Walter Sullivan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
illdrinktothat) wrote2013-07-22 12:07 am
illdrinktothat) wrote2013-07-22 12:07 am
[UNRECORDED]
For the first week, Walter’s convinced it’s a possum; maybe a raccoon, a very small raccoon.
He notices something’s wrong as soon as he gets settled back into his house, and how could he not. His drawers of clothes are ajar in a way that he definitely did not do. At first he thought the very worst until he realized that whatever had rifled through his clothes and belongings also got into his food. So much less sinister when it’s a small-ish furry thing he can potentially kill or otherwise evict. But it continuously evades his every effort at finding it, let alone catching it. It probably doesn’t help that he’s not terribly dedicated to this endeavor, at least not as much as he is to getting himself back off the wagon in a very serious manner.
It’s after his most recent visit to the Hob that he decides maybe he’ll really try, after a brief conversation with Greasy Sae. Her eyes light up when she hears his complaints. Possom’s good cookin, after all, and if he could get it and bring it to her, she’d make sure to give him decent compensation for it. He reluctantly agrees and stalks back to his house at the first given opportunity. Maybe not exactly a man on a mission, but he at least knows where that possum (or possums) will end up: in Sae’s stewpot. Eventually. Maybe. Probably.
He sets up some rather well-done traps, and he waits. And he waits some more, to no avail. The possums outsmart him at every turn. Maybe fixing his house would have prevented them moving in in the first place, but that would require effort on his part or even letting people in his house to repair it. He’d rather not on both accounts, honestly. So he patches things up to the best of his abilities despite the fact the possum or raccoon is most definitely already in his house. They just can’t bring in friends.
And the little fucker still evades him yet.
It’s not until he’s given up on the whole matter that he actually finds the pest.
It’s late one night, while he’s wandering around restlessly – at least he’s fairly sure it’s late at night, since he never pays that much attention when left to his own devices. It’s dark out and he slept through the sunset, and it’s not looking close to sunrise so… good enough estimate. He stops in his kitchen to look for something to maybe eat when he hears it: a bag of something ripping open. It’s easy to pick out the cupboard in question even without the noise, since it’s half open with some of its contents spilling out. He creeps up on it very carefully and peers inside, trying to get a look at least at this fucking freeloader stealing his shit.
It’s tiny, furry, eating his food, and when it realizes it’s being watched, it just turns around and mews at him.
Oh, goddamnit.
He expects it to run but instead the little cat just stumbles out of the cupboard and after him. It’s even littler than he thought, fluffy in a very scruff sort of way and some kind of mottled black and brown. It sits at his feet and mews again.
“No. No, you can fuck right off with that right now.” He grumbles, nudging it away from him with his foot. It just takes this as an excuse to bat at his foot and mew up at him more insistently.
“Yeah, no. I don’t do pets. You’re gonna have to go.” And with that he picks the tiny bastard up by the scruff of its neck – not that he has to, it’s smaller than his fist – and marches it outside his house and leaves it there, in the road past the boundary of his yard.
Not an hour later and he hears a pitiful mewling from the front door. He ignores it as best he can, but it is relentless. It’s rather unsettling to listen to while he tries to drink and eventually, he relents and goes to the front door. There is a very small paw waving through the mail slot. He bends down and eases the little bastard’s foot back out. “You fucking idiot, you’ll get stuck,” He grumbles before finally opening the door. The kitten stares up at him for the longest moment, but it stays there on the porch. He decides then its eyes are way too big for its head.
“Fine, fine! Just move the fuck on in like I invited you, you little shithead. Go on. Get back inside.” Yes, he’s angrily ordering the cat back inside. When it continues to just stare at him, he sighs and goes to pick it up. …Only for it to run this time.
And that’s why he spends the next hour sitting on his porch at 2 am, feeding a stray kitten anchovies. He gets it to like him enough to bring it back inside and he convinces himself he’ll find it a home the next day. There’s a lot of ‘I’m getting rid of you tomorrow,’ with him and this cat, mostly when he’s sitting at his table trying to read and the little bastard’s trying to sleep on his arm or eat from his plate, not that he ever puts much effort in dissuading it. He doesn’t eat much anyway and the food won’t go to waste, right?
