Befriended
The cicadas churr-churred in rising, rising ... crescendo! Falling, falling ... to silence (though brief). To churr-churr again. Outside the window, in the trees. The cicadas lingering, and the birds in their whistling songs, and ... the sun was out. It was in the low 80's ... and all the furs (in these here parts) had long since gotten up. Had dived clear into the day.
Including Adelaide.
And a sound in the porch. A screen door opening and closing. A doorknob being turned.
The bat, though, was not alarmed. Had been waiting for ...
"Sorry ... sorry," Soldotna huffed, entering the kitchen through the front porch. Through the wooden door with the gold-colored knob. She let out a breath. "I'm running late." She had grocery bags (from Marsh) in her paws. "I'm hopeless, I know."
"I noticed," said Adelaide, smiling. "But I forgive you." A giggle-chitter. The bat was at the sink. Washing some dishes by paw. With a soapy sponge and a dish-cloth.
"Not TOO late, I hope?" the chipmunk asked, setting the grocery bags down on the table-top.
"I'll let it slide. THIS time," the pink-furred bat teased, her nose sniffing. "No, we've hours," she assured. "You got the icing?" She dried her paws and padded over.
Dotna nodded. Her wiry, slightly-brushy tail (with the black stripe down it) quivered about. "Vanilla icing. And ... cake mix. Also vanilla. And ice cream ... vanilla, too. Field's a vanilla kind of mouse, I take it?"
"Only when it comes to food." A playful, fang-showing wink.
The chipmunk laughed. "Mm ... DO tell ... "
"Later," the bat promised, with another giggle-chitter. She opening her winged arms ... in a bright, helpless manner. Continuing, with a nod, "Yeah, he's a traditionalist." Her arms lowered, and her paws fished about the bags, bringing the stuff out. "But ... I love that about him. His ... sense of homespun decency. His quiet sense of humor. His ... mm ... give me rural tradition over urban edge," was the bat's decision, "any day. There's more heart to it. It's got roots." She got the ice cream cartons. And went to the freezer, putting them in. "Mm ... and, no, he doesn't care for chocolate."
"A mouse? Not caring for chocolate? I thought mouses went for that ... "
"A lot of muddled ideas about mouses ... "
"Guess so." A smile. "But I don't have the 'education' that you have ... with them, so ... "
Adelaide grinned. And shook her head in helpless mirth.
It was September, and it was almost Field's birthday. He would be 22.
"So, Pyro ... managed to drag him out, yeah?" Dotna asked, taking a deep breath.
"Yeah. They went for a drive. Or, rather, Pyro took him for a drive ... mm ... if you ask me, the two of them in a car? Recipe for disaster."
Dotna, both paws on the edge of the table, leaned forward a bit, chittering in amusement. "Don't I know it. Mm ... "
"But they're not going far, I don't think. Just ... I think to take pictures and stuff. Mm ... so ... we should have a few hours. I told Pyro not to bring him back until, like, 7 ... "
"Won't he get suspicious?"
"Field?"
"Yeah. I mean ... well, he's just not a party-mouse, you know?"
"I know," she said quietly. "But ... he tries to underplay his birthday. Tries to ... shrug it off. I wanna celebrate, and ... show him how many furs care about him. I think he won't ADMIT it ... but he'll end up liking the party." A pause. "He just builds things up. Before-paw, you know. Builds them up in his mind to the point of ... pure anxiety. All this fretting. Once he gets going, once he's IN a situation ... he calms down. With him, it's the anticipation that's the worst."
"Mm ... "
"So, he's gettin' one ... a party, that is. And, if he doesn't KNOW about it, he can't worry about it!" Adelaide declared smartly.
"Heh ... you trickster, you."
"Guilty!" she beamed. "Mm ... but, yeah, I mean ... this is the first time I've tried to throw him a surprise party, so ... I mean, it's not like he'd be anticipating it. His birthday's not 'til Sunday." It was Friday afternoon. "He shouldn't be expecting anything TODAY ... anyway ... " The bat spread her winged arms again. And lowered them. "Anyway!" she announced, smiling. "We better get started!"
