[fic] Unlucky.
Prompt: "Jono gets a kitten."
Rating: PG maybe.
Word Count: 1,645
When you dress in black from head to toe, wear a leather jacket to bed sometimes, and list ‘moping’ as a hobby, there are certain things that you are not supposed to like.
Sunshine, for one. Children. Pop music. And small, furry animals.
Under any other circumstance, Jonothon Starsmore probably never would have noticed the hapless little ball of fur. He had been heading back to the Boston bus terminal, bag of records and CDs in one hand and the other jammed deep in his jacket pocket. A chill October wind skittered a few dead leaves across the sidewalk and carried to him the taunting voices of children.
Jonothon glanced up and across the street where he saw a group of five boys crouched around the gutter, laughing and toying with something. He would have just kept walking except that he happened to hear a pathetic mewling noise come from inside the huddle of boys. Curious, he crossed the street.
Once he was closer, Jonothon could see that the boys were all grouped around a tiny black kitten. The animal was slat-thin and ragged looking - a stray, obviously. One of the boys was holding it still while another was attaching a roll of firecrackers to its tail with a rubber band.
*Oi!* Jono exclaimed, and the boys jumped guiltily. *’Ere now, wot are you lot doing?*
“Run!” one of the boys shouted, and they all took off as fast as they could. Jonothon let them go, crouching down to lift the kitten out of the gutter. It trembled in his hands as he removed the unlit firecrackers as gently as he could.
*Shhhh,* he soothed. *S’owright. S’owright now.*
He looked around, wondering what on earth he was supposed to do with the animal now. Take it to the SPCA, he supposed, but he had no idea where that might be located. Adding to the problem was the fact that if he didn’t get to the bus station in the next 20 minutes he’d have to wait for the next run, which wasn’t until well after curfew.
*Bugger me,* he sighed aloud. He looked at the kitten. *You want to come to Snow Valley fer a while, then?*
Jonothon sat near the back of the bus for the ride home, bag of records now joined by a bag of cat food he’d picked up at a 7-11 near the bus station. The problem of “where to put the kitten?” he’d resolved neatly by tucking it into his jacket pocket. There it stayed, snuggled into a ball, purring quietly.
Although Jubilee respected Jonothon’s privacy (well, as much as she respected anyone’s anyway) she couldn’t help but ask, “Jono? Why is your jacket meowing?” after he came through the door.
Paige, who had been poring over a Chemistry text at the kitchen table, looked up. “Meowing?” she asked. Everett, who had just strolled in with Monet, looked at her.
“Meowing?” he asked.
“Meeeeeeeow,” said Jonothon’s jacket.
“The hell, Starsmore?” Jubilee asked again, hopping off her chair and coming closer.
Jonothon sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. *Back off, the lot of you,* he said. *I picked somefing up in Boston is all.*
“No STD I’ve ever heard of meows, Jono,” Jubilee said.
*Funny girl.* Jonothon placed his bags on the counter and then very carefully removed the kitten from his jacket pocket.
“Oh, look at him!” Paige exclaimed, hurrying out of her seat to have a closer look. “Jono, he’s adorable!”
“Kinda scraggly lookin’, “ Jubilee commented.
“Uhm, Jono? Why are you going around stuffing stray animals into your pockets?” Everett asked.
Jonothon gave him a withering look. *Some kids were strapping firecrackers ter ‘is tail,* he explained. *I didn’t ‘ave time to take ‘im to the pound.*
“Why would anybody do such a horrible thing to such a little cutie?” Paige asked.
“It’s close to Halloween,” Monet said. “I believe attaching explosives to black cats is one of America’s more barbaric customs associated with celebrating the holiday.”
“What’re you gonna name him?” Jubilee asked.
*I’m not keeping it, Lee.*
“Miss Frost would probably have a fit if you did,” Everett said, nodding. “I don’t think she’s a pet-person.”
*I’ll take ‘im to the SPCA in a day or two,* Jonothon promised. *They’ll look after ‘im.*
Jonothon got Angelo to pick up some kitty litter when he went into town for cigarettes. Just to tide the kitten over until Jono could make the trip to the SPCA - the closest location was still two towns over, and it wasn’t like he didn’t have homework and things to do.
Jonothon had two kinds of night: bad, and worse. Bad nights were the ones where he couldn’t sleep. Worse nights were the ones where he did, but woke up halfway through the night shaking and crying and trying to gasp with lungs that weren’t there anymore.
