As a veterinarian, you get the opportunity to hear a lot of strange animal screams. From the buffalo to the baboon, you've seen it all, or more literally heard it all. Most animals sound rather mundane. Some animals, however, make really interesting noises sometimes. So here's my top ten of interesting animal sounds:
10. Antelope: "Huh?" (Sounding surprisingly surprised)
9. Ibex: "Pfffft!" (With loads of spittle)
8. Farting frog: "Wheeeeeeee...."
7. Howling Howler Monkey: "RRRAAAAWR!" (Trust me, you really don't want to get closer than two miles to those guys.)
6. Pet squirrel: "Daa-daa-feet-feet!" (Cuteness factor: 100%!)
5. Male Kakapos: "Boom! Boom!"
4. Lucky when she's purring. (Indescribable. Cuteness factor: 120%!)
3. Roaring lion. (The classic, still popular among zoo visitors and veeery scary.)
2. Lucky when she's snarling. (Even scarier. Trust me, lions could learn something from her.)
And finally, my number one amazing and inimitable animal sound:
1. Bleach-blond skank who just got a goldfish dropped down the back of her dress: "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaak!"
Truly an amazing sound. As an expert, though, I can tell you that it is best appreciated from a distance. After picking up the fish from the floor and depositing it safely back in its aquarium, I retreated to a table in the corner and watched while blondie danced around, trying to get anything and everything wet and slippery out of her dress. There might have been a few bits of seaweed still stuck in there.
The photographers seemed to have lost interest in me for the moment. When there's a model in a wet dress squealing and doing a tap-dance in the middle of the Waldorf Astoria ballroom, less important news simply has to wait. The photographers got particularly interested when blondie started pushing her hand down her dress, trying to fish out whatever was still in there. A storm of flashes broke loose all around.
Smiling, I reached for a bowl of nougat cream and made myself another sandwich.
Elliot came over, looking at the dancing blonde with raised eyebrows. "What do you think is the matter with her?"
I shrugged. "No idea. Shall we dance again?"
"It will be my pleasure."
❤☠❤☠❤☠❤☠❤
Needless to say that the evening turned out to be very satisfactory. One nasty female flattened, seven wonderfully romantic dances with Elliot, no pictures of me in the press and ten million three-hundred forty-two dollars and fifty-nine cents donated in favor of the pink fairy armadillo.
There was only one thing that went wrong: people noticed. About the pictures, I mean, or rather, the lack of them. Apparently, for some weird reason, people wanted to know what I looked like simply because I was the girlfriend of the hottest and richest guy in New York City. They wanted it very much. I found that out when I left the house to go to work one morning, and a man jumped out at me from behind a parking car.
My instincts kicked in.
"Hi-ya! Take that, you miserable thug!"
"Ouf!" Doubling over, the man fell to his knees and I delivered another blow, this time to his side, that sent him sprawling.
"You think you can rob defenseless women in the middle of the day, do you? Well, think again, mister!"
I gave him another kick for good measure. Something silver and shiny clattered onto the ground. For a moment I thought it was a knife—but then I saw the lens.
What...? A camera?
My right foot, hovering about five inches above the man's hand, hesitated.
"Um... just to make sure, you are a mugger, right?"
"No!" he wheezed.
"Oh." I hesitated again. "Then why did you jump out at me like that?"
"I... I just wanted to take your picture!"
My eyes narrowed. Any pity I might have felt for the man lying in front of me evaporated instantly. "Did you, now?" Cautiously, I lowered my foot until it rested on his hand, just hard enough to let him know how things were going down, like I had seen gangsters do on TV. "Why?"
"It's just a picture! If you let me get up—"
I pressed down.
"Ouch!"
"Why do you want to take my picture?" I demanded, and then added as an afterthought: "You miserable scumbag!" Hm... this gangster stuff was actually kind of fun.
"Can you take your foot off my hand please?"
"Why?" I demanded, trying to lower my voice to a threatening level. But I didn't quite manage the Don Corleone imitation I was going for. "Why did you want a picture of me?"
"All right, all right! Because it's worth ten-thousand dollars with one of the big papers!"
I lost my balance and put all my weight on my right foot to not fall on my face.
"Oooooowww!"
