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“Ughhhh….”
I jolted out of my slumber at the sound of a crash and a pathetic groan. I had hidden inside a small box next to a dumpster in a cramped alleyway. It was my favorite sort of place to rest, as it provided ideal shelter and solitude. The food scraps I could find for breakfast inside the trash weren’t bad either. However, the peace and quiet that I had grown to expect from these sorts of places was interrupted by an unexpected intruder. Now, as a raccoon living outside, I’m no stranger to fighting other animals for food scraps. Despite my small size, I like to think my fighting capabilities are suitable for survival in the harsh conditions of the streets of Boston. But, if the smell, size of the crash, and the inflection of the noise this creature had made were any indication, it was no enemy vermin that had decided to invade my space. No, this was a human. I was not certain I’d be able to take a human in a fight… I might have been able to scare it off with the promise of ‘rabies’ or some other disease, but I’ve grown to find most humans who would end up in an alleyway such as this one don’t particularly care for that sort of cleanliness anyway.
I poked my head out of the threshold of the box, deciding to observe and evaluate instead. For what I lack in size and strength, I make up for in intelligence. I can understand most human speech and my logic has saved me many times where otherwise, due to my status as ‘runt of the litter’, I would have been overpowered by an opponent. I do not know why this is. I doubt there is anything more special about me than any other raccoon. It is certainly not a special power, more commonly referred to as an ‘ability’. That is an anomaly exclusive to humans. No, I am simply just different. Another way to make me an outcast among my fellow raccoons, as if me being a small weakling wasn’t enough.
But you didn’t ask for my sob story.
So, back to this human. I looked over to the source of the crash to see what looked to be two legs sticking out of the dumpster. Is it… inside? Why on earth would it do that? I understand humans can be stupid sometimes, despite their arrogance in claiming superior intelligence over other lifeforms, but… really? I heard another groan from the human, louder this time. It didn’t sound like it was in physical pain… but the groans it was making were still extremely pathetic.
Curiosity overtook my survival instinct to flee. Another thing about me that caused a rift between other raccoons and myself: I craved knowing and knowing more. I wanted to know who this human was. Why was he (it sounded like a male human) in a dumpster? Why did he sound so… broken? I slowly crept out of my box of safety and gingerly approached the dumpster’s edge. It was too tall for me to see inside. I would need to get some sort of vantage point. Looking around, I spied a stack of crates in a corner. There were two buildings that created this alleyway. One was some sort of residence and the other was what humans called a ‘restaurant’. I’ve always been fascinated by those. Humans could enter and ask for food and it would just be served to them like it was the easiest thing in the world. No having to go out and scavenge for it yourself. Sometimes, during harsh winters, I wished I could enter a restaurant and take advantage of this paradise. However, I didn’t know how to get the little slips of paper that they always gave the people inside, which seems like an important part of the process (Later, I’ll learn about the value of that paper, ‘money’. The frightening boss of The Guild, Lord Fitzgerald, is very fond of it). Besides, there is the ever-important fact that I am a raccoon, not likely to be served. The scraps they throw out back are sufficient enough for me.
These crates must have held some sort of shipment of supplies before but were now left to sit and create a convenient way for me to reach the rim of the dumpster. There, I peered over the edge. I would say what I found inside shocked me, which it did, but that was only a secondary emotion to the overwhelming pity I felt at the creature inside.
The man was lying there among the heaps of garbage bags. His long dark brown hair fell over his eyes, obscuring most of his face from my view. I wondered if he couldn’t afford to get it trimmed, but his attire, while covered in juices from the garbage, suggested otherwise. Normally, humans who lacked that aforementioned green paper didn’t wear such things. He groaned again, but this time I could begin to make out some words.
“In the garbage… the trash where I belong…” he mumbled, “What do I even do with myself…? How can I even begin to…”
He interrupted his deranged musings with another loud groan. I began to feel uncomfortable. This human was clearly suffering from some sort of mental ailment. That’s not uncommon. I didn’t know what spawned his desire to rot among filth, but now the survival instinct was winning out the curiosity. For once. Mother would be proud. For once.
