Damian Wayne (ibnalxuffasch) wrote in modernage, @ 2010-09-25 10:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | damian wayne | rook, ∴ scenes: completed, ∴ scenes: narratives |
Who: Damian Wayne and a wandering cat.
Where: The townhouse
When: Friday June 4th, 2010
Summary: Cats know when they meet cat people, it must be part of the reproductive selectivity of genes.
Damian was at home, if it could be called home, for the evening. Where Grayson was, he did not know. He was not his brother's keeper. Although he grumbled at the fact the man was not present, he actually enjoyed the brief respite from the hassle of dealing with idiots at all hours to the day. He headed upstairs to his room, tossing his pack at the foot of his meticulously made bed. A quick glance revealed that everything was as he last left it. After unlocking the top drawer of his desk - making sure that the hair carefully placed between the drawer and desk was in place - he pulled out his laptop and set to work.
Twenty minutes later, he sat back, blinking his eyes from the strain of his single-minded focus on the computer screen. The program was running, trolling the internet for references to his keywords - repeated in every language he knew and a whole many more that he had grudgingly looked up. Despite the early hour, it had already been a long day for him. He rose at an uncommonly early hour these days because strange sounds awoke him in the morning. A quick check of the perimeter always revealed a cat prowling about the house. The same cat that had been woken him up for the past week. The lack of sleep set him on edge, and the audacity of the cat bothered him something worse.
It did not even have the good grace to look vaguely apologetic at his missed sleep. Instead, it always stared boldly at him before turning to leave with a smug flick of its tail, as if dismissing him. Two mornings ago, while he was staring down the stray, it had the wherewithal to saunter up to him to sniff before turning up its nose and walking away. He thought that was hypocritical of it, because he was not the one that reeked to the high heavens of trash. That was why he went back inside and showered, because he might have contracted fleas or some pest from the close contact with the infested kind, not because a cat disapproved of how he smelled.
It was only because he was running out of soap that he ran out to the store later, and he needed variety so he bought a different brand. Nothing to do with the cat at all. This morning, he woke up before the cat even came, and punched his pillow in frustration before heading down to the kitchen. After eating a quick bowl of cereal - the disgustingly sugary kind - he was about to pour the milk down the drain when the gaunt figure of the cat flashed into his mind. Cats drank milk. That thought ended with him sitting on the back step with the bowl set out a few feet away, waiting for the most recent menace to Damian's life.
The cat had a good sense of timing, because it slunk into view at the same approximate time as every day previous. It paused, out of surprise, before approaching with greater caution. Damian was darkly pleased, thinking it his due to finally get some reaction out of the mangy cat. It was hardly wider than a drainpipe, and rather small. The only other cat he could use for comparison belonged to Power Girl. This cat made PG's cat look heavyset in comparison. The long, thick black fur was matted with filth and stuck out in all directions, which made judging the actual weight and age of the cat difficult. It approached his offering, sniffing all around before lapping at the remaining milk. After only one taste, it turned away. That was the last strand for Damian, who jumped up and demanded, "What the fuck do you want of me, you mangy cat?"
Said cat froze, beginning to arch its back out of agitation and fear. "You wake me up every day! You refuse my food! You even think you smell better than me!" Caught up in his tirade, Damian did not care that the cat was hissing at him. "You are a cretin! GO AWAY!" He threw his spoon at the cat with excellent accuracy, not having any batarangs on account of still being dressed in his sleeping clothes. It spoke of the cat's agility that it avoided the spoon and raced off with due haste. Anger spent, he found himself bothered with other feelings instead. A strange tugging at his heart was the strongest one, and he pressed a hand over his chest as he picked up the bowl and spoon. He was much too young to be developing a heart condition.
Still, the feeling persisted throughout the day, and the cat stayed on his mind. Two tins of premium cat food were hidden at the bottom of his backpack, and he planned to get up tomorrow and put them out. It was up to the cat to return if it still wanted to. The computer beeped at him, and he leaned over the keyboard as his eyes roved over the output. The news was in his favor, but still his mouth was downturned in a frown and his brow was furrowed in disquiet. That damn cat had better come back, if it knew what was good for it. If it did not, than Damian would just have to hunt it down.