffed disdainfully, but eventually did end up agreeing. "I want sashimi, tuna."
He strutted away then, not looking back, and vanished into the undergrowth that lined the street. Taylor sighed, but slowly started walking towards Winslow.
Author's note:
Short, but I'm only using this to get from A to B, so I hope it's okay? Anyway, I survived my European Law exam, though my hand still hurts because it was way too long, and am currently thoroughly enjoying seven days of amazing freedom. Random University holidays are awesome. I'm also having a bit too much fun writing specific scenes from future chapters.
Also, everyone that commented about cats: yes, they are evil. Though my horse would out-evil them all, seriously. I love that creature to bits, but I'm pretty sure that if she eventually dies (hopefully at the ripe old age of 35 or something, and not a day sooner) she'll come back to haunt me. And not because she misses me, oh no, but because she wants food and attention.
Someone got my way too obvious hints! You'll get extra kudos if you can guess who Blofeld's owner is before the actual reveal.
I'm once again glad people enjoy my silly ramblings, have more imaginary hugs from a currently less stressed out writer
Looking down at the creaky step, Taylor moved her foot a bit more to the left. Evasive measures. She held her arms a bit more away from her rump, trying to offset the heavy weight of Blofeld's carrier in her right hand by leaning left. Slowly, ever so slowly, she set her foot back down.
Crrrrrreak.
Wincing, put her foot down anyway, the secrecy gone. She unlocked the front door with her free arm, and let out a sigh before she pushed it open. The hallway was dark, but light shone further away in the living room. That could mean only one thing; her dad was up. She set Blofeld's carrier down to toe off her sneakers and wiggle out of her coat. Time to face the music.
"Act cute," she hissed at the cat. Bending down, Taylor unlocked the tiny metal door and swept up the squirming bundle of fur. "And I mean cute, no hissing or clawing or peeing on furniture."
"You'll owe me," the cat spat back, levelling her with a glare, "for this travesty. Honestly, do you have any idea what it's like, stuck in that thing? I demand fine food, soft music and scratches behind my ear."
Taylor nodded, then steeled her nerves and stepped into the living room. The TV was on, a news anchor saying something about an ABB and E88 skirmish somewhere in the city. A camera showed footage of occasional fireballs shooting up amidst the buildings, followed by a minivan flying into a van. She tore her eyes away to the dining table, meeting her dad's not very impressed gaze.
"Taylor," he said.
"Hi dad." She held Blofeld a bit tighter against her chest and forced a cheery smile. "What's up?"
"You are," he said slowly, folding his arms and putting down the paper he'd been reading.
Taylor tried to school her features into the most innocent expression she could muster. "I'm sorry? My, err, friend .. had a bit of a crisis?"
How did one say they were accosted by an unfamiliar girl who'd handed them what turned out to be over two-hundred dollars in cash, someone else's cat, and then said they'd come and pick him up only never to return, leaving them with the money and the cat? That's right, you don't say anything about it and lie lie lie.
"Did this somehow involve their cat?" Dad didn't look convinced, he was frowning, frowning was a bad thing.
"Her house had to be fumigated," Taylor made up on the spot, forcing her brain into overdrive. "And she could stay at her grandmother's house with her parents, but her grandmother is really allergic to cats and she couldn't find anyone else .. so I said I'd take him in? It's just for a little while, and Blofeld is a really sweet cat."
The cat in question shot her a dismissive glance before suddenly doing a complete one-eighty, blinking adoringly up at her and meowing pitifully. He raised one paw and placed it against her collarbone, eyes doing that sparkly thing only animals in movies only seemed to manage, and they pretended to gaze soulfully into each other's eyes.
When she gazed back at her dad she saw him pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm glad you could help out a friend, but the cat can't stay forever. Just try to let me now if you're staying out late, I was worried about you."
"Thanks dad, you won't even notice he's here!"
The next morning, Taylor swung by her office and taped a message to the door in case Blofeld's crazy catsitter would come back for him. She then took the bus back to Winslow, her backpack swung over her shoulders and a cat nestled in her arms.
"Is this how poor people travel?" His green eyes were narrow slits while he stared at the few people in the bus. "It smells."
Taylor hummed.
"Are you ignoring me?" Blofeld hissed.
She responded with another hum.
"I demand you tell me why you are ignoring me." The cat twisted in her grip, turning his gaze back at Taylor.
Taylor lifted him up a bit. "People can't talk to animals. Normal people can't, anyway, so I keep it a secret." She whispered the words as softly as she could, eyes flicking back and forth to see if anyone had been listening.
Blofeld huffed. "You people always try to talk to us, most of you silly idiots just don't understand us when we talk back. You're all so stupid, it's a miracle you're even still alive. The only nice thing you have are your thumbs, and even monkeys have those. If only they were brains, maybe then you'd be smarter."
An unfamiliar, heavily tattooed boy sat down next to Taylor. He spent quite a bit of time staring at Blofeld.
"Nice cat." He finally said, a few stops further. His voice was weird, a bit quivery somehow. Maybe he was afraid of cats?
Taylor blinked. "He's not mine."
The boy swallowed audibly, and then turned away. He was furiously typing away on his cell phone a few seconds later, seemingly content to ignore her. Taylor turned away too, leaning her head against the window and staring at the passing houses. She didn't look up when the boy got up to leave a few minutes later.
"I think that ugly one liked you," Blofeld commented once he'd left.
Taylor flushed, but didn't respond.
She let Blofeld loose once they stepped out of the bus, this stop a short walk from the school.
"I could just go home," the cat argued. "I walk here all the time, you know that. I'm not going back inside that carrier."
"That would make me look irresponsible!" Taylor looked around, but the street was still mostly empty. It was rather early. "It could even cost me customers if people found out I 'lost' you, because that is what they would think. Just hang around here while I'm at school, and I'll buy you something nice once I'm done for today. Then I'll take you with me to the office tonight, and I hope your babysitter or owner comes back to get you? If we do it that way be both look good."
Blofeld sniffed disdainfully, but eventually did end up agreeing. "I want sashimi, tuna."
He strutted away then, not looking back, and vanished into the undergrowth that lined the street. Taylor sighed, but slowly started walking towards Winslow.
Author's note:
Short, but I'm only using this to get from A to B, so I hope it's okay? Anyway, I survived my European Law exam, though my hand still hurts because it was way too long, and am currently thoroughly enjoying seven days of amazing freedom. Random University holidays are awesome. I'm also having a bit too much fun writing specific scenes from future chapters.
Also, everyone that commented about cats: yes, they are evil. Though my horse would out-evil them all, seriously. I love that creature to bits, but I'm pretty sure that if she eventually dies (hopefully at the ripe old age of 35 or something, and not a day sooner) she'll come back to haunt me. And not because she misses me, oh no, but because she wants food and attention.
Someone got my way too obvious hints!
You'll get extra kudos if you can guess who Blofeld's owner is before the actual reveal.I'm once again glad people enjoy my silly ramblings, have more imaginary hugs from a currently less stressed out writer
- Location
- Here
- White cat named Blofeld
- Strikingly evil, even for a cat
- Owner is unusually concerned with the cat's well-being
- Owner is often gone for not-explicitly-identified reasons
I was going to guess Lung.
I bet Hookwolf or Rune.