A chitter. "We better," was the chipmunk's counter. "So, like, cake first? We're not just having cake and stuff, are we ... "
" ... was gonna make pasta. Macaroni cheese, and ... some vegetables. Or maybe spaghetti. Big enough so that everyone can share." She'd invited, like, twenty furs. Basically everyone they knew.
"Well, vegetables go better with spaghetti ... not macaroni."
"Well, he loves macaroni. So ... I mean, just an assortment, you know. But we got a few hours. I got stuff in the fridge, and the cabinets, and ... " She let out a breath. "We'll think of something."
"I gotta sit down first, though, I think. If you don't mind," Dotna advised, pulling out a wooden chair. Which scraped a bit on the linoleum of the floor. And she sat. And sighed. "Mm ... "
"Sure ... drink?"
"Water ... uh, ice, please."
Adelaide nodded, and fetched two glasses. Fixing two ice waters. One for the chipmunk, and one for herself. And then ... she joined her friend. Sitting across from her. As they just sat and sipped and ...
... began to quietly chat. Taking a little break before all the cooking and cleaning and ... all those party preparations.
"I like birthdays," Dotna said quietly, sipping her water. The ice cubes clinking quietly in her glass. The condensation wetting her paw-pads, as both her paws cupped the tall, clear glass. "When I was little, it was, like ... the best day, you know? I mean, it was never any of the big holidays that I always waited for ... you know, in baited breath. It was my birthday."
Adelaide, her swept-back, angular ears listening, nodded. Smiled slightly.
"Cakes, and ... candles. And trying to blow OUT the candles, and failing, and everyone chuckling, and ... puffing and huffing and finally getting them out." A distant look. "One year, they put TRICK candles on my cake. I was, like, seven, and I had no idea ... why the flames wouldn't go out."
"Aw ... " Giggle-chitter. "Aw ... "
"Well, it wasn't cute at the TIME ... it was frustrating!" the chipmunk chittered.
"I can imagine," the bat said softly, sipping. Swallowing. "Mm." Another swallow. "Yeah, I just ... birthdays are special. That's why I wanna throw Field a celebration. I mean, I can read his mind, you know. I mean ... " Adelaide was telepathic. " ... so, I know, on some level, he'd love to have a party. He's just so shy, and ... afraid no one would come, or ... he wouldn't know what to say. I don't know." The pink-furred bat went quiet for a second or two. "I've never been one to believe that we should ... shut time out, you know? Try and pretend it isn't passing, or that it doesn't mean anything." A breath. She closed her eyes. And smiled lightly. "It's the dates, and the ... events, and ... it's through our growing and maturing, and our aging ... that we are LIVING, and ... birthdays are special. We've lasted another year. We made it this far. By God's grace, we're still going, and ... by His will, may we go further." A moment of quiet. "Life is so fragile," was the bat's knowing, eyes-darting whisper. A deep breath. A swallow. "And ... I just wanna celebrate it." And a breath. "And ... another year closer to God, you know? To heaven ... just ... nothing to lament about birthdays. Nothing at all."
The chipmunk smiled gently. "I know ... I mean, I ... I understand."
"Yeah, but when I was little, yeah, it was all about the birthday cards and the presents and the money, you know? That was why I liked it. And the cake and stuff, and ... not so much the ATTENTION, but ... well, maybe it WAS the attention. But, now? It's not the attention ... that makes me like birthdays. It's just the satisfaction of ... life. And ... love, and ... I don't know." A pause. "I'm over-thinking." A shake of the head. A small smile. "I get that from Field."
A chitter. "I kind of guessed," Dotna teased.
"I never realized," the bat said quietly, turning her water glass in a slow circle. Fingers splaying and picking up every drop of cool condensation. Her eyes watching the ice cubes bob. "I never realized how much of a fur could ... rub OFF on you. Like, how ... you know, you love someone, and their personality is so contagious that you begin to CATCH it," she whispered, "without really knowing it." The bat looked up. "You know?"
A little nod. "Well ... Pyro and I are both, well ... "
" ... feisty?"
A flushing giggle. "Mm ... that obvious?"
"You both have that mischievous spark in your eye. Lord only knows what results when the two of you collide."
