Author's Note: I'm sooo sorry I haven't been updating! Crazy kinda got in the way, but now that it's finished, I have time to write this 'un. Perhaps even start another. :)
Chapter Nine: Hangovers and Hunting
~~Quaxo~~
"Blah." I rolled lethargically out of bed, grimacing at the taste in my mouth. But the strong liquid had been worth it all.
You'd think you'd learn, Quaxo. Mistoffelees snorted. I could imagine his expression – one eyebrow raised and that not-quite-pitying-not-quite-disgusted look in his eyes.
...you'd think you'd have the sense to stop me. I retorted somewhat halfheartedly; my stomach was churning. I stood, nearly overbalanced, and ran past my waiting mother to outside. And in the nick of time; what alcohol hadn't been digested came up and I reached for the nearest thing to...well, to puke into.
Mom held the few long strands of my mostly close-cropped headfur back while I was sick into an old chamber pot. So classy.
"Oh, Quaxo..." Mom sighed when I was done. I flinched involuntarily at the sound of her voice. Couldn't she whisper? Cat.
"Oh – yes, Mom?" I swallowed my snarky remark when I noticed that her usually steely grey eyes were watering. I'd made her cry. My mother, the Mom-of-Steel, was crying.
"Kitten, you can't put me through this anymore. It hurts so much to see you make yourself sick with all these drinks. I love you t-too much to just stand by and watch." She sniffled and gathered me almost forcefully into her lap.
"Love ya too, Mom." I meowed as cheerfully as a hung-over alcoholic can. There. I said it. I. Am. An. Alcoholic.
Admitting you have the problem is the first step to recovery. Mistoffelees meowed meekly.
I don't care. I won't recover, because I don't want to. I thought back, looking up and squinting at the sun as Mom released me. Woo. More light.
Mom gave me a long, hard stare before helping me up and into the den. She was plotting something.
I crawled into my bed, covering myself completely with my blankets as Mom bustled around in the kitchen.
"Nnggg." I sighed happily, my eyes barely open. Dark and quiet; just what the doctor ordered.
"Quaxo?" Mom said, making me flatten my ears back in annoyance.
"Mom?" I grumbled, propping my head up on my arms.
"I made something that should ease the headache." She knelt down and handed me a chipped cup full of something that smelled, as Mistoffelees would've said, 'indescribably appetizing'. I gazed curiously at the pale green liquid.
"It's watered-down catnip tea. Now drink up, you'll feel better."
"...It won't turn me into a druggie?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow. I didn't need another addiction.
"It's nowhere near a high enough dose." Mom said. "Now drink."
"mm..." I started purring softly as I lapped up the tea. It eased the ache in my temples and made me more drowsy than before. My eyelids fluttered and threatened to close.
Odd. A high dose of catnip is a stimulant. I wonder why this is a depressant.
Shh. I'm not depressed. I hushed my brother, letting my thoughts fuzz over.
"Quaxo."
"What?" I sighed and forced myself awake.
"You're not going to see that Tumblebrutus again, if I can help it."
"Oh, darn." I sighed, not really hearing what Mom said. "Night."
I could've sworn I heard her chuckle when I said that.
~~OoO~~
Once again, I rolled tiredly out of bed, blinking.
….drunks sleep entirely too much. Mistoffelees grouched. Go do something. Being conscious when you're in a drunken stupor is not something I wish to do again.
Oh, shove it. I rose and stretched, flicking my tail around wildly to stretch those muscles as well. When that was done, I strolled casually past the main part of the den and into the 'kitchen' area. I looked in a small icebox we kept our food in. Nothing, not even half a mouse.
"Mom, we have no food!" I shouted.
"Then go hunt!" She replied from her sleeping area, instead of getting up like she usually did. Mom hated shouting. At the time, neither Mistoffelees nor I thought anything of it.
"Hmph..." I muttered, walking outside and glancing around the clearing for a hunting partner.
May I suggest that little voice in your head? You know, the one with magical powers?
Quit trying to mimic me. It's just sad. I sighed and walked out of the junkyard – alone. I figured it would be the best way to shut up my brother.
~~OoO~~
I dropped to all fours and slunk through the long grass of my favorite hunting spot, sniffing the air. Mice and rats were here, yes, but I wanted some bigger, faster game. Mistoffelees could kill it from a distance. But still not a whiff of rabbit, the animal I was hunting.
Wait. I paused, lifting my nose into the air once again. There was a sudden strong scent of rabbit. I flattened myself against the dirt and peered through the grass. A plump cottontail took a cautious step forward, its ears pricked up.
I found it, you kill it. I thought, forcing Mistoffelees out.
~~~Mistoffelees~~~
I sighed and rubbed my paws together, creating a sparking ball of static electricity. With a flick of my wrist, I quickly killed the rabbit. It smelled wonderful, like the sweetgrass and clover it had lived off of. I ate half of it before the warmth in its body dissipated, enjoying the taste with a small smile. Rabbit was a rare luxury, even for me. I picked the other half of the small rodent up and stood, walking back towards home.
Is that for me, O amazing Sparkler?
No. It's for Mom. Maybe she's hungry.
Oh. All right. Leave me to starve.
We have the same stomach, idiot. And you got to eat the last time. I rolled my eyes with a snort and walked through the junkyard gate, taking the shortcut to my den.
I walked inside and called out. "M-mom? It-t-t-'s me."
"I'm in my room, Mistoffelees." Mom shouted back. Odd. I raised my eyebrows suspiciously and slowly walked into her room.
It was dimly lit; like me, she strongly disliked harsh light. The walls and ceiling were draped with dark cloth scraps, giving it a luxurious, padded feel. Mom was at her nightstand – made of some Christmas lights, a broken mirror, and two tin cans – her head was resting on it with her long, dark headfur flowing around her.
"I brought-t-t-t you s-some r-r-rabbit-t." I meowed quietly. She looked up at me and stood.
"Thank you, kitten." Mom took the food and set it on her nightstand so she could embrace me. I felt my shoulder slowly dampen. Mom was crying. I felt horrible; she was really a very strong queen who didn't cry often. She had to be, to stick with my father long enough to have kittens.
"Mom," I said softly, wrapping my skinny arms around her frame. "Quaxo l-l-loves you, he really d-does. He just-t-t... it's not h-h-his f-fault."
"I...I know that, Mistoffelees. I just wish I knew he'd turn out all right." My mother sniffled loudly and looked at me.
"He will." I lied through my teeth, then. "H-he's not an alcoholic-c."
"I'm not so sure about that, kitten." Mom sighed. "I'm signing him up for Alcoholics Anonymous."