However, just as I was about to take my leave, my foot slipped on the rim of the dumpster and I loudly scrambled to regain my footing. This disturbed the man inside, who jolted and screamed. Once I established my bearings, I turned to see the man staring at me, astonishment on his face. His bangs had moved out of the way of his right eye, which was staring at me wide with shock. Observing his face, I made note of the bags under his eyes, evidence of sleepless nights and extreme fatigue. Perhaps he would write this off as a hallucination derived from delirium.
He did not. What he did instead surprised me.
“H-hello…” he said. I froze in shock. Did this human just… greet me?
Raccoons are not an animal that is highly regarded by humans. We are considered pests or vermin all because we happen to be resourceful and make use of what humans put in things called ‘trash bins’. Trash! They literally are getting rid of it! So what if I, starving and in need of food, take some that you yourself admit you do not need anymore? But, this is considered a ‘nuisance’ and was what made me cautious to approach in the first place. Normally, when humans see me, I get yelled at and sometimes even attacked with glass bottles or other projectiles. No… being addressed is new.
“Don’t be afraid…I’m not going to hurt you,” he shifted his position to sit a little more upright in the filth, yet kept himself small -- a difficult feat for such a tall man -- almost like he was trying to not frighten me further. He clearly had experience dealing with stray animals. I felt myself relax in spite of myself. My curiosity was winning again. Usually such behavior was reserved for stray cats or dogs, more socially accepted animals, not raccoons, so this was most curious. I tilted my head at him.
“That’s it…” the man smiled, his voice quiet and soft. He slowly reached out a hand toward me. Did he want to pet me? I didn’t like the idea of being touched, not one bit. I flinched back, and he retracted his hand, his eyes widened. “S-sorry for my presumption…” he mumbled. He did realize that I’m a raccoon, right? He should assume I can’t understand him. Why was he speaking to me like an equal? I guess some soft-hearted humans tended to do that to animals, but I’ve never been on the receiving end. Perhaps it was this unexpected respect that lowered my defenses, and I took one step toward him, walking into the dumpster. He perked up and slowly held his hand back out to me before placing it gently on my head. The man stroked between my ears with a gentleness that reminded me of when I was a kit and my mother would do so with her tongue. I took another step closer and began purring in response at the relaxing sensation his actions triggered. He smiled widely.
You might be wondering why I’ve folded so easily, and frankly, so am I. Living on the streets, survival is of utmost importance. This caused me to be wary of all things, humans most especially. Even with my unusual curiosity, I restricted myself to learning only what I could observe safely from afar. However, this man seemed different. I was drawn to him for reasons I cannot explain. Was it the pity I felt at his wallowing in filth? The way he treated me like an equal instead of vermin? I am not sure. All I know is my judgement was slack in approaching him as I have done, but it does not seem to have backfired on me. His hands were cold, yet the way his bony fingers ran through my fur soothed me. I do not remember the last time I felt this relaxed. This… cared for. But that’s impossible. He does not care about me. I am but a raccoon he has just met in a dumpster. He cannot care about me.
“My name is Edgar,” he said, “I’m sorry. This must be your home and here I’ve come, intruding and making a ruckus,” he sighed, "I'm just so…despondent lately. My self worth is really at an all time low…”
I didn’t know how to respond to this. I couldn’t exactly provide him words of comfort. I cannot speak for one, but also, despite having a higher intelligence than most raccoons, it’s mostly logic-based. I don’t think I have very good emotional intelligence. The most I could provide was a comforting chirp. This seemed to soothe. Maybe I underestimated my skills in empathy.
“I’m working on something. Something very important, and I’m… stuck. I’ve been stuck. For weeks,” he let out another long sigh, his hair falling back over his face, “I- I just wonder sometimes if this is really worth it…? Maybe that… that day was a sign. That maybe I’m not--” his voice choked up, like he was about to start crying. I stiffened and thrust my head into his hand. His eyes widened, and I felt myself pause. I had no idea why I had done that. Some sort of instinct took over. My unexpected action seemed to ground him, however, and he smiled.
