Four Pointed Wound

I walked back up my street slowly, falling hard off my caffeine high and wishing Max was still around. I was heading to my friends house to take care of her pets, two cats and an old ferret.

I got there soon enough, and finally got their stubborn door to open. The house was very quite, and I spotted one of the cats glance up from a chair; my first task was to feed them. I walked up the stairs into the kitchen and turned to look for the cans of cat food.

Suddenly from the assumed empty kitchen, someone yelped.

"AAAAH!" I screamed in reply, and whipped around to confront whoever it was.

It was my friends dad, standing by the table in a bathrobe, his long hair uncombed.

"I’m sorry!" I stammered after a brief pause, trying to collect myself. "Was I not supposed to start feeding the pets today?"

"No.. um," he rubbed his face, "sorry. I was going to call.. see I was feeling sick and decided not to go along down to California…"

"Oh, well, I guess you don’t really need me to come then."

"No no," he said, putting his weight against the table. "You can still take care of the pets. I am going to go back to sleep now."

"Oh.. okay.. well, feel better!" I said, and watched him head down the hall and close the door. My eyes were still wide. I closed them tightly several times and sat down on the floor, opening a can of cat food.

Her dad is unnerving enough without scaring me half to death by being in the house when he was supposed to be on vacation! I would have liked to think he might have called me before I came over. He was always a bit intimidating, and uncomfortably reminded me of Lionel Luthor, both in looks and manor.

I stroked the cats a while before heading downstairs to tend to the ferret. He was a very old ferret, very senile and cranky. Although, in his youth he had always been evil and I had never had much of a liking for him. However, his weakened state and loss of hair did move me to pity.

I sang softy to him, and held the water bottle close so he could drink without getting up. I stroked his muzzle and hand fed him, soaking each piece so he could eat it easier. I spent a good thirty minutes with that animal, and as I turned to tuck him in, what do I get?

SNAP!!!! His four fangs sunk into my palm, a surprisingly strong and painful bite for such a frail creature. I pulled my hand back and yelped, but the ferret came with it!!! Finally he released his grip and slunk back into bed.

I slammed the cage and rushed upstairs, locked the door, and ran. My whole hand stung and blood had begun to trickle down my arm; I ground my teeth and cursed the ungrateful weasel, wrapping my hand in my blouse and running across Thessien.