Something Gets It challenge by Loz
Oct. 13th, 2005 11:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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ds_flashfictionTitle: When I was six we had this cat…
Rating: G? PG? I have difficulty with ratings.
Word Count: 950 words.
Notes: Set post CotW, this is one of many dialogues I imagine Ray and Fraser having whilst resting from journeying.
"When I was six we had this cat. It was huge, well, huge in comparison to me, I was kinda weedy as a kid y'know. Anyway, this cat, his name was Patch 'cause he was white all over save for this grey, y'know, patch, on his forehead. He used to run around the house a mile a minute and spray his scent everywhere. One day he went missing. Dad said he was probably off wooing lady cats. We found him three days later in the middle of the road. We buried him in the back garden."
Ray brushed his hand through his hair again. He gazed out of the lean-to. The white around them was a thick blanket. It looked smooth as silk, but he knew that if you touched it, it didn't feel that way. It felt more like crushed velvet. And it was damp and cold. The white covered everything. If you were going to argue about it, you'd say there really wasn't that much to cover. But there was still a lot of snow.
"That must have been upsetting," Fraser said, bowing his head slightly.
"Yeah, it was. Patch was a great cat. After Patch we got this little brown tabby called Monty. Man, she was all kinds of evil. She'd stare at you with these yellow brown eyes and if you got too close to her she'd get her claws and just stick them straight into the nearest available skin. One day she was outside and Mom was going to go shopping. She backed out without realising Monty was there. That was the first time I ever saw that much blood. We buried her in the back garden, underneath a cherry tree which died soon after."
Fraser nodded his head slowly and offered Ray some pemmican. Ray took it because he didn't know what else to do.
"So. We waited a year or so before getting a new pet, because it was too painful. I started to get really lonely so I begged and begged for another cat. We went to an animal shelter this time and got this big ball of ginger fluff that I called Chester. Chester was the best cat you could ask for. He'd purr like nothing on earth and he used to do these amazing stunts where he'd throw himself from the top of my wardrobe."
"That sounds dangerous," Fraser interjected.
"Yeah it was, but he always seemed to be okay afterwards."
"Really?"
"Ahuh. But the next door neighbour had these, uh, goldfish which they wanted us to look after, so being the neighbourly neighbours we were, we did. I don't know exactly what happened but I came home from school to see a cracked fishbowl, Chester lying on the ground with half a fish in his mouth, his eyes all glazed over and another fish by his head. We flushed the fish down the toilet, but Chester? He was buried in the back garden."
Ray continued to survey their surroundings. If there was only one thing he would take away from all of this, it would be a sense of space. He'd thought he'd known what space was before. He'd stared up at the night sky, been in the middle of a cornfield, had a painfully empty apartment. But this was like nothing he'd ever seen before. It was never-ending, eternal space. Fraser didn't seem to be as in awe as Ray was. He busied himself with getting another blanket.
"I was heartbroken, who wouldn't be? But I soon started lobbying for another animal to keep me company. Dad thought it would be better this time if we got a dog, so we got this tiny little mongrel who was totally insane. He'd rush after dust balls. I swear, every time I saw him dancing from paw to paw near one of those things I'd imagine him yelling 'Nobody move or the dust ball gets it!', but uh, he was a dog, so y'know, he'd yap instead. We had him for a few years, and he was a great friend. He got liver cancer and we had to have him put down. He was buried in the back garden."
Fraser made a noise this time which was half a groan, half a snort. Ray didn't know why and he didn't much care. He huddled closer into Fraser because he was beginning to realise he was freezing. Fraser wrapped an arm around his shoulders, his hand just above Ray's 'champion' tattoo.
"I vowed never to have another pet again. Then one day this beautiful greyish silver cat appeared on our front doorstep. She was real elegant and would stare directly into your eyes. Cats don't usually do that. After we'd taken care of her for a couple weeks she began to have these, uh, fits. She'd just start twitching and skitting across the floor with her muscles all tense. She was not a pretty sight, spitting and hissing. We had no idea what was wrong with her, but it certainly wasn't curable. She was buried in the front garden because the back garden was already kinda full."
"Ray?"
"Yes, Fraser?"
"Have you ever had a pet that wasn't buried in your front or back garden?" Fraser brought his hand up and rubbed at his forehead gently.
"Well… does Diefenbaker count?"
"Yes, I think Diefenbaker is an acceptable answer."
"Good, because, y'know, when we get back to Chicago I have a horrible feeling Frannie's not going to have taken very good care of my turtle, and I may have to…"
"Find a garden to bury him in?"
