The Journal of Stephen Strange
Last quarter waning moon
When I told Sydney that I was a cat person, I meant that I have an affinity for felines. They have a particular mindset that I find refreshingly direct, and I appreciate that they are capable of self-care. Cats are more attune to magic and therefore often a choice for familiars, as borne out by history. I get along well with cats and they with me.
That being said, I was not prepared, however, for the one outside the house that had managed to destroy a fifteen foot Ponderosa Pine. This cat was more than merely aware of magic as evidenced by its size and contentious temperament. It rooted around the base of the tree, seemingly searching for something and not finding it. I promptly encased it in an energy field; an action not at all appreciated by the cat, who seemed extremely annoyed at being confined.
And here I thought life in Seattle would be boring.
"Oh my God, that thing's huge!" Sydney gasped. Strange glanced her way and nearly lost his focus since the first item of clothing she'd grabbed was the nightgown. He quickly looked back at the beast he'd levitated into the house.
"Sydney my sweet, you need to put a little more on if I'm to keep my concentration," he told her, looking carefully at the cat, who bared long curved fangs in defiance. As she hustled off for the bathrobe, he levitated the beast higher to study it more closely, noting its coloring and shape.
"Grey and white tabby markings, overly large paws for snow, cheek tufts, visible fangs . . . Lynx?" he muttered. "Bobcat? Too small to be any sort of mountain lion . . ."
The cat moved to wash a paw, and when it bent its head, Strange noted the darker coloring between its ears and down across its forehead. An sort of odd leathery patch. Sydney returned and moved to peer over his shoulder at the beast. "It's a . . . mini sabertooth cat?"
"It's more than that. There's magic in this beast. What sorts of cryptid legends are there for this area?" Stephen asked. He snapped his fingers and a heavy tome popped into existence. Sydney pulled out her cell phone and began tapping it rapidly.
A few moments later they found the answer at the same time. "Splintercat!"
The beast looked up, tail flicking back and forth, not nearly as aggressive as wary now. Strange maneuvered the book towards Sydney. "Read me the entry, please."
"Splintercat, Felynx arbordiffisus, ah, native to the Pacific Northwest. Capable of charging itself with static electricity and discharging it as it rams trees in search of prey. Distinctive skull plates, weight between twenty-two and thirty-two pounds, life span, fifty to sixty years. That's more than Google has listed. So . . . what's it doing here?"
"Magic," Strange sighed. "The house is infused with it now and it will draw those aligned to its radiance I'm afraid."
"What, so you're telling me that we're currently living in the mystical porch light for all sorts of pesky . . . things?" Sydney demanded, slightly peeved.
"A slightly bizarre but accurate analogy," Strange admitted. "The lure of occult energy is generally minor though. This beast is a rarity."
The Splintercat looked slightly insulted and twitched its whiskers.
Sydney glared back at it. "Fine, so . . . I don't suppose there's any sort of magical animal control is there? No Newt Scamander to take this thing away?"
"No," Strange replied dryly. "I could send it out of state, but it hasn't done any true harm."
"Stephen! We've got a fallen tree that's flattened our mailbox!" Sydney pointed out. "It could have hit the house!"
The cat, bored with this conversation, gave a little yowl instantly familiar to anyone who had ever owned a cat and a can opener at the same time.
They looked at each other.
Sydney gave a put-upon sigh but opened the fridge. She pulled out the leftover pasta, warmed it, and set it on the kitchen floor. Cautiously, Stephen released the force field.
They waited.
The Splintercat gave a delicate sniff and twirl of his whiskers before diving for the bowl, burying its furry face into it, gulping away noisily.
They watched him.
"I didn't really think he'd eat it," Sydney murmured, startled.
"Never underestimate the appeal of your pesto," Strange told her with a quick grin. "However being fed should put him into a better mood and then we can decide what to do with him."
Within minutes the Splintercat finished the pasta, cleaned the bowl with a raspy tongue and strode off towards the living room, padding softly on his huge paws. Cautiously Strange followed, with Sydney behind him as the beast considered each piece of furniture. The winner was the club chair near the fireplace, and the Splintercat leaped up, settling into it and giving his face a good wash.
Strange slowly approached him, and the Splintercat gave him a tolerant look.
"All right, I know why you were drawn here, and that you mean no harm," he told the beast. "We've fed you and in return I ask you to leave."
The Splintercat ignored him, working on a particularly stubborn paw pad.
"I don't think he's taking the hint," Sydney snickered. "Can you . . . I don't know, mind-meld with him or something?"
Strange turned and gave her an incredulous glare. "No. Despite being gifted with many abilities, telepathic communication with animals isn't on my CV, Sydney. And quite frankly, he's a cat."
"A big one," she grumbled. Turning to the Splintercat, Sydney reached out a hand and called, "puss, puss, puss."
The cat looked at her, and a faint purr radiated from him. She gingerly reached under his chin, scratching there and the purr intensified. Strange stroked the Splintercat from between his tufted ears down his spine and within minutes the beast was sprawled in bliss, looking like an enormous kitten.
"I fear we have now become owners of a Splintercat," Strange sighed. "Theoretically, if we keep him fed he won't ram any more trees."
