An unidentified but familiar pop caught Abigail’s attention. It was followed by a fizzy hiss, and door and wall muffled words of happiness — so it wasn't an electrical blowout. Now, she was very busy and the sample on the microscope slide wouldn’t last too long...but, she wouldn’t be a scientist without a little curiosity. She pushed away from the workbench and the stool rolled her across her lab to the shared door that gave quick access to the room next door.

Alas, proximity had offered no clarity to the words beyond and so she was forced to knock politely and wait. A moment and the door swung open to a smiling scientist of average height, with a conically-hatted head, and a brown-grey moustache. A fellow called Richard.

“Abigail!” It seemed a merry surprise indeed that he should find her here...despite being lab-neighbours for fourteen years. Abigail’s eyes fell to Richard’s hands and she remembered his inabilities regarding alcohol. In one tight grip was a half-filled champagne flute and in the other was a sensibly-priced bottle of low alcohol Prosecco.

She was wondering if dealing with a tipsy Richard was worth it when he shouted her name again. “Abigail!”

“Richard.” She did not match his enthusiasm, had in fact remained seated on her stool. “Sounds like a toast to success. What’s the breakthrough?”

“Well! Why don’t we show you!”

The We — Richard’s research and life partner, Ingrid — was in the center of the lab, her back to the door. Her head tilted back and a champagne glass crested for a moment and disappeared. Ingrid’s attention was on something at her feet to which she was cooing and baby talking in Dutch.

“Come in, come in!” Richard turned and walked away.

Abigail took a moment to wonder how rude it would be to keep rolling along on her seat. She sighed, slapped her knees and stood, but then stepped back, tripped on the stool and toppled backwards.

At the sound of her hands hitting flesh, something small and dark had darted around Ingrid and bolted at Abigail. She was staring at the ceiling and marveling at human reaction times, she hadn’t even gotten a good look at whatever it was, and she had reacted.

She also wondered if the eerie, questioning calm she felt was born of a sense of embarrassment or head trauma. And then she saw a face.

A round, brown-grey, squishy little face with a pair of kind eyes and flaring nostrils. Abigail blinked and the creature she knew to be a Hippo said: “Mump!”

As she sat up the small Hippo, no bigger than a large cat, bopped her face with its own, licked, said many quick mumps and then crawled into her lap.

“A baby hippo?”

“No.” Said the couple in unison as they cheersed another pair of overflowing fizziness.

“A Micro-potamus.” Said Richard, who then gulped his bubbly.

“Completely hypo-allergenic," Said Ingrid "Only needs a bit of a pool, but likes dry-land, loves people, and grows no bigger than that.”

“We’sh gonna be shhoooo rich!” Said Richard in a swiftly sauce-born slur.

"... but it's a rock." Whiskers circled the new pet that had gained so much of their owners attention.

"Yeah, but it's a 'pet' rock." Rags grumbled in clarification.

"But it's a rock!" Whiskers softly slammed his front paw against the countertop.

"Well, like it or not, it stands on the same ground as us." Sighed Rags.

"Heh, we'll see about that. Maybe on the same ground as you, but not me. " Whiskers raised his paw.

"I wouldn't do that while Sally is still here." Rags cautioned.

"It's a rock, Rags. You really think I'll get in trouble fo-"

"Yes." Rags closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep.

Whiskers: -_- [knocks rock off counter]

"AH! WHISKERS NO! NO! BAD WHISKERS!" Whiskers was immediately assaulted with overwhelming artillery. His attempts to dodge the spray bottle were met with equivalent precision and only stopped once he had made it to the hallway, a good distance away from Sally. Sally would pick tenderly lift Archibald onto the counter and place a bandaid on him.

"WE DON'T ATTACK ARCHIBALD!"

"Warned ya." Rags would speak from his slumber.

Coat soaking, whiskers would glare and let out a long hiss. Not at Sally, but at Archibald.

