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Diagnosed with epilepsy at the age of eleven T L Spencer turned to writing as a way to cope with her condition. Her vivid imagination and love of all things paranormal influenced her writing. T L Spencer enjoys all forms of literature and is currently studying at university, hoping to become a teacher.

Monday, 3 September 2012

Rat in a Pet Shop


Will that infernal macaw ever shut up, I think, as I look through the horizontal bars of the cage. He always makes such a racket.  I thought that he had been sold but obviously I was wrong. I can’t say I blame them. Who would want a gobby parrot with a feather problem?

Today is the day. Today I will say goodbye to this 8 by 12 box and say hello to paradise. Tonight, I will be in a big house with warm, fuzzy saw dust, yummy food and blissfully cool water. I just have to be good, advertise myself, curl my tail like a good little rat and run on my wheel for all the little humans – even if they smell funny.

A shop keeper refreshes my water; about time too! It’s been warm and between you, me and the rat post, it was starting to smell. And it had green stuff in it! The woman drops a treat in my cage and I eat it gladly, taking a peek at my neighbours.

To my right are the albino mice. Odd creatures if truth be told – their eyes are creepy – I can never tell where they’re looking. They hardly make any noise so I can’t say I’m overly fussed. The left neighbours are altogether different. As the constant hum of the AC isn’t enough (not forgetting that parrot) I have to deal with the chipmunks! Yes! A giant cage filled with squeaky, stripy, hyper chipmunks! If I could roll my eyes, I would believe me. I look across the way and see (surprise, surprise) more cages. Hamsters.  A little grey one is huddled up in its straw bed, hardly visible. It’s trying to sleep, I get that, but really? How can it be so dense? It’s never going to get out of here like that. My whiskers shake in irritation – sleeping, how ridiculous.

A sudden smell has me recoiling, running into my little hut at the back of the cage. A dangerous  scent has hit the air: cold, hard, predatory. A young man walks down the aisle with a grin on his face, holding up a glass box. I shiver in my black and white coat, my tail trembles. My whiskers quiver and I can feel my nose wrinkle at the horror. A snake. Every rodent hides away until the danger passes and the fun begins. Why bring a snake down here? Imagine if it broke free – caged little happy meals just ripe for the picking! A couple enters with two little ones and I push the scaly thoughts aside. They rush to our cages and it’s my chance to show off.

I do my best, I run on my wheel, I do funny tricks with my tail and they watch with smiles. In my own way, I am screaming “Pick me, pick me!” And it seems to be working. But no. They don’t want a native pet. An animal whose name they can actually pronounce. No, they want a fancy, all singing, all dancing exotic pet from Chile, or wherever it is that Degus come from.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a racist rodent. I adore my cousins big and small. I just want to be loved. And if we’re honest, what makes an ‘exotic’ pet so bloody special anyway? And it is not just one that they buy! They take two! They’re taken out their cages without much effort and placed in a carrier. I’d congratulate them both if they didn’t look so smug. I can hear them now, with those smarmy accents, “Adios amigos!” Disgusting.

Am I doomed to remain a pet shop rat forever?

I go to bed, feeling gloomy and forlorn and make little effort to look cute when people come to peer in my cage. What is the point? Still, as it reaches closing time and a birthday boy runs in, I can’t help but lift my head. The boy wants a rat. What can it hurt, I think? My tail twitches and I head to my wheel. One last go for old time’s sake.

He runs straight to my cage and jumps with excitement. This is it! This boy is the answer, my ticket to a new home! Minutes later, as I’m taken out those weird sliding doors at the front of the shop, I look back at all my exotic cousins. “Cheerio,” I think. They really aren’t so bad after all.

A Whisper In His Ear


Rain pelted against the windows as a heavy storm raged on outdoors but inside, in the darkness of his normal home, a different kind of storm was brewing. He was wide awake and burning. Every cell in his body was screaming at him. What should he do? Should he listen? Should he ignore? He had to decide soon, his body was on fire. 
He knew instinctively that there was only one way to quench it. Her: she could extinguish the flames, sooth his racing heart, cool his burning body. But she was the reason he was hot in the first place, plaguing him, his thoughts, continually… Especially at night; she was lethal at night.
Something stirred in the air. She had returned.
The infernal siren that kept him awake night after merciless night: praying for rest, praying for mercy, praying for release. It was always the same. The same time, the same place, the same voice… the same husky, impossible requests. It was driving him mad.
She returned in the usual manner, a soft sigh, a whisper, breathed light into his ear followed by a deep and breathy moan. The sounds of promised pleasure; pleasure he was doomed never to receive. Not until he granted her wishes. He wanted to hold out, deny her further, build up the longing, break her down… but he couldn’t. He was running out of patience. He wanted it.
When she came to him fully, emerging from the shadows, he could almost taste her, the sweetness of her skin, and the salty tang of her tears.  He could smell her scent through his nostrils. He took a deep breath, savouring the deep scent of perfume and musk, the heat of feminine arousal. His mouth watered at her use of feminine wiles – pretending to be guarded with her affections. He knew she wanted it. Just as much as he did.
He could see her clearly now, her outline no longer blurred by the darkened corners of the room. She was a wild mermaid, a heavenly siren in reckless abandon. She beckoned him closer with her eyes, they were almost pleading. Her hands were high above her head, her back arched by the position. She wanted him to worship her.
As always, she was unclothed, her perfect satin skin visible and available. He could touch her now. No one could come between them. He stepped closer to her, holding out his hand. Her eyes closed in rapturous sensation as his hand drifted to her breast. He touched and she gasped.
The whispering started again.
In biting moans of need, his siren panted. “Release me, and I will give you whatever you want. Anything at all, I swear. Just release me.” His ears rang with the needy plea.
“Leave me alone, siren. I can’t think when you’re whispering at me!”
“Release… Release me… I beg you…” Another whisper… he ignored it. Would he ever get any peace?
Something rattled and it drew his attention… That’s right, he thought, the chains. No wonder she can’t move. A grin split across his face and he remembered why his siren was here with him. She had said ‘no’ to him. After months together, she had said ‘no’.
“Release… Release me… I beg you… Please, I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever you want. Just let me go… Please!” She begged and she cried and he watched. But he had made up his mind.
What he wanted, what she wanted, could wait.
“No.” He looked down at the siren, her eyes wide in shock. “You put me through hell for months. The least I can do is put you through the same.”
He turned from her and strode away. The whispering had stopped. For one night at least.
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