"Oops! Sorry." Forgetting for a moment that I was supposed to be the tough guy here, I took my boot off his fingers and he rolled over, cradling his hand against his chest.
"Argh! You... dammit! You...!"
"You can't be serious! Ten thousand dollars for a picture of me?"
"I'm serious! The offer just got out this morning!"
Stepping over the photographer I regarded myself in the mirror glass exterior of the nearest skyscraper. I was wearing black jeans, a fashionably black blouse and a jacket which was dark blue but which, under poor light conditions, might actually appear rather black. My face—my own, nice but perfectly ordinary face—was looking back at me with a puzzled expression.
"Why?" I asked. "I mean, I look all right, but ten thousand dollars? I don't look that good!"
Don't you? Elliot said yesterday that you look like a million dollars. Maybe he meant it literally. You never know with men.
"Why the hell should I care?" The paparazzi groaned. "I don't even know who you are! I just get paid to take pictures of you! And I regret I ever said yes to that deal, you crazy bitch!"
"Hey!" Whirling back around to face him, my foot caught him right in the chest as he wanted to sit up. I smashed him back down onto the pavement. "Mind what you're saying when you're talking to a lady! Didn't your mother teach you manners?"
"My mother can go fuck herself! And so can y—"
"Hey! Mind your language!"
"I'll say whatever I damn well please, you crazy—"
He cut off abruptly when suddenly, the point of a knife appeared at his throat. From the other end of the knife, I smiled down at him.
"You were saying?"
He uttered a noise that sounded something like "Ngrrrgg..."
"Yes?" I encouraged.
His eyes wandered from my face, to the knife at his throat and back to my face. I met his wide-open eyes head-on.
"Who the hell are you?" he whispered.
"A paparazzi's worst nightmare," I informed him with a killer smile. "Tell me, what are your plans for the immediate future, my friend?"
"P-plans?"
"For instance, do you intend to try and take anymore pictures of me or other poor famous people who just want to enjoy their lives and not be annoyed?"
"P-pictures? No! I'll never take another celebrity picture again! I promise! I swear! It was very bad of me to hound all those poor famous people all those years! I'm so, so sorry!"
"Good. And what are you going to do when I let you up."
"I d-don't know. Please, your knife...."
"How about taking a nice, long vacation? Out of state, maybe, or if possible, abroad?"
"Yes! That's what I'm going to do! I wanted to visit my uncle in Turkey for ages!"
I gave him a pat on the head.
"Turkey sounds good. Stay there for a while, okay?"
"Yes, ma'am! Just as you say, ma'am!"
❤☠❤☠❤☠❤☠❤
Nothing spreads as quickly in New York as news about a chance to make ten thousand bucks. By the end of the week, armies of paparazzi were camped outside my building. I had to acquire a wide range of wigs, raincoats and fake mustaches in order to get to and back from work every day. Whenever Jill caught sight of me in my current outfit, she broke down with hysterical fits of laughter. So at least someone was having fun with the situation.
Still, some of the more persistent press rats were sometimes not to be fooled by disguises. They sprang out of dark corners, waited behind trees and phone booths—one even tried to snap a picture of me from up on a rooftop! It was getting increasingly on my nerves, especially since I knew they needn't have bothered. They could just have gone down three blocks to the nearest police station. There, a perfectly good picture of me hung on the wall for all the world to see.
However, I decided not to mention this to them.
Apart from the paparazzi, my life wasn't so bad. In fact, it was pretty great. I got commended at work for finding the right diet for a particularly testy rich lady's cat, there hadn't been any news reports about the black widow Cassy McKinney for a long time, and Elliot... Elliot was simply perfect.
True, he hadn't used the L-word yet, but I felt it was merely a matter of time. And yes, he still hadn't shared his supposedly oh-so-dark secret with me, but I just couldn't see what could be wrong with a man like him, couldn't see how we could not be meant for each other. Date after date went by, and I never got tired of us looking at the stars together, of him whispering magical poetry into my ear and caressing me, bringing my darkest desires to the boiling point.
Not that we were always together: now and again, when work got too much for him, he would go off on so-called "guy days" which he spent tuning and racing monster-trucks with Zack, blowing off steam. I had no desire to get squashed by a tire of those giant metal beasts, so I stayed well away from the monster trucks and let the boys play with their tools, while I and the girls went clubbing.
