Sam and Sharon | Snippy
Jan. 1st, 2024 11:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsSam Guthrie enforces his first boundary...against a purple cat who wants a piece of cold cut, but he enforces a boundary nonetheless.
Jay was asleep, actually asleep, not just laying in the dark with his eyes closed. Sam sighed in relief, making his way to the kitchenette in his new suite. His stomach rumbled and he sighed, opening the fridge to pull out the ingredients for a sandwich. After a moment’s consideration he also pulled out a pan and some butter. After everything he at least deserved the sandwich to be warm, and if the smell woke Jay up, maybe he could convince his brother to eat something. That would be good. So really it was also in Jay’s best interest that Sam made a hot sandwich. He wasn’t being selfish.
"I want that."
The voice emanated from around waist-height. Sharon, currently in her preferred hybrid form and sitting at polite but insistent attention, had positioned herself immediately behind Sam before speaking to provoke what she surely knew would be maximum startlement.
Sam gripped the spatula tighter and cursed softly before turning to Sharon with a hard look. “Not. Today.”
The cat regarded him. If an expression was detectable on a face with minimal human features one might almost describe the look she gave him as puzzled. This was the first time in memory when he had met such a request with anything other than patient indulgence.
"I want that," she tried again, testing whether this anomaly might be reproducible.
“Sharon.” Sam started, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It ain’t for you. Not. Today.”
They’d barely settled in, and only through Alani’s kindness did they even have groceries in the kitchenette. He was too tired for this.
Sharon continued to study him. Sam Guthrie was establishing a hard boundary.
This was novel.
The cat padded closer to the counter. In one fluid motion she jumped onto it, shifting into the form of a housecat as she did to land lightly beside the jar of mustard. She took a seat, tail curled politely around her front legs, and resumed staring at Sam.
“Beggin’ ain’t gonna get you my food.” Sam said firmly. “I ain’t playin’ Sharon. I don’t have the patience for this right now.”
The cat continued to watch him.
Then, very deliberately, she extended a paw towards the open package of cold cuts.
Sam glared at her, quickly snatching the package of cold cuts off the counter. “I said. Not. Today.”
The cat blinked at him once, slowly.
Then she began to reach for the packet of cheese.
Sam heard Jay shift in the next room and turned back to glare at Sharon. As her paw got closer to the cheese he closed his eyes and sighed.
“For fuck’s sake Sharon, no means no.” He said, picking her up by sliding his hand under her chest and carrying her to the door.
In deference to Sam's clearly agitated emotional state Sharon allowed the transfer without so much as a growl. She let herself be deposited in the hallway, gently but with definite finality, and turned to watch as Sam closed (and then not-so-subtly locked) the door behind him. She would have liked to perform more tests -- how long it might take for her to provoke something so direct as a swat to the paw, for example -- but that would have to be enough for today.
Sharon's tail swished thoughtfully. Sam's unusual behavior almost certainly had to do with whoever the other occupant of the suite might be. The new scent had, after all, been what originally drew her there in the first case -- particularly because it, like Warren's, was mingled with the odor of feather dander. A mystery indeed, and one she would surely have gotten to the bottom of had she not first become distracted by the possibility of her favorite thing: food she did not have to prepare for herself.
The cat's tail gave a decisive flick. It was time to alert the groupchat.
Jay was asleep, actually asleep, not just laying in the dark with his eyes closed. Sam sighed in relief, making his way to the kitchenette in his new suite. His stomach rumbled and he sighed, opening the fridge to pull out the ingredients for a sandwich. After a moment’s consideration he also pulled out a pan and some butter. After everything he at least deserved the sandwich to be warm, and if the smell woke Jay up, maybe he could convince his brother to eat something. That would be good. So really it was also in Jay’s best interest that Sam made a hot sandwich. He wasn’t being selfish.
"I want that."
The voice emanated from around waist-height. Sharon, currently in her preferred hybrid form and sitting at polite but insistent attention, had positioned herself immediately behind Sam before speaking to provoke what she surely knew would be maximum startlement.
Sam gripped the spatula tighter and cursed softly before turning to Sharon with a hard look. “Not. Today.”
The cat regarded him. If an expression was detectable on a face with minimal human features one might almost describe the look she gave him as puzzled. This was the first time in memory when he had met such a request with anything other than patient indulgence.
"I want that," she tried again, testing whether this anomaly might be reproducible.
“Sharon.” Sam started, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It ain’t for you. Not. Today.”
They’d barely settled in, and only through Alani’s kindness did they even have groceries in the kitchenette. He was too tired for this.
Sharon continued to study him. Sam Guthrie was establishing a hard boundary.
This was novel.
The cat padded closer to the counter. In one fluid motion she jumped onto it, shifting into the form of a housecat as she did to land lightly beside the jar of mustard. She took a seat, tail curled politely around her front legs, and resumed staring at Sam.
“Beggin’ ain’t gonna get you my food.” Sam said firmly. “I ain’t playin’ Sharon. I don’t have the patience for this right now.”
The cat continued to watch him.
Then, very deliberately, she extended a paw towards the open package of cold cuts.
Sam glared at her, quickly snatching the package of cold cuts off the counter. “I said. Not. Today.”
The cat blinked at him once, slowly.
Then she began to reach for the packet of cheese.
Sam heard Jay shift in the next room and turned back to glare at Sharon. As her paw got closer to the cheese he closed his eyes and sighed.
“For fuck’s sake Sharon, no means no.” He said, picking her up by sliding his hand under her chest and carrying her to the door.
In deference to Sam's clearly agitated emotional state Sharon allowed the transfer without so much as a growl. She let herself be deposited in the hallway, gently but with definite finality, and turned to watch as Sam closed (and then not-so-subtly locked) the door behind him. She would have liked to perform more tests -- how long it might take for her to provoke something so direct as a swat to the paw, for example -- but that would have to be enough for today.
Sharon's tail swished thoughtfully. Sam's unusual behavior almost certainly had to do with whoever the other occupant of the suite might be. The new scent had, after all, been what originally drew her there in the first case -- particularly because it, like Warren's, was mingled with the odor of feather dander. A mystery indeed, and one she would surely have gotten to the bottom of had she not first become distracted by the possibility of her favorite thing: food she did not have to prepare for herself.
The cat's tail gave a decisive flick. It was time to alert the groupchat.