Whiskers: (≖_≖ ) "Be warned 'Archibald', you are not welcome and will never be welcomed here. Sally cannot protect you forever. You've made a grave mistake crossing me and rest assured I will make your every waking moment here a living nightmar-"

"It's a rock, Whiskers." Rags would interrupt and remind him.

"A rock that has crossed the wrong feline." Whiskers would murmur before stalking backward behind the wall and concealing himself in darkness.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

From that day onward, Whisker's daily routine consisted of doing every minor inconvenience possible to make Archibald's life miserable. When Sally would set Archibald to bask in the sun, Whiskers would be right there to slide it into the shade. When feeding time came, Whiskers would tip Archibald bowl over to spill their microwaved air onto the ground.

When they went for walks, Whiskers would whisper lies about Archibald to every rock in the neighborhood. Whisker tail would 'accidentally' repeatedly block Archibald's view during movie nights despite Sally constantly moving it out of the way. Sally would have to carry Archibald through the doorway due to Whiskers body blocking the pet door.

Rags did not mind. It knocked 3 birds out with one stone.

• Sally became more upset with Whiskers.
• Whiskers did not bother him.
• Rags was amused to see what lengths Whiskers would go to.

This would continue until Sally finally had enough and would remove the toys from the playroom before placing Archibald and Whiskers inside.

"I'm tired of you two fighting. Now you two stay here and get along until me and Rags return from the vet!"

^("VET!?") A shrill high pitched bark would sound from the distance.

Whiskers would patiently wait and eye Archibald until he heard Rag's despair signalling that Sally was pulling out of the driveway. A gaze of sinister intent would be fall his face.

"Poor poor Archibald, it's just you and me now. You cannot use Sally as a shield any longer, it seems your luck has run out."

Archibald would not respond.

"To be paralyzed with fear is to be expected. Don't worry, I'll be sure to make your demise painful. Once you are gone, I can focus getting rid of that oversized fleabag."

Whiskers would pick Archibald up between his fangs and use his cat-like agility to leap to the very top of a now empty toy shelf. Whiskers would set Archibald down near the edge.

"Any last words my dense Nemesis?" Whiskers would say with a raised paw.

"Yes you are right to be scared. I've done the math. The first time you fell, you require a bandaid that covered half your body. A fall from this height should easily kill you." Whisker would wait for Archibald to respond.

"Trying to play brave are we?" Whiskers would slide Archibald so that he teetered on the edge. "Uh oh, careful now, one tiny little vibration could end the fun. "

Whiskers would slide Archibald back a safe distance. "Oh you didn't think I'd make it that simple now would you?"

Whiskers would repeatedly slide Archibald onto the verge of falling and then bring him safely back, over and over and over and over, torturing the rock. "Will I do it!?" "Gasp, is this it." "Oh my, you almost accidentally slipped."

Whiskers would at one point perform many jumps while Archibald teetered on the edge, to make Archibald wobble. These jumps would loosen a screw and cause the shelf to sharply slant. Archibald would launch into the air and Whisker would slide to the low end.

Pain would resonate through the one paw Whiskers used to hang on as Archibald landed atop it. [Reowww!] Whiskers would sharply howl. His head would look up to the Rock that not stood on his paw, condescendingly overlooking him.

"No wait! Please, have mercy! I- I leave you alone I promise!" Whiskers would plead.

"What th-! Archibald!" Sally who had returned to retrieve Rag's papers would enter the room to see Archibald perched on Whisker's paw. She would catch them both and set Whiskers onto the ground.

"BAD ARCHIBALD! BAD! BAD! WE DON'T TRY TO ELIMINATE WHISKERS WHEN I'M AWAY! YOU'RE GOING BACK TO THE PET STORE!"

Sally would clench Archibald in her hand and power walk to her vehicle to return Archibald, setting the behind the top of the back seats.

"Woah ... what did I miss?" Rags would question. A little worried at the thought of Whiskers somehow managing to get Archibald sent back.

