His purrs continue but don’t translate.
And for the first time, I don’t need them to.
A splatter of sickly-yellow soup decorates my desk as I suck in instant-noodles. The box says chicken-flavored, but three cubes the size of tacks barely constitute “real” chicken. Pantone rolls his head in my direction and repeatedly sniffs the air. “No soup for you,” I say as I dab the spillage with a napkin. “The last thing I need is another vet bill.”
He swats at my napkin, his paw the only part of his leg with thick fur. I rub a finger over his shaved leg as my laptop wakes up. Purples and reds have faded to brown as the veins in his leg heal.
Another design job, another deadline, and an advance against the paycheck. At least this company has better ethics than Garner Tech. Immediate bills taken care of, I sip my soup as I pull up the design specs: a new logo for Sunset Veterinary Clinic.
Once the logo is done, I’ll do another design job or four for Dr. Bruester to take care of the vet bill. Now as long as we can avoid another trip….
I’M HUNGRY.
“Of course you are.”
The former logo—a sun peaking out across a dog’s head—reminds me of my grandmother’s idea of the Internet: websites with garish colors that dance and lag via cable modem. The logo’s sun bears both rings and rays, and the dog wears a space helmet from the 90’s.
Space travel has come a long way since then, but this logo hasn’t. Maybe if we update the helmet to the new face-fitting design….
I’M HUNGRY.
I scratch Pantone’s ears and smile.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Being owned by pets is never easy.
It’s stepping in a cold, wet hairball first thing in the morning or worse, rushing to the emergency vet at 3 AM with a limp animal in your arms and no idea if you will walk out with them again.
Making the decision on whether or not to put down an animal isn’t an easy choice, nor should it be. We’ve domesticated dogs and cats to the point that their well-being is solely dependent upon us—as dependent as a toddler.
When I first read about the research being done with animals and MRIs, it was fascinating to me how scientists were able to identify whether a meow or bark was related to hunger or fright or pain based on the patterns recognized in brain scans. If we can use our cell phones to study our sleep patterns, I wondered how much further we would have to leap to get the collar in the story. Not one that has animals speaking like humans—I think that’s a long way off—but one that could identify simple statements like those in the story.
The other aspect I wanted to explore was the idea that if our furry partners really could talk to us, would we find it as… well, I don’t want to say easy because it’s not, but would it be as easy to put them down? After all, we would never consider “putting to sleep” or “euthanizing” our children. Obviously it’s not as simple as that, but it was a topic I wanted to explore in the story.
The other piece of the story, of course, is that many times, we don’t really need a collar to understand our pets at all. We might not know why they are hurting or what brought on the sudden bout of snuggles, but ask any pet owner and they’ll tell you—they know their pets.
Right down to the meow.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bestselling science fiction & fantasy author Raven Oak is best known for Amaskan’s Blood (Epic Awards 2016 Finalist) , Class- M Exile, and the collection Joy to the Worlds: Mysterious Speculative Fiction for the Holidays (Foreword Reviews 2016 Book of the Year Finalist). She spent most of her K-12 education doodling stories and 500 page monstrosities that are forever locked away in a filing cabinet.
When she’s not writing, she’s getting her game on with tabletop games, indulging in cartography, or staring at the ocean. She lives in the Seattle area with her husband, and their three kitties who enjoy lounging across the keyboard when writing deadlines approach.
When she’s not writing, she can be found online at:
Website: http://www.ravenoak.net
Twitter: http://twitter.com/raven_oak
Facebook: http://facebook.com/authorroak
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/raven_oak
Excerpt from Amaskan’s Blood
The sleeping woman in his arms shifted, her heel connecting with his shin. The jagged scar to the right of her eye bunched together with worry lines. One of T her hands flitted to the scar tissue along her throat, and she whimpered in rhythm to the twitching of the facial muscles around her eyes.
“Shhhhh,” King Leon murmured, running his thumb down her jawline. Through the deep blue bed curtains, tiny hints of light streamed in from one of four windows which left most of the room dark in the early dawn.
Even with the lack of light, the scar running parallel to her jaw stood out in contrast to the others along her body. The puffy and angry line stretched the full width of her neck, from ear to ear. Ten years together, and still she never spoke of it, never talked of the wound that walked in and out of her nightmares.
She thought she’d kept her past from him, but a few paid informants gained a king whatever information he wished. That and the fact that she talked in her sleep. A smile lifted the corners of his thin lips as he stared at the woman wrapped beneath the heavy winter blankets.
He had never set out to find someone else after Catherine, but Ida—she was everything Catherine was not. Strength to a flaw, impertinence in her honesty, and a passion that burned long after the sun set.
His thumb froze at the shift in her breathing, and he peered down to find blue eyes staring up at him. Instead of their usual humor, the deep, blue pools were haunted by shadows, and the smile fell from his lips. “Your sleep was troubled,” he whispered.
She sat up, pulling the blanket with her. Her shoulder twitched, and he reached out a wrinkled hand to touch it before he leaned forward where he could see her face. When a few tears decorated her cheeks, his hands tightened on her shoulders.
“What is it, Ida? What’s bothering you so? Was it something in Sadai?”
“I begged ya not to send me.” The scar across her throat jumped when she spoke, and her voice resembled gravel.
“Since when has my sepier been afraid of anything?” The former captain of the royal guard didn’t answer as another tear slid down a cheek more gaunt than it had been a few months before.
Has it only been four months since I sent her to her homeland? There was more bone beneath his fingers than he was accustomed to.
“Ida, love, I know you hate Sadai, but we all must make sacrifices for duty.”
Her body stilled while long pale fingers gripped the bed sheets. “You know nothin’.”
Leon didn’t know what shocked him more, that she was angry with him or that she was afraid. “I know the healers in Sadai saved you—” He ignored her gasp and continued, “—and that you fled your homeland for Alexander. But you worked your way to the top of my army because you were fearless.”