"Fed," Sydney sighed. "Does Purina even make Splintercat chow?"
"We'll have to experiment, and if worst comes to worst, at least he'll eat pasta. In the meantime, I shall deal with the damage outside."
By morning things seemed normal, although Strange discovered that at some point the Splintercat had clawed impressive grooves along one leg of the club chair. Repairing them with magic was simple; finding a more tempting scratching post for beast was a bit harder.
"A log," Sydney suggested, "Heavily doused in catnip. I suppose we'll have to get some toys for him, and a bowl as well. No litter boxes, though, not for a cat his size. He can cope outside. Oh, and he needs a name."
"Desmond," Strange responded absently.
"Yes," Sydney agreed after a moment's thought. "He does seem like a Desmond. Let's go to Pet & Pat and see what we can get."
-oo00oo-
The aisles of Pet & Pat had rows and rows of cat toys, all far too small to be of any practical use. Strange picked up a ball of yarn and feathers, eyeing it. "He'd swallow it whole."
"Yep," Sydney agreed. "We may need to look at dog toys instead. BIG dog toys. I did find the catnip though. I don't suppose he'd wear a collar?"
"Not without significant blood loss on our parts," Strange sighed. "This will mean a magic-infused cat door too I suppose." Despite it all, he felt slightly pleased at the new addition to their household. A cat of Desmond's size would not only keep the rodent population down, but also defend the house to a certain degree both on a physical and mystical level.
"You're probably right. Let's check out the foods . . . I have to help set up a remote weather segment in a few hours so we've got to get back soon."
The sight of Desmond lolling about, stoned on catnip sent Sydney into a giggling fit, and even Strange found himself laughing as the Splintercat rubbed his face along the bark of the half-log in front of the living room fireplace, his purrs and rumbly squeaks filling the room.
"Well if he wasn't our cat before he certainly is now," Sydney pointed out, wiping her eyes. "Ohh, gotta go. I'll be back around dinnertime." She kissed Strange and headed out, leaving him to watch Desmond wriggle in bliss.
Strange sat on the carpet, cross-legged and prepared to meditate. He did it daily to refocus his energies and open himself to the intersecting edges of dimensions. In general it was a sound practice and one that allowed him a measure of universal mindfulness.
"Namo AmitaBhaaaa . . ." bump.
"Namo AmitaBhaaaa . . ."bump.
Opening his eyes he looked down. Still on his back, Desmond had scooted himself across the floor and was lightly knocking his head against Strange's right knee, pupils wide. Strange sighed and reached over to pet him. "Oh very well. I suppose I can align myself to the cosmos later," he told the Spintercat, who wrapped his enormous paws around Strange's hand and licked it.
Strange smiled. He hadn't had a pet since his childhood, but the easy affection came naturally, and his fingers found the best scratching places under Desmond's chin. After a while they both rose and Strange headed out to collect the mail, Desmond trotting after him in the overcast daylight.
There was no mail, but Strange lingered outside, looking around the yard. He walked to the restored pine, eyeing the ground around it. Something had attracted Desmond to this particular tree, and a few steps later, Strange spotted the bone bat's remains in the grass. He knelt to study it, slightly alarmed at the creature's size.
"Well well, the good and the bad are coming to call," he murmured, gesturing at the pale clutter. The bones rose and reassembled themselves into a creature the size of an owl, with sharp piranha-like teeth. The bones held no life in them now though; Desmond's attack had been more than enough to sizzle the creature to death. Strange glanced up at the pine.
Bone bats were minor in the realm of mystical monsters, but they could induce nightmares and feed off of life energy, he knew. The fact that one had roosted in the pine without him realizing it was . . . disturbing, and Strange realized he would have to reinforce the protective charms around the house. Sighing, he gathered the bones for use later, and strode around the corner of the house, looking up at the surrounding trees.
There were no other bone bats roosting in any of them. Desmond found Strange's inspection interesting and joined him in examining the trees, clawing one in particular before following him into the house. Once back inside, Strange lifted his amulet free from under his shirt and began to recite the Charm of Protection again, feeling the energy weave itself through and around the building, leaving little pale trails of ozone and ice crystals to fade away.
He felt better, and looked at Desmond. "Let's see which food you prefer, shall we?"
Asking was a mistake, Strange realized, six cans later. Desmond had enthusiastically downed the contents of all of them without hesitation, and had hopped up on the counter to inspect each of the empty containers.
"Apparently Splintercats are non-particular carnivores," he muttered to himself. "Desmond, you will end up eating us out of house and home. This calls for an intervention."
Strange picked up the stainless steel feeding bowl and set it on the counter. Desmond stuck his face in it to check for any leftover food. When none appeared, he hopped off the counter in a huff. Once the beast was down, Strange ran his index finger inside each empty can and then around the rim of the bowl, casting a quick spell of daily replenishment. It was a small spell, but he still felt guilty about using it for personal reasons, muttering under his breath.
"For the greater good," he told his conscience. "In defense of the woman and the child."
Perhaps not directly in defense, Strange admitted to himself, but just as for the want of a nail, this small measure would help insure that the Splintercat would stay on and help protect the house.
A yowl rose up, and Strange sighed, setting about the matter of a cat door.