But apart from time spent with Zack and his grandparents, he spent almost every free moment in my company. He told me again and again that he needed me, that I was a part of his life he couldn't do without. If that wasn't a confession of love, what was it?
I was just on my way back home from work, dreaming about the last time he had whispered "I need you!" into my ears—out on his yacht, on a romantic dinner date on the ocean—when someone jumped around the nearest corner.
"There! There she is!"
Crap! Paparazzi! And not just one of them! A whole pack of the bastards! They were damn relentless!
But there was one thing they had not counted on: me. I was not one of those flimsy Hollywood stars. My time with Chuck had taught me more than just how to break the human spine in seven different places. These people were in for a surprise.
"Excuse me, ma'am!" Snatching a white silk shawl from the neck of a surprised middle-aged lady on the sidewalk beside me, I hurriedly covered my face. Even through the material, I could still see the storm of flashes as it was unleashed upon me. "Thanks, ma'am!"
Whirling around, I ran down the street, away from my front door, towards my only getaway. Time for a little race!
"Get her!" someone called behind me.
"There she is! After her!"
"Help! Help! That crazy woman stole my shawl!"
I grinned. I couldn't help it.
"Someone get that thing off her face! We have to get a clear shot!"
"My shawl! Someone get my shawl back! It's Louis Vuitton! Someone call the FBI! The CIA!"
Through the fabric it was hard to see anything much besides shadows. Bumping into people and chucking them over right and left, I barreled down the sidewalk, heedless of anything in my way, intent only on escaping.
Okay... now it's time I actually put that training with Chuck to some good use!
Sliding down the scarf just far enough to see, I sped up, switching from jogging into full-out sprint gear. On either side of me, the night lights of New York whizzed past, and I caught people staring at me as I overtook a few cars crawling along the street at jam tempo.
"Fuck, she's fast!" I heard a voice from behind me. "What is this? I thought she was some rich guy's arm candy!"
"Shut up and run faster! She's getting away!"
I felt my grin widen to a full-blown serial killer smirk. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins, and the curses and pants from behind me only stirred the animal in me. They wanted a chase? All right, I would give them a chase!
There was a tree not ten yards in front of me, approaching fast. I sped up even more and when I was only two or so yards away, I bent my knees and sprang.
"Holy shit!"
The expletive from behind reached my ears just as I caught hold of the lowest branch and pulled myself up into the upper boughs of the tree. Too excited to think about the fact that I had no idea what I was doing, I clambered on like a squirrel, higher up, and higher, until I was beside the nearest street lamp. Then I jumped.
This time, it wasn't just the paparazzi I heard behind me. There were Ooohs and Ahhs from down in the street as I sailed through empty air and snatched hold of the street lamp. Clamping my arms and legs tightly around it, I pushed myself the last few yards up to the very top. From there, it was just another short jump, and I had caught hold of the edge of the nearest roof. With a final effort, my arms screaming for a break, I pulled myself up onto the flat roof and collapsed, panting.
Yes!
From down below, there came mixed curses—from the paparazzi—and cheers—from the other people watching, particularly the teenagers. Glancing down into the street, I saw that several of them had pulled out their phones and were filming. And snapping photos. My improvised veil had fluttered away during the climb up the street lamp, but fortunately I was too high up for anyone to get a clear shot.
"Who the hell was that?" yelled one of the teenagers, nudging one of the paparazzi, a broad grin on his face. "She's freaking awesome!"
The paparazzi said nothing in return, just shoved his camera back into its bag and marched away, muttering curses. Most of the other followed his example—but not all. Oh no.
"Well, well..." Grinning, one of the press hounds approached the street lamp, looking up. "That's a new one. Nice challenge for a change."
Then he spat into his hands, rubbed them together, and, taking a nice run-up, jumped up the street lamp. Quick as a monkey, he made his way up the steel pole.
Shit!
"You'd better stay where you are!" I shouted down at him.
"Or what, girly?" A derisive grin spread over his face. "Are you gonna stab me with your nail file?"
"No," I informed him. My hand went to the hidden knife at my belt.
