The Shadow of Chernobyl

The Anthro Dream

I yawned, stretching my legs as I laid under the sheets. Stray rays of light found their end at my face, an additional warmth seeping into my skin. Hugging the heavy blanket closer, I took a deep breath before opening my eyes, greeted by an interesting sight; like every other morning, Ana had conquered my half of the bed, capturing my person within her stronghold. One arm under my shoulder, a leg hooked around my own. I'd asked her why she did it every night, not that I had a problem with it, it was just that it happened all the time, and she said it made her feel safe.

Rubbing the drowsiness out of my eyes, I caressed the arm holding me, the soft fur well-groomed, her shampoo brand a wonderful product. She claimed her invasion of my personal space happened unintentionally, something about her being a sleephugger.

Careful as to not make too much noise, I wormed my way out of her arms, catching a soft whine as I slipped out of the bed. Her expression changed from one of bliss to a blank slate, but I had to prepare for the day, there was much to be done.

Stepping into my houseshoes, I put on a pair of loose pants and a t-shirt, glancing back at Ana from time to time to make sure I didn't wake her up. The steady rise and fall of the blanket enticed me to return to bed but alas, I also had business to take care of.

I cracked open the door, extra careful so it didn't creak, we had to get that fixed some time. Squeezing myself through, I shut it, raising my arms as high I could with another yawn, a dozen satisfying pops coming from my joints. Scratching my back, I entered the bathroom to take care of said business.

Once I relieved myself and my teeth were sparkling, I went to the kitchen to start on the first and most important meal of the day; breakfast. I had a couple ideas, but I decided to go with a simple classic.

Extracting the appropriate ingredients from the fridge, I arranged them on the counter in order; canola oil, six eggs, a sausage, spices, and bread. Searching the bottom drawers, I grabbed a pan big enough for the number of eggs I took, placing it upon the stove. Igniting the corresponding plot, I turned down the flames, pouring a healthy dosage of the cooking oil to heat up while I worked on the actual meal. Adding a bowl to the mix, I washed the eggs before breaking them open and into the bowl, white and yolk. Once all six bathed in the same pool, I sprinkled salt, black pepper and paprika into the yellow, viscous liquid. Taking a fork from a drawer, I sloshed it all together, breaking the fragile barrier of the yolks so they combined, creating an equilibrium between both parts of the egg.

Once I believed it to be enough, I was about to pour it onto the pan before remembering a crucial ingredient; milk. A tad bit, a second to pour, too much and the eggs won't cook properly. So, I did just that, I grabbed a carton from the fridge, measured the right volume by eye, gave the protein another mix and put it aside to rest for a moment. What? I still had the sausage to cut into coins, they go into the pan to gain a crust before the eggs.

Holding the sausage in one hand and a knife in the other, I began slicing the meat onto the pan, the sizzling increasing the more pieces I added. Once the last coin fell from my grasp, I grabbed the ready bowl and slowly poured the liquid onto the pan. I then quickly grabbed a wooden spatula and waited. I moved it around from time to time, letting the proteins solidify before starting the scrambling.

The quiet flush of the toilet told me who was about to join me for breakfast. Humming a tune I couldn't remember, I flipped over some of the undercooked pieces, sprinkling a little bit more salt.

Soon after, I heard a groan come from the table. If I didn't know her pads allowed her to be so sneaky, I would've panicked.

"Morning," I said, not bothering to look back, I was still busy finalizing the meal.