“You’re right…” he continued to pet me in that hypnotically captivating way, “I’m being too hard on myself. It is not uncommon for people to feel a spurt of writer’s block if they have been working on something for a long time… and I cannot give up. No, I cannot. Not now. Not… ever…” his voice took on a low undertone and I felt his demeanor shift from one of pathetic self-loathing to that of an ominous determination. His gentle hand remained the same yet the rest of the man has taken on a new form: that of an obsessive goal-seeker.
“I must thank you, little one,” his tone returned to being quiet and soft and his eyes looked down on me with a sad gentleness that tugged on my heartstrings, “I did not have many friends to begin with, and I’ve been isolating myself for so long now trying to write this novel that they have all but given up on trying to maintain a relationship with me… They just did not understand my need to do this… it is not merely a means of studying an interesting phenomena. No, my pride is at stake… They just did not understand. No one ever does, but they did not feel the crushing shame that I did. The utter humiliation. I- I cannot afford to give up for anything. I would have maybe taken a break… maybe… But, they never exactly asked me to. Just told me to quit and called it a fool’s errand. Said hurtful things like I was erratic and obsessive… dismissing me instead of trying to understand why… maybe they had always thought these things. Maybe… they were just waiting for the opportunity to say them…”
I was intrigued beyond belief. This man threw himself into a dumpster and identified himself with the worthless objects inside; addressed a street vermin creature like myself with kindness you would give to an equal; and, with subtle touches from me that could be considered encouraging, derived enough comfort to strengthen some powerful resolve he had buried inside for some unknown task. This was the strangest human I have ever met, and while I had not yet met many, I had observed plenty to know that this Edgar was no ordinary human, and his little monologue had only confirmed this. He was an outcast among his society just as I was. I had never felt this connected to another being before, and he wasn’t even a raccoon. Perhaps this was what I needed: a companion like him…
I dismissed the thought immediately. What was I thinking? Why would any human want a raccoon as a pet? Heck, why would I even want to be a pet? Being a pet means being shut inside. A loss of freedom! I didn’t want that. Sure, I would probably have security in terms of consistent food and shelter. I would have a companion in Edgar who would treat me nicely and keep petting me just like he was doing now, and talk to me with that soothing voice of his. No more lonely nights in boxes. But losing my freedom to go explore the world and attempt to satisfy my insatiable curiosity… Besides, he wouldn’t take me in anyway. Sure, he was being nice now, but that was just because of his situation. Throwing yourself into a dumpster isn’t exactly a sign of a decent mental-state. No, I was just an odd source of comfort to him at a low point. Nothing more.
Yet I couldn’t help but feel a sense of longing.
“You’re a very good listener,” he remarked, taking me out of my musings. “Sorry to burden you with my troubles like this. I have really been an imposition,” he laughed, “but… you do not seem to mind? You… have been oddly cooperative,” he paused in his petting to examine me closely. We made eye contact and I saw his eyes widen slightly. He then shook his head, as if dismissing some sort of thought he had. He retracted his hand from my head leaving me with a cold sense of loss. He looked up at the sky, and I followed his gaze. Dark clouds were converging overhead, and I could smell rain in the air. There was sure to be a storm. I’d have to find more adequate shelter than the cardboard box I had been sleeping in prior to this encounter. Maybe there was a hole in one of the crates. There are a few slits in the wood that would allow rain to sneak in, but ultimately it was better than the cardboard, which would begin to deteriorate soon after a heavy downpour began.
“It looks like it is going to rain. I should go home,” Edgar mused. He kept glancing at me and back at the sky. Perhaps he was wondering why I stayed by his side instead of moving to find shelter. Well, I could ask him the same question. He made no move to leave either.
