Post by LUDWIG BEILSCHMIDT on Jun 17, 2014 18:26:56 GMT -5
Ludwig hated breaking rules. Rules existed for a reason, after all: to keep the world functioning in an orderly manner. And Ludwig certainly couldn’t disagree with that kind of a goal, as orderliness had plenty of upsides (the only downside seemed to be that people called you boring if you lived a tidy life, which he could abide by, seeing as he’d been called far worse). But as efficient and streamlined as they made society, sometimes Ludwig couldn’t help questioning rules. Organization aside, some of them seemed a bit… pointless.
At least, thinking that way helped him justify his tiny crimes so that they didn’t guilt him to insomnia. The early morning runs to the beach — maybe the campus did have a curfew, but surely getting up early to exercise didn’t equate to sneaking off campus to a club or anything like that. And the beer hidden under his floorboards — he’d been brought up to enjoy beer, and didn’t use it as a shortcut to drunkenness as he’d witnessed rowdy tourists doing in the summer, so it didn't count. But speaking of tiny crimes…
The kitten in his lap had finished her meal of tuna and had fallen soundly asleep in her towel, a furry ball that occasionally let out a chirpy sort of snore. Ludwig had a perfectly innocent hobby of sneaking kitchen scraps outside to the local stray animals, runaway cats and dogs that had made the island’s tropical woods their home. On his last trip, he’d found the kitten, bloodied and underfed and just strong enough to crawl out of the undergrowth before collapsing in a bony heap near his shoes. Pets weren’t allowed on campus: the rulebook made that exceptionally clear. But…
Ludwig bit back a sigh and ran a finger gently over the kitten’s head; an ear flicked at the touch, but the tiny animal didn’t wake. Technically the kitten wasn’t a pet, he’d decided. That was one reason why he hadn’t given her a name; pets had proper names, but she was still just ‘the kitten’. And back at the edge of the forest, she wouldn’t have lasted much longer without some proper care, and thus Ludwig had found himself breaking his third rule. Lucky number three. Just thinking about that made him anxious.
On the bright side, the kitten was eating her meals and putting on weight, and the funny little cough she’d had a week ago seemed to be fading.
Carefully, Ludwig put the dozing kitten and her towel back inside the shoebox home he’d made. It had water, food, and towels to absorb any kitten pee, and the fastidious young man cleaned it twice a day, always when his roommates weren’t in. The shoebox went under his bed, hidden behind his gym bag. It was a small mercy that the sick kitten wasn’t noisy, and any noise that escaped her quickly got dampened. Ludwig let her out to wander around as often as he could afford to, and had even managed quite the stiff upper lip response to the teasing he got from his roommates for frantically lint-rolling his comforter and pillows and clothes at random moments. It was beyond a dream that he’d be able to keep the kitten: pets were against the rules, and she’d get too big for the box, and she probably belonged out-of-doors anyways. But he just needed to keep up this act until she recovered, just until then. That was the best result he could hope for.
At least, thinking that way helped him justify his tiny crimes so that they didn’t guilt him to insomnia. The early morning runs to the beach — maybe the campus did have a curfew, but surely getting up early to exercise didn’t equate to sneaking off campus to a club or anything like that. And the beer hidden under his floorboards — he’d been brought up to enjoy beer, and didn’t use it as a shortcut to drunkenness as he’d witnessed rowdy tourists doing in the summer, so it didn't count. But speaking of tiny crimes…
The kitten in his lap had finished her meal of tuna and had fallen soundly asleep in her towel, a furry ball that occasionally let out a chirpy sort of snore. Ludwig had a perfectly innocent hobby of sneaking kitchen scraps outside to the local stray animals, runaway cats and dogs that had made the island’s tropical woods their home. On his last trip, he’d found the kitten, bloodied and underfed and just strong enough to crawl out of the undergrowth before collapsing in a bony heap near his shoes. Pets weren’t allowed on campus: the rulebook made that exceptionally clear. But…
Ludwig bit back a sigh and ran a finger gently over the kitten’s head; an ear flicked at the touch, but the tiny animal didn’t wake. Technically the kitten wasn’t a pet, he’d decided. That was one reason why he hadn’t given her a name; pets had proper names, but she was still just ‘the kitten’. And back at the edge of the forest, she wouldn’t have lasted much longer without some proper care, and thus Ludwig had found himself breaking his third rule. Lucky number three. Just thinking about that made him anxious.
On the bright side, the kitten was eating her meals and putting on weight, and the funny little cough she’d had a week ago seemed to be fading.
Carefully, Ludwig put the dozing kitten and her towel back inside the shoebox home he’d made. It had water, food, and towels to absorb any kitten pee, and the fastidious young man cleaned it twice a day, always when his roommates weren’t in. The shoebox went under his bed, hidden behind his gym bag. It was a small mercy that the sick kitten wasn’t noisy, and any noise that escaped her quickly got dampened. Ludwig let her out to wander around as often as he could afford to, and had even managed quite the stiff upper lip response to the teasing he got from his roommates for frantically lint-rolling his comforter and pillows and clothes at random moments. It was beyond a dream that he’d be able to keep the kitten: pets were against the rules, and she’d get too big for the box, and she probably belonged out-of-doors anyways. But he just needed to keep up this act until she recovered, just until then. That was the best result he could hope for.