A giggle-squeak! "Heh ... yeah, it's ... mm ... " A pause. Eyes looking at the flowers in the vase on the table. The chipmunk didn't readily know what kind of flowers they were, but, then, she'd always been a bit lacking in ... a lot of outdoor stuff. She'd grown up in a town. Not a BIG town. A smaller town, but ... still a town. Field and Adelaide were both country born and bred. "Well," the chipmunk continued, "yeah, Pyro's sense of play does rub off on me. He's got some quirks." A pause. "Mm ... he has a fixation with nibbling and gnawing on me, and ... now, I find myself nibbling and gnawing him."
"Mm," went the bat, grinning. "Yeah?"
A flush! "Heh ... yeah. But, yeah, we're both kind of competitive, too, and ... well, really, we're a lot more ALIKE than we are different. So, there wasn't much to rub off on each other ... cause we were already so much alike."
A nod. "I can see that ... mm ... Field and I aren't so much ALIKE, as we are ... I don't wanna say we're opposites, but ... we sort of fill each other's gaps, you know. Each other's holes. We glean from each other things that we, ourselves, don't have, and ... couldn't have found in any other way, in any other fur. Like, we're two pieces that ... click."
A nod. "Mm ... sometimes, we're attracted to likenesses, and sometimes ... opposites."
"I try not to think about how it all works."
"Love?"
"Yeah ... love isn't something," the bat said honestly, "you ever wanna dissect. It takes a special kind of arrogance to take something like love and ... slice it open with a knife, putting it under a microscope. You know. All that stuff." A pause. "Got nothing to do with science ... or reasoning ... "
"I guess not ... "
"It's spiritual," was the bat's whisper. "It is ... mm ... for me, anyway. For us."
"I wouldn't say," Dotna confessed quietly, "love is so much spiritual for me and Pyro. It's ... just a lot of fun. We play off each other real well. We both got sharp senses of humor, and ... you know, we make each other feel good."
Adelaide nodded quietly.
A pause.
The chipmunk sipped some more of her water. "Mm ... well water."
"Mm?"
"Well water. You have well water."
"Well, yeah," the bat said, smiling. "We live, like, seven miles from the nearest town."
"Mm." The chipmunk sipped again. She and Pyro lived IN town, so ... " ... well, it does taste a bit different."
The bat nodded a bit. "Fresher?"
"I don't know. Water has no taste, does it?"
"Oh, it does. Not so much taste-taste, but ... mm ... a FEEL. Water has a feel."
"Really?"
"Oh, yeah. Mm ... " A nod.
The chipmunk sniffed at the liquid. "Mm ... well ... I'm not attuned to it, if that's the case."
More quiet. The sounds from outside (of the bugs, the birds, and all of nature) ... coming through even the closed windows. And cool air whooshing through vents in the floor. Making a little hum sound.
The chipmunk's whiskers twitched. Her eyes looked around a bit.
"You okay?" Adelaide asked, tilting her head.
"I ... yeah ... "
The bat, able to sense her thoughts, supplied, "You don't like sitting still."
A small shake of the head. "I just ... wanted to rest for a few minutes. I mean ... but, if I'm sitting still TOO long ... "
"Field's the same way."
"Yeah ... "
"The other day," said the bat, letting out a deep breath, "it started to rain. Like, really hard. Really ... pouring rain, and ... I just turned everything off. Everything electrical. And every light, and I ... MADE him come and just sit on the couch. Closed our eyes, and we just ... listened to the rain."
Dotna's angular ears swivelled a bit.
"I could feel his ... heartbeat seem to slow. Him seem to calm, and ... I laid him down, and ... we fell asleep."
The chipmunk bit her lip. "That's real sweet," she whispered. A pause. "I ... can't just 'shut down' like that. Me and Pyro, we're ... always gotta be doing something. I mean, he's not even a rodent, but I don't think he likes sitting still any better than I do."
"Nor does Field. But ... I'm teaching him," the bat whispered, "how ... because ... I mean, TOO much silence and stillness will drive ANY-fur crazy, I know, but ... you gotta dose yourself with it. A few times a day. Just to remember that it's not all a dream. Just not to get swept away ... "
The chipmunk twitched, her paws gripping her half-empty water-glass now. "I ... I ... have a hard time with that," she said again.