“It would be a shame to be out in this storm,” he thought out loud, “Wet. Cold…” Well, gee, thanks, Edgar. I’m sure I wouldn’t know anything about that--
My thoughts were interrupted as I felt arms wrap around me and raise me from the filth. I quickly turned my head. Edgar had picked me up, and was holding me in one arm as he climbed out of the dumpster with surprising ease. I felt a jolt shoot through my body as he landed on the pavement and swiftly exited the alleyway. I did not react initially, the sheer absurdity of the situation causing me to freeze, but once the initial shock had worn off, I began to squirm violently in his grasp. I had been tricked. That pathetic display was nothing but a facade. Edgar, if that even was his real name, was taking me somewhere, overpowering me. How could I have been so stupid ? Had I learned nothing in my years on the streets? Trust nothing and no one, especially humans, no matter how kind they may seem. How comforting their hands are. How soft their voice is. I hissed and writhed, making myself nearly impossible to hold. Edgar’s grip on me tightened and he stopped moving to regain his hold on me.
“Hush…” his voice was not that of a hunter annoyed at the resistance of his prey, but of that soothing reassurance he used earlier, “don’t be afraid… I’m not going to harm you…” I felt myself relax in spite of myself. What had I just said? Trust no one. He shifted me gently in his arm and moved his other hand to pet me. Pacify me. No, I will not fall for that again. With a snarl, I bit his hand. He let out a startled yelp and nearly dropped me. I had drawn blood and the crimson liquid began dripping down his knuckles and weaving around his fingers. I expected him to toss me ruthlessly aside and give up on this… whatever this was: abduction? But instead he just shook the drops of blood from his hand, adjusted me in his arm, and continued on.
The sky darkened further and a rumble of thunder was heard in the distance. I felt a drop of water hit my head once, twice, then the rain began, fast and heavy. Edgar paused and grabbed the edge of his long black coat nearest to me and shielded me from the rain. My vision was obscured and I felt him continue on, himself without any shelter from the torrential downpour. What was he doing? He was gentle when handling me, and if he had any desire to harm me, he likely would have done something in retaliation to me injuring him. So… where was he taking me?
“I must look deranged…” he commented, and I could sense his grip on me tighten, “filthy, soaked, carrying something beneath my coat…” he let out a bitter chuckle, “at least now they can’t see what… ” Perhaps it was in response to my shivering (This was a frightening predicament. Of course my entire body was filled with fear), but he began to use one thumb to caress my side in an effort to comfort me. In contradiction to my earlier panic, I decided that Edgar had no ill intentions. He was not taking me somewhere to hurt me. In fact, I thought maybe he might have been trying to help me instead. Perhaps he pitied my lack of shelter in lieu of the oncoming storm. Maybe he had an idea of where I could hide instead. A manhole, perhaps? Or a tunnel?
Soon, his walking slowed and eventually he stopped. Being covered by his coat, I could not see what he was doing, but I heard the rustling of clothes and the jingling of keys. Within a few moments, there was the sound of a door opening and Edgar entered the building and shut the door. The coat was then lifted from my eyes. Blinking to adjust to the sudden light, I took in my surroundings. It was a large room, probably for the purpose of greeting human guests, with offshoots of passages leading to other rooms. I had never been inside a human dwelling before… Wait, I am inside of a human dwelling…? Did he take me to his home ? I looked up at him in confusion and he seemed to be just as shocked as I was.
“I have a raccoon in my house,” he mumbled to himself, “I found a raccoon, and I took it to my house…” He let out a heavy sigh, “Okay… okay… I really have gone mad…”
He carried me to a large room. The curtains were drawn over the windows, covering the entire room in darkness, but that did not matter for me. Raccoons can see well in the dark. The walls were lined with shelves of what humans called ‘books’ and there was a big desk in the middle of the space. The place looked like a wind had swept through it: papers scattered everywhere and pens and other sorts of utensils for writing (a human activity I have observed at times) strewn about. Edgar set me down on a small couch in the corner and moved to set fire to a few white sticks near a part of the room without much paper, which provided a little bit of light to the room. Further examination of the shelves revealed that Edgar had an odd taste in human decoration. There were many old objects, some replications of ravens that gave me pause, but most intriguing of all was a small framed photo on the desk. It was a cut from a newspaper clipping, but it was odd. I cannot read human script, but I can recognize it. The one on the paper was not that of the ones I had seen from newspapers on the street, meaning it most likely was not from Boston. Encompassing the majority of the paper scrap was a picture of a young man with dark hair and an arrogant smile. Sentimental humans valued the art of taking pictures and capturing moments, particularly of loved ones. I have seen enough photographers in parks taking pictures of families to discern this. Perhaps this was a loved one of Edgar’s.
