Warning: This story is not to be altered or reposted, in any form, without the explicit, written consent of the Author.
The Mouse Diaries
Halfway There: Part I
By Serath
Dave's Personal Log,
Poor Chris; when he left the hospital, he was so full of enthusiasm. He thought all he had to do was give himself time to heal and learn the ins and outs of Furry society. Once he had that down pat, he'd be free to write wrongs and slay dragons; no offence meant, Albrecht. Chris always was a romantic and a dreamer, unfortunately, reality is far too often a very ugly place. It was everything I could do, not to rush right in and save him from being broken, a second time. Truth be told, it frustrated the crap out of me, having to stand there and do nothing.
*Click*
I can't believe I'm using this thing again, but then, so much has happened, it's almost overwhelming. I'm dictating this, a couple of days later, for reasons that will become clear, shortly. I was picked up by the Guide Dogs, this afternoon. That's how I first met Shawnie. She's a big, motherly, brown and white Collie-lady with just a touch of an Irish/Scotch brogue.
"Now who might this little, adorable, splotched boy be?"
The kind, generous bull who had been my nurse for the past several months, flashed his soft, open smile. "We've been calling him Chris Mouse. He had no ID when he came in, and was too far gone into transition, for us to find out, any other way."
"Oh, you poor dear! And yet, made it this far, you did; on your own two feet. Oh, you're a stubborn one, I can tell."
I blushed, "Well, I did have some help." I said, glancing affectionately at my nurse.
"Well, now you'll be my responsibility, dear. Look at 'cha, you scrawny thing. Lemme get you home and tuck you in. Then, how does some nice, warm soup and a crust of homemade bread sound?"
I flashed her a cheeky grin. "How soon can we leave?"
Then followed the only the hugging and the tearful goodbyes with my bull-boy nurse.
And then what little I owned was piled into Shawnie's station wagon, and I was thrown in, after it.
The first thing she did was hand me, what I swear, was the world's biggest sippy cup.
"Drink that slowly, Chris. Trust me; you're going to need it. And the bag's by your left arm. Try not to get any on my interior."
"Huh?" I asked, but she'd already thrown the car into drive, and was easing out into traffic.
It turned out to be a chocolate milkshake. Not the real thing, of course, because that's toxic to some Furries, but the closest thing they can manage. Never the less, I was in heaven. It had a really odd aftertaste though, and I could definitely smell something else in it. While it may sound odd, I wasn't worried about it. Some odd sixth sense told me that I couldn't be more safe. So I stared out the window.
Turns out, Saint Francis Hospital is in the middle of Cray City proper. It's located in one of the older districts, separate from One Alpha Square, where City Hall and the main police building were moved, sometime in the '70's or '80's. What started out as some two and three story buildings, with some very pretty stonework, quickly became quite, tree-lined neighborhoods. Really, I saw woods, waterfalls, cliffs, and half a dozen other things, used as motifs, in the most cunning ways to build and decorate a house.
I was having so much fun; I was totally oblivious to my rising nausea until my vision started swimming, the houses drifting in and out on me. The moment I noticed, I suddenly realized I had a sick headache. The moment I moaned, she pulled the car over.
There wasn't time for finesse, I dove out my door and was violently sick.
In an instant, she was by my side, holding me until it was merely dry heaves, then cleaning me up like a cub. I looked up at her, my eyes wide and questioning, my tail flickering uncertainly.
"Huh?"
"You were car sick. Poor dear, your inner ear's still adjusting, and this was your first real car trip, since you woke up in the hospital." She shook her head, apologetically, "I tried to help, taking the slow route and spiking that milkshake with an herbal for motion sickness.
"So that's what I smelled." I said, weakly.
"Spoonful of sugar and all that." she said, sounding more cheerful as I got back on my knees. "Truth is: I'd have given you the milkshake, anyway. You're out of the Hospital, lad and taking your first steps into the big, bright world. Kinda deserves celebrating, doesn't it? You should be mighty proud of yourself, Chris. Now, drink up, you'll need that milkshake to soothe your tummy and maybe you'll make it the rest of the way in peace, now."
She was right. That's how I ended up, comfortably settled into my own little, hobbit-hole bedroom at the Guide Dog Halfway House, in a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood in the bedroom community of Xandu.
Dave's Personal Log,
That's not to say he never talked to me, at all; far from it. As soon as the initial motion sickness abated, he was so excited about the whole thing that he couldn't wait to tell me all about it. Once in the Halfway House, he really started to thrive. We were in regular contact, the whole time. He was soon, so busy with everything else, that not once, did he think to question why I hadn't shown up, yet.
*Click*
This morning, I woke up feeling much better. The sick headache and the nausea from my first, extended car trip were gone. Naturally, the first thing I asked about was the library. Shawnie laughed, and told me it was in easy walking distance, pulling out a map of the town. Easy, ha! It was about five blocks, as the crow flies, but more like seven or eight, because I'd have to walk several blocks, then take a side street for another two or three.
She just laughed at my astonishment, "Chris, to a Furry, anything under five miles is considered easy walking distance!"
It's quickly becoming very obvious that Saint Francis Hospital only taught me the basics. I still have so much more to learn.
Shawnie gave me the grand tour. Not everyone is a transition, The Guide Dogs help anyone. Right now there are six other residents, including me. Upstairs are Roger Bookwing, the bat; the orphaned Squirrel twins, Red and Courage Lightfoot; and a stunning looking, orange striped tomcat named Chester Springback. I have to admit; he gave me quite a start, but being scooped up and hugged, listening to him purr like a generator, does wonders for overcoming your fear of someone.
Downstairs is me and Butch MacGruff, a Transition like myself, but in his case, a bulldog. Sadly, he developed a transcription error, during the process. The poor dog-boy goes though fits of extreme territoriality, to the point where he'll even chase the mailman off the property. The sad thing is, normally, he's a little grouchy and a fairly private person, but otherwise, he's a total sweetheart. There's even a friendly rivalry between him and Chester; a running gag over the traditional, stereotypical antagonism between their two species.
We also have a cook, an elderly human female. I haven't been able to find out her name.
For all I know, her last name may really be Cook. For a white-haired, old lady, she seems pretty nice. She's even promised to help me in my education. Apparently there are things about life as a Furry that Shawnie is too polite to go into, that are never the less, really important for me to know.
*Click*
Yesterday was such a busy day! There's a medical clinic, right down the street that acts as a mini version of Saint Francis. I went there for my first, outpatient physical therapy. Oh, yeah, I'm far from done yet, in that department. I'm still very weak and my new muscles need to be constantly exercised.
Then the big Collie-lady took me clothes shopping. I'll have to wear a headband, around my ears, when I change clothes, for a while, until I get the knack of folding my ears out of the way. Pants are easier, because most of them come with a button flap in the back that goes over your tail, rather than having to thread it completely though. We went to K.D. Nichols, getting me a basic wardrobe. Mostly, it was a socks-and-underwear run, the rest of my wardrobe being padded out with clothes given to the Halfway House.
For now, Shawnie or another fur has to help me dress, because I'm still color blind.
Then we got a whole mess of books at the library. Another copy of Furry Life: Mouse, a couple of big books of names, and a smattering of other books for my personal pleasure. Both Shawnie and the Lioness librarian shared a laugh, at the size of my armload of books. The latter has a private little bet with me, that I can't possibly read that much, in three weeks.
