This one is for Jonathan S, who requested Beastly Familiars and a lynx. You have good timing, as I've been watching videos of big cats eating watermelons all week. Thank you for your support, darling. I hope you enjoy it!
The sound of a screaming child woke Ira from a sound sleep, and he let out a yell as he tried to leap to his feet, forgot he was napping on his couch, hit the coffee table, and crashed headlong into his shoe rack.
The screaming, horrifying and loud was just in the next room over.
His crash apparently interrupted whatever was happening, however, because it cut off suddenly, tapering into a startled and inquisitive “brrouwt?”
Ira struggled out of the pile of shoes as a tawny-gold blur shot out of the room, skidded, left deep furrows in the already-scarred wood floor, and turned the slide into an impressive jump on top of the nearest book case.
A lynx stared down, all whiskers and ears and immense paws.
(I saw the first robin!) Squall, named for the sound, not the storm, told him excitedly, and leapt for the window, knocking the crockpot off on his way. It hit the ground with an ominous crack and Ira glared, but caught a glimpse of the time and realized he had a bigger fight to worry about. (Look! There it is!)
Squall pawed at the glass, which was double-thick and latched firmly to keep the murderous creature inside and away from the local wildlife. He liked to leave decapitated bunnies of the neighbors, and Ira was starting to get a reputation that he did not want.
Casually, so as not to spook his large, troublesome familiar, he picked up the heavy, and disposable, quilt he kept on the couch. Squall, still focused on the birds, didn’t notice him creeping closer under the guise of tidying up.
When he was close enough, he pounced, blanket spread, and gathered Squall up in his arms.
But forty pounds of abruptly-pounced-upon Lynx was not the easiest armful.
(NO!) Squall immediately began to scream as if he was being murdered, a haunting sound of tortured children and angry cat that was utterly unmistakable at any distance. Ira cussed when a whole paw escaped, and shoved his familiar bodily back into the blanket-sack.
“It’s time to go to the vet,” he gasped, not bothered by the weight, but very bothered by the way Squall kicked this way and that, much stronger than his small size would suggest. At the word ‘vet’ the lynx stilled for a moment, and then the fight was on in earnest.
It was time for his booster shots. Squall knew this. He had known this for months. He was even, theoretically speaking, in favor of vaccines after having a very pointed discussion in which Ira showed him videos of rabid animals and Squall agreed that it looked very unpleasant.
But he hated going to the vet, hated getting his temperature taken, and was absolutely against the waiting room in general. Ira heartily agreed, since his familiar would immediately take to taunting and terrorizing absolutely everyone else who was there.
Claws punched through the quilt, and Ira cursed again, before holding the lynx-bundle at arms-length.
It was uncomfortable, but better than getting bitten, and Squall would absolutely bite him if he got the chance.
(Let me out! I refuse! I will not go to the vet!)
“You need your shots! We talked about this!”
(I hate you! They’re going to do things to me!)
“They are going to make sure you’re healthy!”
Threats, hissing, screaming, and yowling aside, Ira staggered through the house for the laundry room. Inside was a large, heavy-duty dog carrier. It was too big for Squall, but that was intentional.
Ira kicked it open, chucked his familiar inside, quilt and all, and latched the door before Squall could detangle himself from the fabric.
Just in time, as the lynx threw himself at the door, and was barely a second too slow. He immediately took to pawing the latch. Left to his own devices, he could get it open, and he knew it. Ira, who did not want to try and capture him a second time, quickly snapped a real lock through the bars and clicked it shut.
(No!) Squall protested furiously, and tried to bite him. It was no good. Ira, having gotten bitten just that way more than once, had zip-tied fine mesh to the bars everywhere his hands got close enough to be in danger. (How could you do this to me! I will not be imprisoned!)
“You are going to the vet,” Ira told him, and hoisted the cage, lynx and all, towards his truck and the plank of wood he put in there earlier to keep Squall from shredding the seats. He absolutely would, too, just to spite him. “You are getting a checkup, your shots, and you are going to be good as gold the whole time.”
“I’m taking you to Doctor Erin.”
That stilled Squall for a while. It was impossible not to like the beautiful vet, and Squall was not immune. Erin, who was as close to a Disney Princess as they came, had never once been bitten by a patient. Squall, who lived for attention, adored her.
(I am going to pee on your bed.)
“Yeah,” Ira said with resignation. He already had his bedroom door locked, and a liquid-proof cover over his bed for that very eventuality. “I know. As long as you don’t bite Erin, I can deal.”
(She is nice. You are horrible.)
“Yeah,” Ira repeated with a roll of his eyes as he got them rumbling down the road towards the vet. “But you didn’t bond with her, you bonded with me, so shut up and cope.”
Squall, never one to go quietly,, responded by staring to wail in the back seat, and Ira only sighed.
Animals will be animals, no matter how intelligent. Sometimes animals will be… well… Beastly.
Under the Desk, Up on the Bookcase