Although he never spoke of it, it was on one of his worse nights that he’d tried to commit suicide. He’d still been in London then, and hadn’t quite grasped how much his body had changed yet. Cutting your wrists when you have no circulatory system to speak of doesn’t accomplish much, he’d discovered.
Since then, he’d mostly given up on trying to kill himself, but sometimes at 4:00 in the morning it still seemed like a viable option.
It as on one such a morning, when he was laying in bed staring at the ceiling and trying to clamp down on increasing panic, that Jonothon named the kitten.
He didn’t register that something was batting at his shoulder until the kitten mewed. Jonothon turned his head and saw it was swatting him gently with one tiny paw.
*’Ere now,* he whispered aloud. *Wot are you on about then?*
The kitten regarded him with solemn eyes, crouched low, and then pounced at his face. Jonothon jerked away, laughing in spite of himself. *Little bugger!* he exclaimed. *Look, now’s not the time ter play.*
The kitten watched him expectantly. Jonothon sighed and scooped it up, cradling it close to his chest. The kitten reached a paw up and swatted, apparently trying to bat his nose.
*S’just not a good time, you understand,* Jono explained, teasing the kitten with one finger. *Not really in the mood.* The kitten watched his finger steadily, trying to attack it when it came near. *Rough night, you know.* Jonothon paused, ignoring the playful nips of the kitten for a moment before stroking it gently.
*It’s stupid,* he went on, feeling very foolish for talking to cat. *But sometimes, I dunno. I get ter thinking about… this thing. In me. That IS me, rather. Wotever. It just… burns away everyfing around it, a bit at a time.*
The kitten rubbed against him and he picked it up. *Eventually there won’t be any of me left,* he said, holding the kitten against the contained inferno of his chest. *And… I’m scared.* Saying it aloud, he knew it to be the truth - awful and simple.
After a few minutes, Jonothon looked down at the kitten. It was staring back up at him intently.
*Wot do you think then, eh?* he asked, leaning closer.
The kitten reached out and swatted his nose gleefully.
*Little bugger!*
Jubilee was the one to suggest that Jonothon take Bugger to the vet for his shots. “You found him in a gutter,” she said. “I highly doubt he’s had any vaccines or whatever. A raccoon could bite him and he’d get like, rabies.”
*Yeah?* Jonothon had never owned a pet before.
“Yeah. You might wanna get him fixed, too.”
Jonothon looked aghast. Jubilee laughed.
“Look, just ask the vet about it.”
Angelo, who’d been reading the paper on the couch, looked up. “Spendin’ a lot of money on that furball, amigo,” he remarked, one eyebrow hefted cynically.
*Well, nobody’s goin’ ter want ‘im if he hasn’t ‘ad shots, now are they?* Jonothon asked. Angelo smiled and nodded, knowing better than to press the subject.
For Christmas, Bugger got a scratching post. Jonothon justified it by saying that he didn’t want him tearing up the upholstery on his couch.
“Is it just my imagination,” Jubilee mused one day over hot chocolate, “or has Jono been almost… normal, lately?”
“Jono’s never normal,” Angelo replied smartly. Paige rolled her eyes.
“No, I mean, he’s like, not all ‘Oi’ve got me own private rain cloud over me ‘ead!’ you know?”
Everett laughed, but Angelo nodded.
“Yeah, he’s better,” he agreed. “I mean, nobody’s ever gonna mistake him for a well-adjusted individual, but he’s less… extreme these days.”
Everett looked thoughtful. “Do you think it’s the cat?” he asked.
“Huh?” said Jubilee.
“No, seriously. There’s this thing called, uhm, ‘animal assisted therapy’ I think it is. Anyway, it’s the idea that pets can be beneficial to people who are either really sick or who suffer from depression.”
Angelo raised an eyebrow. “Uh,” he started.
“I’m serious. They’ve done studies, and I guess for some people having an animal around can motivate them to get up in the morning, you know? They’ve got someone beside themselves to worry about, but without any of the stress of human relationships.”
“And pets love you unconditionally,” Paige mused thoughtfully.
“Right. I think I heard even just the physical contact can be really helpful.”
Angelo closed his mouth, thinking. “Huh,” he said at length.
Jubilee plunked another marshmallow into her cup. “Whatever. ‘Bugger’ is still the dumbest name for a cat I’ve EVER heard.”
Jonothon still wasn’t fond of the sun, and he hated pop music with an unholy passion, but he had to admit that he could to honestly claim to hate small furry animals anymore. It went against the image he projected, and that was too bad, but he was consoled by one thing at least:
Bugger matched all his clothes.
