Inside the box was a cat. A very young, not to mention sick, kitten, to put things more precisely.
At least, that was what everybody said...
...As did his camcorder.
He rubbed his eyes and groaned. He had enough to deal with without this, this...
To the naked eye : Sick little baby which looked like a half-dead broken doll in medibox.
On the camcorder : Sick little kitten which looked like a drowned rat in medibox.
...Oh, for...
If the veterinarian's assistant on night watch wondered just why "The Boss" was pointing a camcorder at a half-dead kitten in the dead of the night, he at least wasn't asking. Which was good, from Djibril's point of view.
More dead bodies weren't what he wanted to handle, at this point.
He couldn't seem to keep from wandering down to the 3rd floor in the middle of the night, just to look at the - thing.
Or maybe it was just that he was hoping against hope that one day he'd see what everybody else seemed to be seeing.
"We're pumping it full of antibiotics, but it's not gaining weight as much as we'll like, sir."
Ahhhh? Brownhaired and nondiscriptant...Oh, it was the veterinarian's assistant he'd seem here before. Just why was the man trying to talk to him, here? Did he look like he was in the mood for talking?
"...Is that so?"
"Yessir. It's time to feed her now, so..."
So it was a female.
"Gotta feed her, and massage her too, cause kit's this size can't pee or do their business if they aren't massaged. Wasn't quite sure how to do that, though... Had to look it up on the net, actually..."
Djibril stared. Just what kind of training were they giving vet's assistants nowadays, anyway? And just how did the idiots think they could get away with treating his - his cat-thing so shabbily?
The VA kept on talking while he warmed milk out of cans and started dribbling it down the little thing's throat. It - she - choked at one point.
"Sorry, kitty..."
No wonder it was underweight. Djibril sat down and sighed.
"You wanna try holding her, sir? Here."
...It would have been nice if the VA had said that before just. Plopping. It. Down. Towl and all.
He looked at the thing on his lap, petrified. It scrinched back through red-rimmed gooey eyes...and flopped.
- The man must have a death wish. Yes, that must be it.
He did not discover how right he was to much later, but by that time, it had ceased to matter. To him, at least.
He awoke to the weight of something warm and furry and slight on his chest.
"...Shannon? The cat has...."
...No, no Shannon. He'd arranged the brown-haired VA's funeral himself. It was damn inconvenient of that man to just die on him like that, though he hadn't done it on purpose, Djibril supposed...
"...Achoo...Echooo..."
" - Gesundheit?"
(*"...Mama..."*)
"I am not your mother, you idiot feline. Now go back to sleep."
Djibril tried to roll over without crushing the thing, and froze.
It talks?
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(Posted Tue, 18 Apr 2006 08:10)
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