Not with the nail file, mister. I have something much better.
"How nice of you. You'd better put a pretty smile on that face of yours, chick, because I'm coming up there and getting your picture!"
"Over my dead body!"
Or even better—yours!
It was time to go. He was already halfway up the lamp post. And if it really came to a showdown between us, I didn't want it here, with dozens of passers-by still standing around, staring up at me. I was already in enough trouble.
Jumping to my feet, I hurried to the other end over the roof, and took a look down. A fathomless chasm gaped in front of me.
Well, to be exact, it was probably only five stories, not fathomless, but still more than deep enough to break my neck. On the other hand, however...
I grinned, took a deep breath, and jumped.
With a thump, I hit the marquee I had been aiming for, and slammed into the cloth. The whole thing groaned and swayed beneath me. I hurled myself over the edge before it could give way, rolled to minimize my impact on the sidewalk and came up in front of a parked cab.
"Hi-ya!"
Bracing myself against the roof of the cab I used my momentum to leap right over it. Wow! I felt like the heroine in some martial arts film!
The cabby, who was hanging out of the open window on the other side of the taxi smoking a cigarette, seemed to have a similar opinion. His mouth fell open and the glowing stump dropped out of it.
"What the...!"
"Sorry." I gave him a winning smile. "I'm in a hurry!"
Behind me, I heard somebody else thud into the marquee. "Hey, you, girly! You'd better stop and make it easy on yourself! I'll catch you anyway!"
Ha! You'd better hope not—for your sake!
Sprinting across the busy street, leaping over honking cars and ducking out of the way of bikes, I delved into the first dark alley I could find. I had to get away! Away from light, away from people, away from anything that could lead to my being recognized. Behind me, I heard the slapping of the man's shoes on asphalt in pursuit.
"Just stop! One picture! That's all I want you little skank!"
"Well, you're not gonna get it, asshole!" I shouted back.
"Oh yes I am! I'll catch up to you! Just you wait!"
"Don't! I'm warning you!"
Laughter drifted back towards me. Laughter that was coming closer. Damn he was fast! "Is that supposed to be a threat?"
"Yes!"
"Well, take your threat and stick it up your—"
And he used a word that made me really, really mad. I had half a mind to turn around right now.
Don't! I told myself. Just because he's an asshole that doesn't necessarily mean he deserves to die. If all assholes deserved to die, you'd be busy slitting throats 24/7 for decades!
With a last effort, I tried to speed up once more. Suddenly, the dirty walls of the alley disappeared from both sides. I ran out onto a dark, wide open space. The only light came from a row of street lamps far too my left. In their flickering glow I saw just enough to make out a black, towering shadow above me.
A bridge!
Not a big one, by the looks of it. But maybe big enough to hide behind. Not stopping to think, I raced towards the enormous steel pylons that supported the structure. They were constructed out of solid steel beams, nearly as dark as my black clothes, and just wide enough to hide behind. Quickly, I slipped behind the nearest one and held my breath.
The paparazzi's footfalls were nearly drowned out by the beat of my own heart. Waiting with baited breath, I closed my eyes and listened. After a few moments, he came to a gradual stop and stood somewhere out there in the dark, panting.
"Hello, hello... come out, come out, wherever you are..."
I didn't say a word, didn't move a muscle.
"Oh, come out already! You know I'll catch you eventually."
Go away! Just go away!
"Well, if that's the way you want it... so be it."
I heard him start forward again. He wasn't going to give up. He was going to come looking, and eventually he would find me.
Slowly my eyes drifted upwards, up the intricate mesh of steel beams. Well... at least he wouldn't find me down here.
Making a quick decision, I gripped the lowest horizontal beam and pulled myself up. After only moments, I was halfway up the pylon. It was when I was about three quarters up that I heard the noise: a low rumble, approaching fast. Before I could figure out what was happening, a truck came barreling down the street, its bright headlights flooding the entire area—including me.
"Ah! There you are!"
Damn!
Doubling my pace, I tried to reach the top in time to get away. But my pesky pursuer was already starting up, and as I had discovered, he was a damn fast climber! In a matter of moments he was at my heels. And only a few seconds after I had swung myself over the railing of the bridge, I heard something behind me and looked over my shoulder just in time to see him land on the concrete, light-footed as a cat.
