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With a curse Charlie slammed her fist into the top of her desk. She was failing Calculus Two. There was no way on earth Charlie could afford to fail again. This was the third time she had taken the class, and each time at mid-terms she had gotten her grade and had had to drop the class because she was failing.
This time she couldn’t fail. She was going to graduate from college in two months and there was no way in hell that she would push back her graduation date because she had failed that damn class again.
Charlie pushed herself away from her computer and stomped across her bedroom and down the stairs muttering evil things she would like to do to her Cal two professor. She was going to take her happy ass right on over to campus and bitch her teachers ear off. She was fucking bound and determined to save her grade.
On the way over to school, which was less than a ten minute drive across town, Charlie mentally got herself ready to do battle with her teacher. Professor Holloman was a thirty something year old math teacher who, according to his introduction on the first day of class, was married to teaching. He taught different classes of math, and his favorite was calculus, and he wanted them all to do their best and if they had any problems they should come and talk to him right away.
Charlie circled the parking lot and not finding a space worth having parked in a faculty spot. She could fucking care less if one of those damn Parking Nazi’s gave her a ticket. What was ten bucks compared to her future?
As she made her way to Professor Holloman’s office she told herself to cool down. It wouldn’t help a damn thing if she was so upset that she couldn’t see straight. It was really awful fault of hers, her whole family was even tempered cats, but she had a temper that could light a forest fire. She took deep breaths and steadily her stomps were replaced by regu Continue reading
The handcuffs bit cruelly into Cimarron’s wrists as they held her suspended by a chain from the ceiling. Stretching her legs, she could feel the hot, sandy floor brushing against her hoof tips. Her shoulders burned and her chest ached under the strain of holding her full weight. Her legs were held apart by a spreader bar and ankle cuffs that were locked just above her hooves. Her clothes had been taken, leaving her completely bare to the fur. The air in the room felt hot and stagnant. Sweat rolled down her body, stiffening her fur and plastering her reddish-gold mane to the top of her head and along the back of her neck. She didn’t know how long she’d been here; hours, maybe even days. There was no light; no means of measuring the passage of time save for the seemingly regular visits of her ‘keeper.’
She had been fed and watered at least three times so far, or was it four? It was getting hard to tell. Each time her keeper had carefully slipped a tube passed her gag, pushing it almost gently down her throat before pumping some kind of thick paste into her stomach. This was followed by a brief flow of water that quenched her thirst. The tube was carefully withdrawn and she was left alone in the dark
Cimarron tried thinking back to how she’d gotten here. Her last memories had been of a bar near the campus. It was Friday night and she’d been celebrating the end of mid-term exams with a couple of her friends. Then nothing. She never drank to exc Continue reading
This is not my story it was wrote by Bernard Doove
The day had dawned still and clear. There was a chilly bite in the air that made it all the more refreshing. My fur and Trina’s easily kept us warm, but Kris’ fur was lighter and he preferred to wear a jacket, although I suspected that he wouldn’t need it for too long. The hike would soon warm him up and the weather promised another hot day.
We had our breakfast before dawn and we were prepared to leave shortly after sunup. It was our intention to make our way to the mountains to the south where the trail made its way through a high pass and it intersected with another path from the east. There we would meet with my sister, Goldfur, who would join us for our hike for the next couple of days. Shi seldom got the opportunity to travel with us as hir work as a starship technician kept hir a long way from Earth for many weeks. After about an hour of walking, the trail started winding its way up the mountainside. Unlike yesterday’s emergency, there was no rush, and we could take greater care negotiating the path, although it wasn’t as dangerous as the cliffside trail. We paused at one of the open areas to gaze out over the valley. The sunlight was reflecting off ripples on the lake and a flock of cockatoos was noisily making its way to some feeding site. Everywhere else was virtually unbroken green with the bluish tinge that results from eucalyptus oil in the air. I felt very possessive of this beautiful country and I’m pleased to be able to contribute to maintaining it in its near pristine state.
We proceeded with our hike and it wasn’t long before we ha Continue reading
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This is not my story it was wrote by Bernard Doove
The sights and smells of the eucalyptus forest were always special to me. It was spring; the rain and sun had worked its usual magic on the plantlife. Everything was in full growth because it was too soon yet for the country to start drying out. Numerous small creeks could be heard making their way down to meet their larger brethren and the soil and compost beneath my paws was moist and smelled delightfully earthy and alive.
I was making my way along a barely discernible track that meandered between towering mountain ash and around stands of tree-ferns. No easy walking trail this; it also turned into a rock-climb in parts. It was infrequently used due to its length and difficulty, but I was in heaven. I loved this temperate bushland and I was always pleased to find an excuse to come out this way. I am a chakat, a feline taurform morph named Forestwalker. I had earned my adult name from my frequent excursions into the bushlands that so suited lifeforms such as me. My human friends tell me how much they enjoy the sights and sounds of the forest. How much more my far sharper senses could tell me. My nose alone could tell me more about what was happening around me than a human’s full range of senses. As I travelled the trail, I was exploring the area by sound and smell, as well as sight, and it was utterly delightful.
However, today’s trek wasn’t a mere bushwalk. Today, I had a goal. I was heading for a hut built in a clearing near a small lake deep in the national park. Some hiking enthusiast had built it many years ago, but as it was on public land, it was available to any weary hiker passing b Continue reading
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I could smell a number of humans and a lot of alcohol. Worse yet, I could smell blood. Finally I was close enough to spy through a bush. I gasped in horror. So many pelts and carcasses. More animals still alive, crammed into tiny cages. I saw one man packing eggs into padding. This was not a case of a couple of poachers making a bit of money illegally. This was one end of a big smuggling operation. These people had their fingers into a bit of everything, and we had practically camped in their backyard. There were too many weapons around here and I thought that it was time to get far away from here. I commenced my retreat until a voice loudly commanded, “Stop right there! ”
Off to my right was a mean-looking character with a rifle pointed in my direction. He looked under the weather and had probably been sleeping it off out of sight of his buddies. I had the misfortune of crossing his path and a fickle breeze, combined with my distress, had prevented me detecting his presence. “Now what have we here? A kittykat spy? What do you think you were doing? ”
We chakats are fast, but that gun could hardly miss at that range. I decided that it was best to answer him and hopefully find a chance to escape. “I heard some gunshots and I was curious about what was happening,” I began. I was going to spin a yarn about being a lone hiker and I really hadn’t seen anything, when I realised that he wasn’t really hearing what I was saying. …to be continued!