"Want me," the bat whispered softly, "to help?"
Dotna looked up. Blinked. "How ... ?"
"Just ... let me into your head," was Adelaide's quiet, warm whisper.
"But you can read thoughts if you ... if you want ... "
"No ... I mean, open your mind. Let me in. I'll teach you," she said.
"I don't know," the chipmunk said.
"It's not that invasive, if that's what you're worried about ... it's nothing sensual. No reason to be uncomfortable."
The chipmunk thought for a bit. In the back of her mind, she'd always been a bit ... unnerved, really, by Adelaide's mental abilities. Always wondered ... is she reading my mind? Does she know my secrets? Always feeling the bat had her (and everyone else) at a distinct disadvantage. And it made her uncomfortable. Sometimes. But ... Adelaide was one of her best friends, and she trusted her ... and ...
The bat raised a brow.
" ... why not?" Dotna whispered. Whiskers twitching. Feeling like she had a day's worth of energy just sizzling in her nerves. Making her wanna twitch and scurry. "You ... you calm Field down?"
"Mm-hmm," the bat went. "I mean, how else could he spend a whole day with Pyro? If I didn't calm him first." A smile.
A giggle-chitter. "Mm ... Pyro does tend to excite." A breath. "Um ... so, how do we do this?"
"I'm not gonna bite you, no," she said, reading the chipmunk's thoughts. "It's not sensual ... I just need your paws."
"My paws?" A blink.
"Just put them in mine," Adelaide whispered.
The chipmunk fidgeted, her energy building up ... and she nodded, nodded. "Alright." And she put her paws in the bat's. Adelaide's pink, furry paws closing over the chipmunk's brown ones.
"Close your eyes," Adelaide whispered, her own eyes already closed.
Dotna swallowed and did so.
"Now," Adelaide whispered soothingly, giving the chipmunk's paws a friendly squeeze. "Try not to think about anything, and when you feel me moving into your mind ... don't shove me out."
"Feel ... in my ... " She didn't understand.
"Just breathe. Just breathe, and ... in and out."
Dotna shut her muzzle, breathing in through the nose, and ... whiskers twitching, and feeling ... a bit strange. Feeling a bit of a vaporous, mental energy ... sifting around. In her head. And ... just like that, it was gone, and ...
... Adelaide let go of her paws. Eyes opening. She smiled. "There. That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Dotna slowly opened her eyes. Feeling ... mellow. "Wow ... " A breath. A blink.
"You feel okay?"
A wordless nod.
"I basically ... well, I put some of your 'scurry-scurry' to sleep."
"To sleep?"
"Mm-hmm."
"I don't understand ... "
"Mm ... like, think of it, like ... your rodent anxiety, right? You can't sit still, and you twitch, and ... it's instinct. I just ... lulled it to sleep."
"To sleep?" Her eyes widened.
"Well, it'll wear off in a few hours ... I mean, I can't change instinct. I just ... can help mask it a bit. Help calm you down. Which ... I hope I did?"
"Yeah," Dotna whispered, feeling ... calm. Yes. Calm. "Yeah," she whispered, smiling shyly. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." An honest, toothy smile.
"Mm ... it'll come back?"
"Well, by the time the party starts, you'll be wantin' to scurry through walls again ... yeah ... mm ... with Field, we do this several times a day. I mean, why medicate him for being a mouse? When I can just ... breathe a balm into his mind, you know? Only, we, uh ... with Field and me, since we're very ... well, intimate," the bat whispered, "I can be even more direct. So, yeah, it's ... "
"Well, I've noticed he's healed a lot since you two mated. He's a lot better. I mean, he's ... I didn't realize you were LITERALLY his medicine."
"We're each OTHER'S medicine. I need him just as much," she said, eyes sparkling a bit. Not entirely explaining the statement, but ... it WAS true. She and Field had a very symbiotic relationship.
"Mm ... well ... thanks, Adelaide. Anyway, I ... I do feel more manageable."
"Heh ... "
"In fact, I feel good enough to bake a cake!"
