Welp, I have two kitten-related items to report, the first and most being that we can no longer call them kittens. They have become cats. And this relates directly to the second item, which is that they have become OUR cats. Dammit.
We tried. We really did. I personally asked everyone I know to please take a kitten home, but sadly, my life as a dedicated introvert has led to the unfortunate reality that I just don’t know that many people. My sister, Cris, was able to find the two toms a forever-home (Markimoo has become an amazing mouser, while Arin the Grump has become a furry lump of purring fat permanently affixed to the husband’s lap), but the two mollies are here to stay.
With dutiful resignation, we took them to the vet today to be spayed. I went along because I have had surgery and I know how important it is to have a strong support network and also because my sister said we could stop for burgers on the way home if I was good. The receptionist and vet both exclaimed over how insanely soft and affectionate they are, then asked their names. My sister elected not to give their full names–Jack Septikitten and Danny Sexkitten–so simply gave them as Jack and Danny. Cue weird looks from the vet, who then says with a laugh, “These are GIRL-cats, right?”
Smart-ass me promptly replies, “Did you just assume my cat’s gender?”
It was a joke, so I thought they would laugh. They did not. The vet apologized, so immediately and with such feeling that my sister was compelled (justifiably, I might add) to smack me and explain that I thought I was funny and yes, they were girl-cats, just named for male youtubers and also, biological gender was about to become a huge non-issue for these particular cats, so it didn’t even matter.
“What’s a youtuber?” the vet asked.
“It’s a little difficult to explain,” I replied. “Have you heard of the internet?”
“Go sit in the car!” snapped my sister.
The kittens–sorry, the cats came home this afternoon. Man, they have never been so glad to see anyone as they were when they saw us come to pick them up. They are presently recovering in the library. I, too, have found that no matter how bad I feel some days, I will always feel at least a little better when snuggled up with my sister on the couch surrounded by books.
Okay, on to the real stuff. New chapter of my FNAFiction, Everything Is All Right, Part Three: Children of Mammon, now available at fanfiction.net and archiveofourown.org for those who are reading along. And for those of you who are still trying to decide if a fanfiction based on a jumpscare video game about rogue animatronics in a pizza parlor is really worth reading, all I can say is, hey, it’s free, right?
Foxy heard a loud crash during the two o’clock set. It startled him, although he supposed there was no real cause for alarm. It was plausible enough that a carload of kids had pulled up while Foxy was killing time in his cabin between shows, but Freddy never let his guard down and since he hadn’t called Foxy out to defend the restaurant, it couldn’t be anyone inside smashing the place up.
That raised the question of just what it could be, though. After all, it had been a loud enough noise to reach all the way to Pirate Cove, which ruled out something as simple as Chica taking a tumble, and it hadn’t shaken the timbers or anything, so it couldn’t have been the roof dropping in. Maybe a firework, although Foxy would have sworn it was a bangy sort of noise, rather than a boomy one. Nothing as little as a bottle smashing up against a window and nothing as big as a car crashing through one. He would have asked Freddy to settle his curiosity, except that Freddy didn’t come. Not at the end of his set, not at the end of the next one, not all the rest of that long day.
The longer Foxy went without seeing him, the more ominous that crash got. Maybe it hadn’t been Chica taking a tumble after all. Maybe it had been Fred himself, and if he’d managed to fall hard enough to pop his chest open (or crack his battery case…but no, that was too awful a thought for even Foxy to consider), there was nothing any of them could do to wake him up again.
But hours later, long after closing, he heard the East Hall door open and Freddy’s distinctive footsteps enter the room at last.
“SORRY,” Freddy grumbled, while Foxy stood frozen in the bow of his ship, head down and eyes shut. “I. MEANT. TO. COME. SOONER. I. COULDN’T. GET. AWAY. SHE’S.” A pause, filled with clicking. “SLEEPY. AND.” More clicking, this time with growls threaded through it, before Freddy settled with obvious annoyance on, “SUNG. OVER. AND. SHE’S. KEPT. ME. CHASING. AFTER. HER. ALL. BEAVER DAM. DAY. OH. SORRY. WAKE UP. FOXY.”
Foxy broke from his paralysis with convulsions, digging his hook blindly into the bow of his ship to keep him on his feet until the moment passed. “A-A-Ana’s here?” he asked, shaking his head like that could dislodge the exceptions that came from terminating his closing protocol two minutes too soon.
“I never heard-d-d her truck pull in,” Foxy muttered, hopping down from his ship and then from the stage. “I need to be c-c-coming out more. So that was her I heard-d-d banging around?”
“YOU. HEARD. HER. ALL. THE. WAY. IN. HERE,” Freddy asked and fell into step beside Foxy, walking together to the door. “WHY. AM. I. SURPRISED. EVERY. TIME. I. TURN. AROUND. SHE’S. BUMPING. THINGS. DROPPING. THINGS. AND. CLIMBING. THINGS. IT’S. LIKE. TRYING. TO. WATCH. OVER. TEN. TODDLERS. AT. A BIRTHDAY PARTY. AFTER THE. GIFTS. ARE. OPEN. AND. THE. CAKE. IS. GONE.”