Marcus Caravahlo (caravahlo) wrote in immune_ic, @ 2012-08-27 09:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | # 2012 [08] august |
WHO: Marcus and David
WHEN: Backdated to sometime after the cat... 26th, morning?
WHERE: At the vet center!
WHAT: Marcus has questions. So many of them.
RATING: Medium for Marcus Mouth, as per usual
Marcus had screwed people who had pets, but he had personally never owned an animal. His father hadn't allowed them in the household when he'd been a kid, because they involved effort and cost money and couldn't make up for costing money by providing free labor in the restaurant. Nobody could train a dog or a cat to chop onions, so what the fuck good were they? The lack of animal companionship hadn't bothered Marcus. He hadn't lain awake at night as a boy wishing he could have a pet. The closest he'd gotten was catching snakes and lizards in Arizona, but he'd always had to let them go. Well, a couple had died in captivity, which still made him feel vaguely guilty about that. Animals belonged outside being animals. That way, Marcus was only responsible for one life. His. So far, that had worked out for him fairly well. At least insofar as he was still alive.
Shit, he didn't even like people who acted too needy, too much like pets.
So he didn't know what to do with a cat. He didn't want the cat. However, when noon came and went and nobody had picked up the cat, Marcus didn't torch it. The box, however, was destroyed. He took his frustration out on that box by stomping it flat and trashing the damn thing. Later, he'd regret doing this because it meant the kitten did not have a readily available pen and was free to roam in his room, molesting his shoes and doing God only knew what under his bed. Not only did it not respond to his verbal threats, but it didn't even have the good grace to be afraid of him. It was fucking unfair. Taisce hadn't wanted to take it, nor had Wren. The only good thing it had accomplished had been getting their attention, and it hadn't even done that right. Stupid baby cats apparently didn't get that the whole point of getting a woman's attention was to convince her to take you home with her.
On the other hand, he'd already received more attention over the damn cat than he had anything else that he'd done since arriving at the prison, and he hadn't even been trying for it. That might be a positive thing.
It wasn't too intrusive as a roommate. Cleaning up after the thing didn't take much time, because it was so small. Interacting with it, however, bothered him... for the same reason. Touching the kitten or picking it up in any way made him feel more like a gorilla than anything else. It was tiny, and made that pathetic noise a lot, and he really didn't want to accidentally pop it, or whatever. So he was ginger with it, he moved slow around it, and all of that resulted in the cat seeing him as a safe thing to climb on, and - on heart-stopping occasions - jump off. This indicated to him that the cat was suicidally depressed, so clearly it didn't like being around him anymore than he wanted it around.
Marcus owned a single pair of cargo pants, which was good given that the weather was still too warm for his big leather coat. It took him a while to gather the kitten, especially with his wrapped right hand, but that was healing and he did manage the task, whereupon he deposited the tiny squirming ball of fur into the largest pocket of the pants. He didn't secure the pocket well, telling it, "You wanna jump out and run off, Fuckface, be my fucking guest."
On the walk, the kitten didn't seem inclined to jump out and run off. It poked its head out a few times, but by the time Marcus reached the vet's, the thing had been lulled to sleep by his casual saunter. Stupid fucking cat. He made a mental note to do a hard jog on the way back. Momentarily forgetting that the idea, of course, was not to bring the cat back with him.
Marcus scowled, already smelling dog and other cats and who the fuck knew what else they had. "Hey! I got a fucking problem!" He waited for someone to make an appearance before retrieving the cat from his pocket with one hand and unceremoniously plopping it on the desk. "Tell me what the fuck I'm supposed to do with this."