"That's the spirit!" Adelaide said, scooting back in her chair. "Mm ... and we still gotta come up with supper."
"True."
So, the chipmunk and the bat got started.
When Pyro and Field got back, into the gravel driveway, the sun was preparing to set. The light was bold and fading. The golden day was dying ... while birthing a clear, black night. It was the epitome of late-summer. The sounds, the smells, and the feel of the air ... and ...
... Field wriggled out of his seatbelt, opened the passenger door, and got out.
Pyro followed, saying, "You, uh ... gonna wait for me?"
The mouse, already scurrying to the house, stopped. "Oh. Heh ... mm ... sorry."
"You got's to slow down!" Pyro teased.
"I know. Mm ... " Whiskers twitched and pink, silky tail snaked. "Mm ... I know. I'm just excited about some of these pictures."
"Some?"
"Well ... some of them were bad. Some of them were good."
"Well, I thought they were all good, from what I saw ... "
A blush.
"Heh ... anyway ... "
Field waited for Pyro to reach him, and then they resumed their walk to the house. Across the green yard, and beneath the trees that were slowly changing colors, and the distant skies, and the barren corn fields, and ... so much space! So much life. And ...
... the mouse paused. Stopped. Sniffed the air.
"What?" Pyro's red eyes blinked.
"I smell ... something."
"Smell what?"
"Something. Furs ... and stuff."
"Furs and stuff?" Pyro repeated (with all innocence). "Mm. Well, I have a keener nose, and I only smell ... " He sniffed the outside air for show. " ... I smell creeks and woods and barns and ... mouses."
"Mm. I don't smell mouses."
"I do! Heh ... anyway, we can't detect our OWN scents, you know."
Field nodded. "I guess not ... "
"You probably just smell Adelaide and Dotna. And me ... "
A pause. A consideration. "No," Field said slowly, squinting. "No ... "
"Yes ... yes," Pyro prodded. Nudging the mouse. And doing it until ...
... he started to giggle-squeak. "Stop it!" he accused, in his wispy, airy way. "Tryin' to tickle me ... "
"Ticklin'? Me? Just nudgin' ... "
"Mm." Field sniffed the air again. "I smell stuff ... "
"So do I."
"No, I mean ... STUFF. Mm ... mm ... vanilla. I smell vanilla."
"Well, how 'bout," insisted Pyro, wanting to get Field inside before he figured it out, "we go into the house and see if you're right."
The mouse tilted his head and squinted his blue-grey eyes at the wolf.
Pyro playfully tilted his head and squinted back.
Causing Field to squeak with mirth, and ... nod, and say, "Okay."
So, they went up the little, concrete steps to the front door, past the flowers (potted with soil in old boots) ... and the mouse opened the door, and ...
... " ... surprise!" went a chorus! Of squeaks, chitters, yips, and ... what-have-you. "Surprise!"
Field, himself, squeaked and went wide-eyed, whiskers twitching animatedly. He had to put his camera and stuff aside.
Adelaide, weaving through the crowd, gave him a wink. "Did I forget to tell you about your SURPRISE party?"
"Mm ... " Field bit his lip, looking with playful accusal at Pyro, and then ... to her. "Yeah. I think it slipped your mind."
"Must've," she whispered, tilting her muzzle, eyes closing, and giving him a lip-locked, sweet, warm ... kiss. Breaking it to breathe.
"Ooh," went the assorted furs.
Field's ears turned ... rosy-pink! His honey-tan fur flushing hot.
Pyro shut the door behind them, squeezing the mouse's shoulders in a friendly manner, and then wandering off to find Dotna (who was in the kitchen, finishing up some things).
Field, looking around, saw ... all the furs here. Here to celebrate him. His life, and ... he suddenly felt very self-conscious. Or, rather, very humbled. He hadn't realized he'd befriended so many.
"That's what you get for being a good mouse," Adelaide said warmly.
A weak giggle-squeak from him. "I guess so," was his whisper. His senses were still reeling. Sniffing, twitching, swiveling. Still in a state of surprise. But ... it wasn't so bad, really. Not bad at all ... and, anyway, surprises (and such spices) weren't all unwelcome. They were like out-of-nowhere kisses.
Good for the soul.