He’ll get rid of it next week, he’s sure.
He notices something’s wrong as soon as he gets settled back into his house, and how could he not. His drawers of clothes are ajar in a way that he definitely did not do. At first he thought the very worst until he realized that whatever had rifled through his clothes and belongings also got into his food. So much less sinister when it’s a small-ish furry thing he can potentially kill or otherwise evict. But it continuously evades his every effort at finding it, let alone catching it. It probably doesn’t help that he’s not terribly dedicated to this endeavor, at least not as much as he is to getting himself back off the wagon in a very serious manner.
It’s after his most recent visit to the Hob that he decides maybe he’ll really try, after a brief conversation with Greasy Sae. Her eyes light up when she hears his complaints. Possom’s good cookin, after all, and if he could get it and bring it to her, she’d make sure to give him decent compensation for it. He reluctantly agrees and stalks back to his house at the first given opportunity. Maybe not exactly a man on a mission, but he at least knows where that possum (or possums) will end up: in Sae’s stewpot. Eventually. Maybe. Probably.
He sets up some rather well-done traps, and he waits. And he waits some more, to no avail. The possums outsmart him at every turn. Maybe fixing his house would have prevented them moving in in the first place, but that would require effort on his part or even letting people in his house to repair it. He’d rather not on both accounts, honestly. So he patches things up to the best of his abilities despite the fact the possum or raccoon is most definitely already in his house. They just can’t bring in friends.
And the little fucker still evades him yet.
It’s not until he’s given up on the whole matter that he actually finds the pest.
It’s late one night, while he’s wandering around restlessly – at least he’s fairly sure it’s late at night, since he never pays that much attention when left to his own devices. It’s dark out and he slept through the sunset, and it’s not looking close to sunrise so… good enough estimate. He stops in his kitchen to look for something to maybe eat when he hears it: a bag of something ripping open. It’s easy to pick out the cupboard in question even without the noise, since it’s half open with some of its contents spilling out. He creeps up on it very carefully and peers inside, trying to get a look at least at this fucking freeloader stealing his shit.
It’s tiny, furry, eating his food, and when it realizes it’s being watched, it just turns around and mews at him.
Oh, goddamnit.
He expects it to run but instead the little cat just stumbles out of the cupboard and after him. It’s even littler than he thought, fluffy in a very scruff sort of way and some kind of mottled black and brown. It sits at his feet and mews again.
“No. No, you can fuck right off with that right now.” He grumbles, nudging it away from him with his foot. It just takes this as an excuse to bat at his foot and mew up at him more insistently.
“Yeah, no. I don’t do pets. You’re gonna have to go.” And with that he picks the tiny bastard up by the scruff of its neck – not that he has to, it’s smaller than his fist – and marches it outside his house and leaves it there, in the road past the boundary of his yard.
Not an hour later and he hears a pitiful mewling from the front door. He ignores it as best he can, but it is relentless. It’s rather unsettling to listen to while he tries to drink and eventually, he relents and goes to the front door. There is a very small paw waving through the mail slot. He bends down and eases the little bastard’s foot back out. “You fucking idiot, you’ll get stuck,” He grumbles before finally opening the door. The kitten stares up at him for the longest moment, but it stays there on the porch. He decides then its eyes are way too big for its head.
“Fine, fine! Just move the fuck on in like I invited you, you little shithead. Go on. Get back inside.” Yes, he’s angrily ordering the cat back inside. When it continues to just stare at him, he sighs and goes to pick it up. …Only for it to run this time.
And that’s why he spends the next hour sitting on his porch at 2 am, feeding a stray kitten anchovies. He gets it to like him enough to bring it back inside and he convinces himself he’ll find it a home the next day. There’s a lot of ‘I’m getting rid of you tomorrow,’ with him and this cat, mostly when he’s sitting at his table trying to read and the little bastard’s trying to sleep on his arm or eat from his plate, not that he ever puts much effort in dissuading it. He doesn’t eat much anyway and the food won’t go to waste, right?
He’ll get rid of it next week, he’s sure.