Story: The Taming of Wildfang
The humans referred to Alastair Finefur IV...as “Hue.”
He deigned to allow this (on occasion), because they kept him fed. They did not, in his opinion, feed him often or early enough, however.
This was a lifelong source of contention among them, involving not only the humans but whoever this supposed “doctor” was, who had decided on his portions and frequency based on “science” and “nutrition.” These words meant nothing to his bestial, predator’s gullet.
But the quality and regularity of the foodstuffs remained acceptable to him, and so he allowed them to continue caring for him.
What was utterly unacceptable was the sudden violence thrust upon his life (and his routines), by the inexplicable appearance of Wildfang into his home and temple.
Wildfang’s human-given name was Salem, which Hue felt was quite fitting, if he were being honest.
The beast belonged back in history, where his untamed behavior, such as voluntarily leaving the warmth and safety of the human domicile (a decision Hue found incomprehensible, as well as appalling) would have at least made some sense.
As it stood, the house was warm. And comfortable, with so many soft surfaces to sleep on and so many hidden alcoves to explore, and so it befuddled him, as to why Salem was even allowed to come and go as he pleased.
Not to mention what he might be bringing in with him. Dirt. Or insect-hangers-on. Smells. Inside smells were much preferable to outdoor smells. It wasn’t even a question, so far as Hue was concerned.
No, he could not begin to understand it.
So, mostly, Hue ignored Salem. If the other beast got too close-up, in his feline space, he would also defend himself. His human name and human-provided life did not define Hue, despite the comforts he had settled into over the course of his life. The Finefurs were a domesticated lineage, but they had not forgotten their feudal roots. He could tussle.
Wildfang seemed to get the message, when they fought, and perhaps this had been the beginnings of the grudging respect that would eventually blossom between the two, a respect that shocked Hue further, when it morphed further over time into something like friendship.
The change really started with the food.
As a consequence of Salem’s apparent need to conduct his “business” only outside, the humans became, following his incursion into the temple, even more conditioned to his protests than Hue’s own. At first this had insulted Hue, until he realized that the addition of a second feline voice to the fray was quickly growing the base-level acceptance of the humans to their responsibilities in overall feline worship.
In plainer terms, there were now two of them meowing orders, which often resulted in quicker, more regular service to his needs.
It happened slowly, but the groundwork of this acknowledgement by Hue, of Salem’s greater-than-expected allyship, eventually translated into a more formal cooperation agreement between the two. Even Salem, on his side, seemed more receptive to tolerating Hue’s differences from himself, focusing instead on their shared responsibility of training the humans.
Time passed quickly, as it will do for cats, who of course required much sleep to offset the taxing pressures of their awesome mission of educating the entire world on the many facets of their cosmic importance. Thus, Hue grew used to Salem, and Salem to Hue, in kind.
One day, they together conspired to trick the male human into feeding them breakfast twice.
After the feast, and the ritual vomiting, Hue dropped the facade. The humans were out of sight, and so he used his co-conspirator’s true name in addressing him.
“Good show, Wildfang.”
“Thanks, Al. You, too.”
“Do not call me that. But, thank you as well.”
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This story was commissioned by Erol, for Allison. It was written by Michael DiBiasio-Ornelas, via Last Site Press. To order your own Custom Short Story, click here.