That was enough reason to keep him.
Rating: PG maybe.
Word Count: 1,645
When you dress in black from head to toe, wear a leather jacket to bed sometimes, and list ‘moping’ as a hobby, there are certain things that you are not supposed to like.
Sunshine, for one. Children. Pop music. And small, furry animals.
Under any other circumstance, Jonothon Starsmore probably never would have noticed the hapless little ball of fur. He had been heading back to the Boston bus terminal, bag of records and CDs in one hand and the other jammed deep in his jacket pocket. A chill October wind skittered a few dead leaves across the sidewalk and carried to him the taunting voices of children.
Jonothon glanced up and across the street where he saw a group of five boys crouched around the gutter, laughing and toying with something. He would have just kept walking except that he happened to hear a pathetic mewling noise come from inside the huddle of boys. Curious, he crossed the street.
Once he was closer, Jonothon could see that the boys were all grouped around a tiny black kitten. The animal was slat-thin and ragged looking - a stray, obviously. One of the boys was holding it still while another was attaching a roll of firecrackers to its tail with a rubber band.
*Oi!* Jono exclaimed, and the boys jumped guiltily. *’Ere now, wot are you lot doing?*
“Run!” one of the boys shouted, and they all took off as fast as they could. Jonothon let them go, crouching down to lift the kitten out of the gutter. It trembled in his hands as he removed the unlit firecrackers as gently as he could.
*Shhhh,* he soothed. *S’owright. S’owright now.*
He looked around, wondering what on earth he was supposed to do with the animal now. Take it to the SPCA, he supposed, but he had no idea where that might be located. Adding to the problem was the fact that if he didn’t get to the bus station in the next 20 minutes he’d have to wait for the next run, which wasn’t until well after curfew.
*Bugger me,* he sighed aloud. He looked at the kitten. *You want to come to Snow Valley fer a while, then?*
Jonothon sat near the back of the bus for the ride home, bag of records now joined by a bag of cat food he’d picked up at a 7-11 near the bus station. The problem of “where to put the kitten?” he’d resolved neatly by tucking it into his jacket pocket. There it stayed, snuggled into a ball, purring quietly.
Although Jubilee respected Jonothon’s privacy (well, as much as she respected anyone’s anyway) she couldn’t help but ask, “Jono? Why is your jacket meowing?” after he came through the door.
Paige, who had been poring over a Chemistry text at the kitchen table, looked up. “Meowing?” she asked. Everett, who had just strolled in with Monet, looked at her.
“Meowing?” he asked.
“Meeeeeeeow,” said Jonothon’s jacket.
“The hell, Starsmore?” Jubilee asked again, hopping off her chair and coming closer.
Jonothon sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. *Back off, the lot of you,* he said. *I picked somefing up in Boston is all.*
“No STD I’ve ever heard of meows, Jono,” Jubilee said.
*Funny girl.* Jonothon placed his bags on the counter and then very carefully removed the kitten from his jacket pocket.
“Oh, look at him!” Paige exclaimed, hurrying out of her seat to have a closer look. “Jono, he’s adorable!”
“Kinda scraggly lookin’, “ Jubilee commented.
“Uhm, Jono? Why are you going around stuffing stray animals into your pockets?” Everett asked.
Jonothon gave him a withering look. *Some kids were strapping firecrackers ter ‘is tail,* he explained. *I didn’t ‘ave time to take ‘im to the pound.*
“Why would anybody do such a horrible thing to such a little cutie?” Paige asked.
“It’s close to Halloween,” Monet said. “I believe attaching explosives to black cats is one of America’s more barbaric customs associated with celebrating the holiday.”
“What’re you gonna name him?” Jubilee asked.
*I’m not keeping it, Lee.*
“Miss Frost would probably have a fit if you did,” Everett said, nodding. “I don’t think she’s a pet-person.”
*I’ll take ‘im to the SPCA in a day or two,* Jonothon promised. *They’ll look after ‘im.*
Jonothon got Angelo to pick up some kitty litter when he went into town for cigarettes. Just to tide the kitten over until Jono could make the trip to the SPCA - the closest location was still two towns over, and it wasn’t like he didn’t have homework and things to do.
Jonothon had two kinds of night: bad, and worse. Bad nights were the ones where he couldn’t sleep. Worse nights were the ones where he did, but woke up halfway through the night shaking and crying and trying to gasp with lungs that weren’t there anymore.