He finished lighting the sticks and looked at me from across the room. He was dripping wet, hair and clothes plastered to his body, and the wound on his hand was still raw and bleeding, yet he remained still and stared at me, wracked with indecision.
“I sort of picked you up in the spur of the moment… now you’re actually here…” he mused, but I was unsure if it was to himself or to me. He then lifted his wounded hand and winced. I felt a little guilty. I was certain he had pure intentions now and I had repaid that by possibly giving him some sort of disease. I’m not exactly the cleanest. “I am reluctant to leave you alone… I mean, you are a racoon, but…” he then took a step toward me, “somehow… I don’t think you’ll do anything.” He took off his drenched cloak, hung it near the lit sticks, and left the room, but not before laying a small blanket on the couch. I walked over to it and sniffed it before settling in. It was the softest thing I had laid on in a while. One time, I found a small ratty blanket among some filth that made a nice bed, but like many of my situations before, that was a one night arrangement. I didn’t like to stay in one place for too long. If humans realize I live there, they call pest control. That was one thing Edgar had gotten wrong in our meeting. He did not disturb me in my home because that was not my home. Neither were any of my previous living arrangements, even when I was a kit by my mother’s side. I had never had a ‘home’ before.
After a while, Edgar came back in new, dry clothes, his hair still damp but brushed, and his hand wrapped in white cloth. He set a small plate next to me that had what smelled like peaches. I looked up to see him smiling softly.
“A peace offering…” he said. I licked the peach--sliced with care-- and it was the nicest and most sweet thing I had the pleasure of tasting in… forever. I clasped it in my paws and began to eat it properly. Edgar sat down next to me on the couch and fiddled with his thumbs before he spoke again.
“I do not blame you for biting me. In fact, I must apologize for picking you up and carrying you away like that. It must have been frightening. I just… I couldn’t leave you there, not after all you had done for me,” he explained. I tilted my head. After all I had done? But I had done nothing.
“I know you didn’t really do anything,” he elaborated as if he could understand my gesture, “but… I don’t know. I felt listened to. Well, listened to without judgement and… you’re probably going to think I sound mad, but I feel like…” he looked at me with a small and nervous smile, yet his eyes held the smug certainty of someone who had seen through someone’s ruse, “you can understand me, can’t you?”
I felt myself pause. I mean, of course I can. Understand him, I mean. Like I mentioned previously, I can understand most human speech, and I have observed the lives of humans from afar long enough to pick up on the mannerisms, culture, and bureaucracy of human society. Well, at least that of those in Boston. I had never exactly interacted with a human before Edgar, but surely I’d be able to pick up on all the moods and quirks of which I detected in him just as easily as any other human.
“I thought as much,” he said smugly, “And… I can understand you a little as well… you have an intelligence in your eyes that I have not observed in other creatures before. If it were not thoroughly disproven to be possible, I’d say I found the first instance of an animal possessing an ability. And you’re not an ability user who can turn into a raccoon either, otherwise you would have not let me take you to a second location. In that situation, insisting on staying in your raccoon form is hardly ideal: I’m bigger and stronger than you, and I had you restrained in my arms. Also, no offense, but you’re also abnormally small for a raccoon as well. If biting me was not enough to deter me, you would have transformed and fought me when the odds would be tilted to more of an equal standing. So, no, you’re a raccoon plain and simple,” his deduction was thorough and impressive. I had not even considered that he could have thought of me as anything but a simple raccoon. It reminded me of myself, in a way: always thinking of as many possibilities as I could and ruling them out in order to come to the most logical conclusion, usually having to do with my likelihood of survival.