Whiskers would smuggly stride up beside Rags to also watch the vehicle drive away. "Just me and my brilliant plan in action. Heh, like I said, no mere rock is on the same level as I. Watch out, mutt, you're next."

Sally's car would hit a pot hole in the drive way and cause Archibald to roll against the back window and slightly crack it. Sally would yell something unintelligible while a startle Whiskers would jump high into the air as he saw Archibald swear vengeance against him and scurry into the house.

Rags would chuckle at this until Sally's car briefly stopped. Though this was only because Sally saw an oncoming truck, Rags would take this as her remembering his vet appointment. He took would jump into the air and scurry into the house.

“…What is it?”

Mittens didn’t answer his rival’s question right away. If he’d let it be known that he didn’t know either, he would never live it down. So he coughed a little into his paw and tried to cover.

“Well, it’s—it’s clearly the Human’s new pet. Its frills indicate it as being a variety of flora, while the aquatic setting of its habitat indicate an amphibious nature.”

Toast was quiet for a moment. “So…what is it?”

Mittens rolled his eyes. Dogs. “It’s clearly a fish…plant, Toast.”

Toast’s eyes filled with stars. “Wow Mittens! You’re so smart! Sorry for asking again, you use so many big words and you’ve been so many places and you can get to the food on the counters! And—“

“Yes, yes, Toast,” Mittens interuppted, eager to avoid another self-deprecating monologue, “I’m well aware of my accomplishments. We have more to worry about, now. This…thing, whatever it is—“

“Fish-plant,” Toast supplied eagerly, missing his slip-up.

“…yes, fish-plant, is no innocent addition to our household. It is, rather, our competition.”

“Wait…human…got a new pet?” dismay filled Toast’s eyes. She was always so sensitive. Dogs. “Does…does that mean the Human doesn’t want us anymore? Will TOAST HAVE NO HOME? OR BACON BITS?” She was wailing now, sharp bursts of sound echoing through the small apartment. Ugh, such an abrupt escalation. And people called cats dramatic.

Mittens reached out a paw to cover Toast’s mouth and silence the ear-splitting barks. “Toast! Calm yourself!”

The command brought the cries down in volume to soft whimpers. The watery eyes still wobbled with tears, like something out of one of those foreign cartoons the Human watched when he was alone in bed.

Mittens sighed. How to fix this? In all honesty, Toast’s reaction wasn’t too far off base. Domesticated animals such as themselves lived and died by their owners’ hands. Finding one was easy enough at first—humans were desperate for affection, and had such a strange affinity for creatures they couldn’t truly communicate with. But humans also tired of things quickly. New puppies became burdens once the novelty wore off. Kittens became little demons. And more and more pets ended up abandoned or given away each year, most unwilling or unaccustomed to fending for themselves.

With such limited, mercurial resources, the battle between Dog and Cat had long been fought. Dogs favored a tactic of unconditional love and pathetic gazes and shivering outside in bad weather. It had worked, massively—especially for those that played well with children. But cats disliked begging. And so they had pulled bait-and-switch tactics, withholding affection from everyone but their owners, playing nice when things went wrong, finding the few humans foolish and insecure enough to put up with whatever pranks and indiscretions cats often pulled.

But there was only so much love to go around. Most humans only had a few pets—some strictly dogs or cats. Some none at all. And for those who lived in a veritable menagerie of other pets, it was no telling when the “money,” as humans called it, would run low enough that the giveaways would begin. Mittens shuddered. He recalled such things from when he had been a young kitten himself. Small, furry bundles ripped away from their mothers. Dogs bred for the purpose of having their children sold, cats kicked to the curb because of unexpected pregnancies, even birds got a bad deal these days.

And so, with this new contender in the apartment, Mittens would pull no punches. He would have no mercy. He could handle Toast for the next ten years or so, but this new fellow’s intrusion would. Not. Stand! He would protect this fragile paradise he had cultivated with his best big eyes and his softest head bumps. And he would never again be cast out like trash!