Although he never spoke of it, it was on one of his worse nights that he’d tried to commit suicide. He’d still been in London then, and hadn’t quite grasped how much his body had changed yet. Cutting your wrists when you have no circulatory system to speak of doesn’t accomplish much, he’d discovered.
Since then, he’d mostly given up on trying to kill himself, but sometimes at 4:00 in the morning it still seemed like a viable option.
It as on one such a morning, when he was laying in bed staring at the ceiling and trying to clamp down on increasing panic, that Jonothon named the kitten.
He didn’t register that something was batting at his shoulder until the kitten mewed. Jonothon turned his head and saw it was swatting him gently with one tiny paw.
*’Ere now,* he whispered aloud. *Wot are you on about then?*
The kitten regarded him with solemn eyes, crouched low, and then pounced at his face. Jonothon jerked away, laughing in spite of himself. *Little bugger!* he exclaimed. *Look, now’s not the time ter play.*
The kitten watched him expectantly. Jonothon sighed and scooped it up, cradling it close to his chest. The kitten reached a paw up and swatted, apparently trying to bat his nose.
*S’just not a good time, you understand,* Jono explained, teasing the kitten with one finger. *Not really in the mood.* The kitten watched his finger steadily, trying to attack it when it came near. *Rough night, you know.* Jonothon paused, ignoring the playful nips of the kitten for a moment before stroking it gently.
*It’s stupid,* he went on, feeling very foolish for talking to cat. *But sometimes, I dunno. I get ter thinking about… this thing. In me. That IS me, rather. Wotever. It just… burns away everyfing around it, a bit at a time.*
The kitten rubbed against him and he picked it up. *Eventually there won’t be any of me left,* he said, holding the kitten against the contained inferno of his chest. *And… I’m scared.* Saying it aloud, he knew it to be the truth - awful and simple.
After a few minutes, Jonothon looked down at the kitten. It was staring back up at him intently.
*Wot do you think then, eh?* he asked, leaning closer.
The kitten reached out and swatted his nose gleefully.
*Little bugger!*
Jubilee was the one to suggest that Jonothon take Bugger to the vet for his shots. “You found him in a gutter,” she said. “I highly doubt he’s had any vaccines or whatever. A raccoon could bite him and he’d get like, rabies.”
*Yeah?* Jonothon had never owned a pet before.
“Yeah. You might wanna get him fixed, too.”
Jonothon looked aghast. Jubilee laughed.
“Look, just ask the vet about it.”
Angelo, who’d been reading the paper on the couch, looked up. “Spendin’ a lot of money on that furball, amigo,” he remarked, one eyebrow hefted cynically.
*Well, nobody’s goin’ ter want ‘im if he hasn’t ‘ad shots, now are they?* Jonothon asked. Angelo smiled and nodded, knowing better than to press the subject.
For Christmas, Bugger got a scratching post. Jonothon justified it by saying that he didn’t want him tearing up the upholstery on his couch.
“Is it just my imagination,” Jubilee mused one day over hot chocolate, “or has Jono been almost… normal, lately?”
“Jono’s never normal,” Angelo replied smartly. Paige rolled her eyes.
“No, I mean, he’s like, not all ‘Oi’ve got me own private rain cloud over me ‘ead!’ you know?”
Everett laughed, but Angelo nodded.
“Yeah, he’s better,” he agreed. “I mean, nobody’s ever gonna mistake him for a well-adjusted individual, but he’s less… extreme these days.”
Everett looked thoughtful. “Do you think it’s the cat?” he asked.
“Huh?” said Jubilee.
“No, seriously. There’s this thing called, uhm, ‘animal assisted therapy’ I think it is. Anyway, it’s the idea that pets can be beneficial to people who are either really sick or who suffer from depression.”
Angelo raised an eyebrow. “Uh,” he started.
“I’m serious. They’ve done studies, and I guess for some people having an animal around can motivate them to get up in the morning, you know? They’ve got someone beside themselves to worry about, but without any of the stress of human relationships.”
“And pets love you unconditionally,” Paige mused thoughtfully.
“Right. I think I heard even just the physical contact can be really helpful.”
Angelo closed his mouth, thinking. “Huh,” he said at length.
Jubilee plunked another marshmallow into her cup. “Whatever. ‘Bugger’ is still the dumbest name for a cat I’ve EVER heard.”
Jonothon still wasn’t fond of the sun, and he hated pop music with an unholy passion, but he had to admit that he could to honestly claim to hate small furry animals anymore. It went against the image he projected, and that was too bad, but he was consoled by one thing at least:
Bugger matched all his clothes.
That was enough reason to keep him.