"Be Still, My Heart"
by Khaman

Companionship is something that we, as mortals, often spend our whole lives questing for. the touch of another living being, the rhythm of the beating heart, the contact of matched souls colliding. True love is perhaps the greatest treasure any man or woman can hope to find in a world if travails and unknowables. Even one good friend is the best defence against a cold and weary heart.

Some of us find that a housepet does pretty bloody well, being generally cheaper, not quite as demanding, and perfectly happy with the same food day in and day out.

I introduce to you, new this year of Lanival’s Victory, the warmest beacon to my heart, Lady Serenity Vairson. One foot and three inches long, barely a handful of stone, with raccoon-like markings and bright eyes, a cuter ferret has not been seen. (By me, in any matter.)

Not that you can convince my poor, beleaguered turtle of this. He has a world-weary look about him now, the old soldier standing once more as the barbarians attack the gate as he thinks to himself, "Kertigen’s Tears, you mangy little fleshscrap…. I Am Not A Pastry!"

Someday, Serenity’s going to finally get herself in that bowl with Spuds. (The turtle.) She’s going to get a real surprise when she finally crunches down on him. Finger food he is not. Nor is he the candy-coated shell of supreme goodness, which I presume she thinks he is. I’ve already pried her out of the vase twice, attempting to explain that crimson flameroses are not a viable source of nutrition. Lord, if I can’t even control a ferret, no wonder I can’t get anyone to rent the other space in the house.

Oddly enough, all of this new havok in my house is a welcome change. A far cry from the frightened creature that initially arrived at my home from the pet store, certainly. For three andu, the poor thing did nothing but hide at the slightest sound. Kibble? No thanks. Water? Nuh-uh. Exploration? We like the area underneath the bed, thank you, sir. If I reached out to touch her, it was a cautious sniff she granted me as she danced away just out of my reach. And Gods help me if I had sneezed, I would have probably had to scrape her off the ceiling.

I had not had another creature this afraid of me since my first date.

Not entirely unreasonably, the poor thing had been given quite a shock, being suddenly taken from one place to another with barely any warning. Plopped down into unfamiliar environs with this strange person trying to feed them food, didn’t even smell right, and what time was it anyway?

After that ill-advised attempt, it’s worth noting, I tried asking a lady out for dinner normally.

Back to Lady Serenity.

After several days of remaining quiet and letting her gauge the safety of her own surroundings, she finally came to trust me (Probably against the better advice of the entire Ferret Clan), and to love her new home. It probably helps that I’ve been keeping in stock of the proper kibble, instead of allowing her anywhere near the misbegotten lumps of debris I laughingly call my cooking.

I too, now, experience the joys of little ferret hairs all over everything I own. I can only pretend to understand the pain of all those Elanthian cat owners who must now content themselves with the fact that, at least, kitty is not cleaning her bum in front of the guests at the particular moment they are trying to serve the main course.

At least familiars and companions have the capabilities to fend for themselves. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a war mage’s leopard shed on the couch. And raccoons and wolves don’t particularly enjoy homes as it is, I’ve yet to see one do anything to a kibble bowl beyond give it a long, cool, look. Rather the same look as the young adult who has suddenly realised that, for the first time in ten years, Mother is trying to put artichoke past him again.

Companionship is a wonderful thing. It shouldn’t be abused. Hedgehogs are not to be stuffed down the front of an unwelcome guest’s chest armor. Please don’t expect your dog to eat the landlord. Please don’t feed him peanut butter, no matter how bored you are. The cat will eventually embarrass you before an important visitor. The ferret will sooner or later fall asleep in your most comfortable pair of baggy pants, only to have you frantically pull them on to get the door in the middle of the night. The midnight messenger will give you the calm, reasonable look of a very frightened man as he backs away slowly and runs into the darkness, while your left trouser leg wiggles mysteriously with you too half-asleep to notice. It will happen.

A further word of caution: The higher numerical count of limbs your pet has, the more likely it is to be mistaken for a threat. While pet cockroach Alfie, I’m sure feels very loved, and really does do an amazing trick with a thread spool, I wouldn’t take him to visit the neighbors. They may do an amazing trick with a rolled up mentor newsletter.

To those of you with spiders: I’m very happy for you and congratulations on the new addition to your home. Please warn dinner guests before they arrive. I, for one, would squeal like a young girl if I saw a gigantic tarantula come scurrying over the table to greet me to his happy home. I’m sure he’d be thrilled for company. I would be undergoing therapy for a few years, assuming I didn’t just die right there.

And to those of you who have eschewed pets for more bipedal company or even simple solitude? After three vase replacements, sending out for the table repairmen, animal empaths for the turtle, learning how to personally sew back up the holes in the bed sheets…I believe I will soon envy you.

On the bright side, Lady Serenity has managed to destroy almost all of the ex roommate's forgotten socks. No more hostages have been taken, no more ransoms demanded by the Formerly Cotton Socks that Could Kill a Yak.

I also found her, just this morning, asleep in my biggest coffee mug. My kind of mammal.

Everyone, keep safe, find love, be happy. Whether it’s in a pet store, under the moons, or in a dream of mermaids.

Next time: More irrelevant rambling about things that don’t particularly matter.

Questions, comments, rants about how I’m wasting perfectly good paper should be sent to Theplotter@aol.com. Please mention the word ‘Waerd’ in the title of the letter so I don’t chuck it out with the bills-I-mean-junk-mail.