#on the off chance anybody cares: ‘imp’ is Teazer ‘puck’ is Jerrie ‘numinous’ is Tantomile and ‘arcane’ is Coricopat

[cryptidvoidwritings]

*kicks (a wholly un-kinky, sfw/sft, bit of silliness) into the void*

Day 16: Pet Names - 1100 words

The thing is, everybody has a pet name.

Some are obvious: Bombs, Cass, Queenie, and Lightning Bug. Jenny will not tolerate anything else... except when she allows ‘Dottie’ (to this day Quaxo doesn’t know how Tugger managed that). He still refers to Macavity as ‘Macca’ sometimes, he’s never called Munkustrap anything but ‘Straps’ as far as Quaxo knows, and he calls Jemima ‘dove’.

Some are more clever: Numinous and Arcane, Imp and Puck, Sir Pouncington Cival III and Et Tu (and really, when had Tugger ever read Shakespeare?), Cadence (Demeter’s reaction when he’d first call her that was admittedly very funny), and Miss Misc. He has even referenced Quaxo’s uncle as Uncle Brummell, though he has the good sense not to say it to Bustopher’s face.

Some were initially calculated to annoy and eventually became fond, like Slinky (which Alonzo still will not cop to liking) or Jelly Roll (Jellylorum swats every time he uses it but she somehow always misses, even when he’s right next to her). Every so often he uses Augustus instead of Gus just to see Gus Jr roll his eyes and hide a smile. Plato has been ‘Socrates’ for as long as Quaxo can remember, and George remains ‘Curious George’.

So yeah, everybody has a pet name. Everyone but him.

He can’t even blame it on being new to the junkyard, since both Alonzo and Victoria have had names bestowed on them

“Don’t push your luck. He’s just going to wind up calling you ‘socks’ or something,” Alonzo yawns.

“What if it means he doesn’t actually like me?”

“I really don’t think that’s a problem,” Cassandra says dryly.

“But—.”

“Have you asked him?”

Quaxo draws back in horror. “But then he’d know. I’d never hear the end of it.”

“But I might,” Alonzo grumbles.

Cassandra nips his ear. “Be nice.”

“Ow.” Alonzo pulls his most pathetic ‘hurt’ face. When Cassandra remains unmoved, he pouts and rolls onto his back. “Seriously, Quax, just ask him about it. But if he starts calling you ‘duck’ or ‘quack’, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“You realize that not having your name mangled makes you special among the tribe?” Cassandra asks.

Quaxo frowns. “Special?”

“There isn’t a cat who gets away with their name unscathed. Except you.” She punctuates this with a whip of her tail across his back.

“Do not tell me he respects my little brother more than his own father,” Alonzo groans.

“He has a name for Old Deuteronomy?” Quaxo whispers, eyes wide.

“I can neither confirm nor deny that he has been overheard to refer to his father as High Top, Esq, providing Old Deuteronomy is not available to hear him,” Cassandra says sagely.

Quaxo can’t help but smile; that sounds exactly like something he’d expect from Tugger. It also means that even Tugger’s father has a special name and Quaxo is definitely the only cat who doesn’t. He curls his tail around his paws and sinks down into its meager cover.

“Oh, now see what you’ve done? You’ve made him sad.”

Cassandra kicks Alonzo and licks Quaxo’s cheek. “Love, it really doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you. Just talk to him if it bothers you so much.”

Quaxo sighs. Apparently, he has no choice.

+

One never knows when the Rum Tum Tugger can be found in the junkyard. He comes and goes (nobody knows exactly where to) as he pleases. There is no rhyme or reason to his visits but Quaxo has always had a sense for them. He just knows that Tugger will visit, so he sits out that evening, watching the sun disappear behind the human dwellings near the junkyard from the roof of the rusting car. He keeps one eye on the main gate because the Rum Tum Tugger can certainly creep when he wants to.

The Rum Tum Tugger isn’t creeping tonight. His paws land heavily on the ground as he walks through the main clearing. His path is roughly aiming for his den. Quaxo stands to draw Tugger’s attention. He arches his back in a stretch and jumps from the car roof to the boot.

“Tugger.”

“Out late, eh, Quaxo?”

“Just watching the sunset.”

“Sure you weren’t waiting for me?” Tugger chuckles. He joins Quaxo on the boot, wrapping his tail around his paws.

Quaxo sighs. Now or never. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Tugger lifts a surprised eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Why do you give everybody pet names?”

Tugger’s head cocks to the side and he hums. Quaxo waits to be made fun of but for a long while, there are only the sounds of London between them.

“Seemed a thing to do,” Tugger says at last.

“What?”

“It annoyed all the right cats for a while.” Tugger shrugs. “But then they all got used to it. I was going to stop because it was boring not to get a reaction, but the first time I didn’t call Straps Straps after months of him swearing he’d have me sent to the pound, he gave me the biggest sad cow eyes.”

Quaxo’s lips twitched up. “And what about those who liked it from the start?”

“Them, it’s just cute. Have you seen how Pouncival puffs up? Or how Etcetera giggles? Seems mean to stop.” Tugger frowns. “Why ask? Did someone ask you to ask me to stop?”

“Would you?”

Tugger stretches out his back legs and resettles. “Depends on who.”

“What if someone wanted one?”

Quaxo forces himself not to cringe away from the dawning understanding. Tugger’s eyes twinkle. He lowers himself into a loaf, bringing his head down to Quaxo’s height, pressing their foreheads together. Quaxo keeps hold of his gaze in spite of Tugger’s knowing smile.

“This is because you don’t have one, hm?”

There is suddenly a spot of dirt on Quaxo’s paw that absolutely must be attended to. He grooms it fastidiously. Tugger chuckles. Quaxo figures he might as well clean his ears while he’s working on his paw. He turns slightly away so he can really work the back of them. Tugger’s paw lands on his shoulders and pulls him in. He’s purring like a chainsaw as he takes over grooming Quaxo’s ears.

“See… the thing is,” he says between long, rough licks, “I’m not entirely sure you’re ready for one.”

“What does that mean?” Quaxo grumbles.

“Dunno yet. There’s just... more to you.”

Quaxo cannot decide if he should be flattered or not. Tugger starts to groom his head fur backward and Quaxo wiggles away. He swats half-heartedly. Tugger catches his paw and kisses it.

“Show me?”

Quaxo smiles and calls on his magic