Hobkin was very frisky this morning. He kept wanting to play, pouncing first on my feet, and then when I bent down to dislodge his fangs from my toes, he’d relocate them to my fingers (his fangs, not my toes). Once, when I was putting my socks on, he charged full tilt at me in my vulnerable foot-in-the-air position, but in his excitement, he misjudged the distance (being myopic and all), and careened head first into one of the pillars in our dining room. I was worried he’d knocked himself silly. And, to tell the truth, he did look a bit dazed for a moment or two. But then he went tearing off, most miffed with me as though it was my fault he’d collided with a pillar. Silly beastie.
It did make me wonder, though, about how our animal companions view us. Obviously Hobkin understands some cause and effect. He’s very good at training us to do things for him. But to what extent does he understand it? He knows that we are the source of food, and also things like comfort and companionship. But when it thunders and rains, does he think we cause that too? When something scares him, does he think we caused it? And when he runs into pillars, does he blame me for putting that pillar there?
Received the edits from Andromeda Spaceway Inflight Magazine for “Body and Soul Art.” Gleep.
1. I haven’t looked at this story in a while. I’m a bit appalled at how rough it is in places. I really thought I had it polished.
2. The editor who I’m working with is excellent, just fantastic. I’m so glad I get the chance to fix this baby up before it hits publication. A couple times in the past, my stories have gone pretty much straight from submission format to print, and upon seeing them again, I wished for a more meticulous editor.