In a flash, he had raised his camera. The world was filled with sudden, bright white light and then it was dark again, and for a moment I stood there, half-turned towards my enemy, blinded. The knowledge, however, was there, clear in front of me, inescapable: my face had just been photographed.
"You bastard!" I growled.
I heard a chuckle out of the darkness. Slowly, my vision started to return, and I saw him standing there, a cocky grin on his face.
"Gotcha!" His grin became even wider.
Slowly, very slowly I turned fully towards him and raised my hands, balled into fists.
"You aren't gonna throw a hissy fit, are you?" he asked, chuckling again.
"Oh no." I took a step forward. "I thought of throwing something rather more substantial—like you. Maybe into a car... or a wall...or the fiery pits of hell!"
"Ooooh," still chuckling, he tucked his camera away. "Now I'm terrified!"
Cracking my knuckles, I took another step forward. "You should be."
Now I was only a yard or two away from him. My hand reached out, grabbing for his camera bag. He took a step backwards.
"Whoa! Fingers off, missy!"
"Give me your camera."
"In your dreams!"
"I'm too busy to dream about scum like you. Give it to me right now, or you'll regret it."
"What?" The grin on his face became so wide it threatened to split his skull in half. "Do you honestly think I'm really afraid of a little girl like you?"
One corner of my mouth twisted up in a smile worthy of Jack the Ripper. Sliding my hand under my jacket, I pulled the knife from its hidden sheath.
"Yeah," I told him. "I do."
His eyes zeroed in on the knife with quicker focus than any camera, and his face paled. "Whoa! Now, look here, girly..."
Still calling me girly, was he? Obviously, my own words weren't going to convince him. I racked my brains for something fitting to say. What do real tough guys say when they're threatening people?
Oh, yes, of course!
I took a deep breath. Giving him my sweetest smile, I lowered my voice and in my best, deep, threatening movie-actor kickass tone, said: "Yippie-ki-yay, person who takes motherly love too far!"
He blinked at me, uncomprehending. Sweat was starting to gather on his forehead. "W-what?"
I cleared my throat. "I said—" and I tried to lower my voice another few octaves, "Yippie-ki-yay, person who takes motherly love too far."
To illustrate the point, I raised the knife so the tip of the blade was pointed directly at his throat. He just stared at me.
"Damn! It doesn't really work, does it?" I glanced at my trusted old knife. "Oh well, maybe I should have gotten a hand grenade instead."
He was still staring at me, his eyes getting bigger by the minute. Slowly, he took another step backwards and bumped against the railing.
"A-are you crazy?"
"Not particularly, no. Do you think I should get myself a few hand grenades? Do you think they would complement my blouse and shoes?"
"I-I have no idea! I just... please..."
I sighed. "You'll have to excuse me. I'm still working on that merciless-killer thing and am not quite 100% there yet. In about a year or so I'll be ready to tear your throat out and trample on your remains, no problem."
"G-great. Just great. I wish you the best of luck with that. If you'll just let me go now—"
"Sorry. Can't do that, because," I cleared my throat and reverted once more to my serial-killer tone: "Because I have come here to eat gummy bears and kick ass. And I'm all out of gummy bears!" I frowned again. "Or was it chewing gum they ate in that movie? Damn! I can't remember."
"You're crazy!" The paparazzi was trying to climb back over the railing now. "You're completely crazy!"
"Well, maybe just a little bit," I allowed. Then, as gently as possible, I kicked him in the balls and shoved him over the railing of the bridge. I wasn't quite so gentle when I caught him by one leg, dangling him from the bridge, about twenty feet in the air above a concrete walkway. It wasn't easy, let me tell you. The guy was heavier than he looked, and he made all those totally unnecessary squealing noises, and wriggled like an overexcited worm.
"Now," I asked, when he was out of breath from screaming. "Let me ask you again more nicely. Will you give me that camera, please?"
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Hello, my dear homicidal maniacs,
Cassy is extending her skillset! Now she is goldfish-thrower and camera-snatcher in edition to serial killer ;-) I hope you approve of her character development into a more mature realistic character? ;D ;D
Cheers
Sir Rob