"Exactly. So then, after we were first married, Stella and me got this golden retriever…"
Rating: G? PG? I have difficulty with ratings.
Word Count: 950 words.
Notes: Set post CotW, this is one of many dialogues I imagine Ray and Fraser having whilst resting from journeying.
"When I was six we had this cat. It was huge, well, huge in comparison to me, I was kinda weedy as a kid y'know. Anyway, this cat, his name was Patch 'cause he was white all over save for this grey, y'know, patch, on his forehead. He used to run around the house a mile a minute and spray his scent everywhere. One day he went missing. Dad said he was probably off wooing lady cats. We found him three days later in the middle of the road. We buried him in the back garden."
Ray brushed his hand through his hair again. He gazed out of the lean-to. The white around them was a thick blanket. It looked smooth as silk, but he knew that if you touched it, it didn't feel that way. It felt more like crushed velvet. And it was damp and cold. The white covered everything. If you were going to argue about it, you'd say there really wasn't that much to cover. But there was still a lot of snow.
"That must have been upsetting," Fraser said, bowing his head slightly.
"Yeah, it was. Patch was a great cat. After Patch we got this little brown tabby called Monty. Man, she was all kinds of evil. She'd stare at you with these yellow brown eyes and if you got too close to her she'd get her claws and just stick them straight into the nearest available skin. One day she was outside and Mom was going to go shopping. She backed out without realising Monty was there. That was the first time I ever saw that much blood. We buried her in the back garden, underneath a cherry tree which died soon after."
Fraser nodded his head slowly and offered Ray some pemmican. Ray took it because he didn't know what else to do.
"So. We waited a year or so before getting a new pet, because it was too painful. I started to get really lonely so I begged and begged for another cat. We went to an animal shelter this time and got this big ball of ginger fluff that I called Chester. Chester was the best cat you could ask for. He'd purr like nothing on earth and he used to do these amazing stunts where he'd throw himself from the top of my wardrobe."
"That sounds dangerous," Fraser interjected.
"Yeah it was, but he always seemed to be okay afterwards."
"Really?"
"Ahuh. But the next door neighbour had these, uh, goldfish which they wanted us to look after, so being the neighbourly neighbours we were, we did. I don't know exactly what happened but I came home from school to see a cracked fishbowl, Chester lying on the ground with half a fish in his mouth, his eyes all glazed over and another fish by his head. We flushed the fish down the toilet, but Chester? He was buried in the back garden."
Ray continued to survey their surroundings. If there was only one thing he would take away from all of this, it would be a sense of space. He'd thought he'd known what space was before. He'd stared up at the night sky, been in the middle of a cornfield, had a painfully empty apartment. But this was like nothing he'd ever seen before. It was never-ending, eternal space. Fraser didn't seem to be as in awe as Ray was. He busied himself with getting another blanket.
"I was heartbroken, who wouldn't be? But I soon started lobbying for another animal to keep me company. Dad thought it would be better this time if we got a dog, so we got this tiny little mongrel who was totally insane. He'd rush after dust balls. I swear, every time I saw him dancing from paw to paw near one of those things I'd imagine him yelling 'Nobody move or the dust ball gets it!', but uh, he was a dog, so y'know, he'd yap instead. We had him for a few years, and he was a great friend. He got liver cancer and we had to have him put down. He was buried in the back garden."
Fraser made a noise this time which was half a groan, half a snort. Ray didn't know why and he didn't much care. He huddled closer into Fraser because he was beginning to realise he was freezing. Fraser wrapped an arm around his shoulders, his hand just above Ray's 'champion' tattoo.
"I vowed never to have another pet again. Then one day this beautiful greyish silver cat appeared on our front doorstep. She was real elegant and would stare directly into your eyes. Cats don't usually do that. After we'd taken care of her for a couple weeks she began to have these, uh, fits. She'd just start twitching and skitting across the floor with her muscles all tense. She was not a pretty sight, spitting and hissing. We had no idea what was wrong with her, but it certainly wasn't curable. She was buried in the front garden because the back garden was already kinda full."
"Ray?"
"Yes, Fraser?"
"Have you ever had a pet that wasn't buried in your front or back garden?" Fraser brought his hand up and rubbed at his forehead gently.
"Well… does Diefenbaker count?"
"Yes, I think Diefenbaker is an acceptable answer."
"Good, because, y'know, when we get back to Chicago I have a horrible feeling Frannie's not going to have taken very good care of my turtle, and I may have to…"
"Find a garden to bury him in?"
"Exactly. So then, after we were first married, Stella and me got this golden retriever…"