He leapt onto the counter (who cared—there was no human around to see it and he did it all night anyway). The tank that had loomed above them looked smaller now, its water clear but darkened with plants and those drab little stones along its bottom. Almost sad. But the milky shape in the water swam right up to the side, its face fixed in a pleasant, mild grin. A small hand touched the glass—so much like the Human’s. Was that why he’d gotten it? Because it was like him in ways Mittens and Toast weren’t? Mittens shook the insecurity out of himself. He needed intel.

He wandered around for less than a minute before he found a small paperback with a glossy yellow cover. It seemed to be some instruction manual, with an image of the…fish-plant on it. It read: “How To Care For Your Axolotl.”

Excited, he called down from the counter. “Toast! It’s called a—“ an Ax-oh-lot…el? “An—an AXOLOTL!”

Toast forgot the fear that had gripped her a second ago. Her excited energy drove her in circles, barking all the way: “Oh wow! An Axolotl! Axolotl! Axolotl! What’s he like? What are they? Are they fish or plants? Oh wow, an Axolotl!”

Mittens ignored the frantic display, knowing it would last for at least a minute no matter what he did. He flipped open the book in a chunk of pages and began to read. His Human dialect was rusty, but the words flowed easily.

An axolotl, it seemed, was an amphibian; a salamander native to the area round Lake Xochimilco in Mexico. They were known for their bright pink gills and pleasant faces. Apparently they were quite the fad.

He read the information again, to Toast.

She was quiet for a moment, considering. “A…fad. That’s that thing that only lasts for short time, right? That thing that lots of humans like? So…Human will get rid of it soon, right? Because it will tire him. And…and we can stay!”

Mittens considered. It was possible. But the Human had liked the same foreign cartoons since high school ten years ago. That seemed like a long time to like one thing.

“Maybe, maybe not, Toast. It says here the axolotl is rather easy to care for once properly housed and fed.” He added under his breath, “apparently quite friendly, too.”

Toast’s tail slumped. She sighed and hefted down onto the floor. “Then maybe we will be replaced. The Human is getting bored of us.”

Mittens had to confess to feeling depressed as well. Oh, he’d seen this film before. And he didn’t like the ending. He flopped down onto his stomach, and prepared to say goodbye to the sweetest gig he’d had in years. He felt…oddly sentimental about it. Something was filling him with warm feelings. And he felt like speaking.

“You know, Toast,” he began, “it’s been a hell of a ride. And I can’t say I like dogs all that much, but you were—“ he stopped, hearing the turning of keys in the door. Saved by the bell. The Traitor was home.

"It's a what, you said?" the man's roommate asked.

"A bassarisk! It's the only animal other than cats to self-domesticate, and now we've started taking advantage of that!"

"That sounds a lot like basilisk, but I must admit it's adorable. And look at that tail! It's as long as its body!"

"Yeah, that's what got this particular species of bassarisk its name, the ringtail."

"So it's a lemur, then?" the roommate asked with a quizzical expression.

"Are there any lemurs native to North America?"

The roommate facepalmed. "Not a lemur, then. So what is it?"

"A procyonid, related to raccoons."

"Why didn't we try to domesticate raccoons, then?"

"Because unlike this cutie, they didn't domesticate themselves when humans moved into their territory."

"Gotcha. And you say this is a better mouser than cats?"

"Yup. It's also called a ring-tailed cat, and in the 19th century, when these domesticated themselves in miner's towns, 'ring-tailed' was American slang for 'remarkable' and 'exceptional'. So they were basically saying it was an 'exceptional' cat."

"Okay, I guess we can keep it, so long as it doesn't destroy the furniture. But please, why couldn't you have just gotten a cat?"

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* No AI-generated reponses 🤖 >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [RF] and [SP] for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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