“It is really fascinating..” he continued, “but also it is… pleasant. You not only have the intelligence of a human but the empathy as well. When I spoke to you, I felt like you were truly listening and caring. I… I told you how I lost many friends, or, well, people I considered friends. It has been difficult, but I suppose I have done it to myself in a way as well… I just.. I pour myself into my work to an admittedly obsessive degree, but these past two years have been different. It’s all I’ve been thinking about, but I could never get them to understand. I also feel like they didn’t want to understand me either. They never listened the way you had. Perhaps it is pitiful that my only sense of true understanding has come from a raccoon that I found in an alleyway after throwing myself into filth, but… I’ve heard of stranger meetings,” he smiled and If my face structure would have permitted it, I would have smiled back.
“What do you say…” he began nervously again, “to staying for more than just tonight? I mean… you are a raccoon, but you are also different from other raccoons. You understand human speech and… forgive me if this presumption is wrong, but you are lonely as well, are you not? I sensed many things when I was interacting with you in the dumpster, like how you responded to my actions and your reluctance to leave when it appeared as if it was time to part… Perhaps…you lack companionship and a home?” I lowered my gaze. He had hit the nail on the head. The peaches began to taste bitter. He placed a hand on my head and began to pet me. I felt myself relax immediately. I was really growing to enjoy the feeling of his hands.
“Yes… I figured. Well, then, how about it? I promise I’ll take good care of you… I had a pet once before when I was young… a small black cat around your size. It was a similar situation. I found him in an alleyway and he was missing one eye: a sign of a rough life. His name was Pluto… I cared for him as long as I was able until my father found out and threatened to kill him unless I left him alone… It was… difficult. But, I’m a grown man now and my father has no say in my affairs. I imagine he would take to me having a wild raccoon in my home even less than a cat,” he laughed bitterly, “I have lots of peaches, and I’ll still let you go outside. I trust you’re smart enough to handle yourself,” he added as if to sweeten the deal. It was a good deal as well. Consistent food and shelter without sacrificing my freedoms, my only reservation about a potential ‘pet’ arrangement. But there was something he left unspoken that I craved: companionship. I had never felt this understood by anyone, not even my fellow raccoons. This man who I had found in a dumpster provided me with more of a sense of belonging in the span of an hour than I had ever felt in my entire life. I would have been remiss to not accept. I purred into his hand and crawled into his lap before climbing to rest on his shoulder. Once I did so, I felt a sense of peace wash over me, like this was where I belonged: a statue on its rightful pedestal. Edgar’s eyes widened in surprise but he broke out into a wide smile.
“Wonderful,” he whispered excitedly, “how wonderful…!” he stood up and placed a hand on his chest, “You wont regret it, I promise! I’ll take fantastic care of you!” I chittered in response. He chuckled.
“I suppose proper introductions are in order now,” he mused, a pure light in his eyes that I had not seen yet but decided I liked, “My full name is Edgar Allan Poe. I am a writer -- you know what that is, don’t you?” I chittered in the affirmative, “excellent. And you… you don’t really have a name do you…?”
I thought about that. No, no I didn’t. Raccoons on the street never really had use for ‘names’. He hummed in thought.
“Well, I suppose as your new friend, I can give you a name,” I noted how he said ‘friend’ and not ‘owner’. That only affirmed my decision to accept Edgar’s proposal. He didn’t see this as much of a pet/owner relationship as more of two sorry creatures who had found companionship in each other. “How about… Karl?”
I wondered about the inspiration behind that name… Other humans called pets something like ‘Fluffy’ or ‘Rover’ or something cutesie (at least, those are the names I had heard dogs be addressed by in the park). ‘Karl’ made me sound like some sort of intelligent philosopher. Despite the name’s odd nature, I approved it with another affirmative chitter.
“Well, Karl, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said. He walked over to the big writer’s desk in the middle of the room and set me down on its surface. He had not exactly cleaned me yet, so out of courtesy, I made sure to not let my filthy paws touch his manuscripts. He grabbed the picture frame I had observed previously and looked at it with distaste, his brow furrowing at the image within the frame. How peculiar. So I was wrong in my assumption that it was a loved one… he turned to me with a look in his eyes that was similar to that brief period of determination in the dumpster, but this time there was another hint of emotion there, one that was different from most of them I have seen.
“Now… I hope this won't alter your impression of me, as I loathe to recount the day myself, but I feel if we are going to be living together, this is an important conversation to have. I need to introduce you to someone else. Well, sort of. He’s not here, per say, but…” he held up the frame and I got a closer look at the man in the newspaper clipping. His smile was even more arrogant up close.
“This is Edogawa Ranpo,” he began, “two years ago, he and I went head to head in a competition. A battle of wits… he defeated me so… easily . I had never seen anything like it. He solved the mystery in a mere forty-five seconds, and guess what he told me!!” Edgar leaned forward desperately, “That wasn’t even his record! He has an ability: Ultra Deduction, that lets him solve things that easily! It’s natural to him! It’s borderline unfair! It’s-- It’s… fascinating…!” He turned the frame to look at the picture inside. There was a fire in his eyes: one of fury and pent up hatred. I felt a shiver go through me at the sight. It was hard to connect those eyes with the gentle ones that told me that I could be his friend. I let out a nervous chitter and that seemed to snap him out of it.
“Ah…” he blinked, “Apologies… I just get so… riled up when thinking about this. It’s another reason my old friends left me, you see. Every conversation would find its way back to this… to him . I suppose I cannot blame them for that… It must get annoying, but this man has changed me so utterly… Now all my time is spent trying to get revenge. Write the perfect mystery so that even he and his Ultra Deduction-- as amazing as he-- I mean, it is-- can’t solve it. You see,” there was a mischievous glint in his eye, “I have an ability of my own… I can trap him in my novel, and unless he solves the mystery, he cannot escape. Even better still, abilities don’t work in my novels, so he will be without the aid of his Ultra Deduction, his crutch. Edogawa Ranpo, trapped in a world of my design until he’s forced to admit defeat and prove that I am the greatest, not he!” Edgar began to laugh maniacally, clutching the photograph tightly. I looked at him, concerned. What have I gotten myself into with this guy…? After a few moments, his laughter died down, and, seemingly having exhausted his energy, he slumped into the plush seat of the desk chair with a sigh. I timidly walked over to him, tilting my head curiously. Was he going to go on another rambling…? Instead, he placed the photo down and began to pet me once again. Losing all caution that had arisen from his eccentric behavior, I purred and leaned into his hand. My guard had lowered considerably around this man already. I couldn’t tell if that was a good or a bad thing, considering the ease at which he fell into hysterics, but I could tell the kind and nervous nature that had attracted me to him in the dumpster was the true Edgar.
“So, I will be found pouring myself into work on that…” Edgar concluded, finally getting to the point of his mentioning the photo, “I promise that it will not impede on me providing you with adequate care. At times I forget to feed myself from how long I spend working at this, but I will not let you go hungry…You will have a good life here. I will make sure of it!”
As soon as he said that, I truly understood the nature of that which was to be our relationship. Edgar was not only my new caretaker, but I was also his. I vowed from that day on that Edgar would no longer go without remembering to feed himself. He would no longer work so late into the night that he ignored his need to rest, resulting in bags under his eyes. I would listen to each new idea that came to his ingenious brain, every rant about his enemy, Edogawa Ranpo, and all of his thoughts and feelings, making it so he no longer felt the need to align his own worth with that of trash in a bin. He wouldn’t be lonely anymore, and neither would I.
I would finally have a home.
I placed a paw on his hand, and he smiled at me, as if he could see into my head and extract these promises from me, and considering our connection, perhaps he could. I would be his new partner in crime, and we would work to take revenge on the detestable Edogawa Ranpo together.
Thus began four years of late nights full of scrapped manuscripts, some better than others, but all spent together. We have grown somewhat dependent on one another, and before, I would never have imagined that I could feel this connected with another being, much less one not of my own species, but Edgar is Edgar, and he is mine, and I am his. Someday, I will have to learn to share him with one other person that I had only seen in photographs, all from newspapers from Japanese websites printed by Edgar himself, stuck up on walls (“It’s purely for inspiration,” he would say, “to remind me what this is all for, is all. Perhaps I will purchase darts to throw at them.”). But that is a story for another time. For now, just know Ranpo gives good head scratches.