A.K Yearling walked through the door of her home taking a look around, eyes searching for her eternal foe. She is still dusty from a recent outing as Daring Do, to the lost tomb of Quillinpek; where she had barely thwarted Ahuitzotl from taking off with the Circlet of Circe. Still, even within her own home, the mare knew she was not safe. Removing her trusty hat and putting it on the rack beside the door, followed by her purple cloak; she stays on high alert for it's presence.
Turning around silently the mare sneaks through the foyer, keeping an eye out for movement.
The chandeliers and great lights show nothing within their illuminating space, and even in the dimmer corners nothing moves.
Trained eyes searching for the tell tale shift, that fuzzy outline, and those great claws she fears.
A.K Yearling squints, but nothing moves, all is quiet in the foyer.
"Where is it.." She whispers to herself, knowing the fiend she fears lurks somewhere in her mansion, biding it's time. Her hooves carry her through the entryway to the stairwell. Which splits off into two branches at the top; the left leading to the wing that holds her room. Glancing left and right, she breathes a sigh of relief. The beast must be resting, for once it seemed she would be able to write in peace. Something that she had never truly experienced, with it's frequents attacks upon her.
Walking up the sweeping stairwell on her hoof tips, she takes the side that leads to her sanctuary. From this height she can see the expanse of her home's grand foyer, and the entrance to the ballroom. Her loyal butler Platter Clatter moves towards the kitchen, no doubt to get her some tea to enjoy after such an arduous trip.
Upon reaching the top of the final flight of stairs, she spots something. A furtive shape swiftly disappearing into her beloved quarters at the end of the hall.
"Oh no you don't!" The mare growls as she rushes down the hallway over lush red carpet; passing ornate wood walls with priceless paintings lining the hall proper. Racing by statues and rooms filled with artifacts; and one that holds her secret stash of emergency gear she flies. Her hooves and wings beating a path past her wardrobe room and library. Until finally she skids to a stop before her own private room.
The place where she brings to life all her adventures in the guise of fiction. Where every novel ever penned by her hoof originates, and where she gets her rest after each long adventure or convention. The door is cracked open ominously, just enough for a miniature monster to slip in.
Stalking into the room her eyes pass over the four poster king size bed; focusing on the covers to see if any bumps would give away it's presence. Not a single lump can be seen under the Prench silk sheets, nor is there any sign of the fiend upon her lovely fluffy pillows.
Kneeling over she looks under her bed, the cases of anti burglary gear where it always is. Double checking the nearest case, the mare is relieved at the sight of her double action magic proof stun gun still in working order. All of the ammunition clean and ready to use, alongside an odd canister that holds sleeping gas. Secured to the top of the open case is a gas mask, and not a speck of fur in sight. Closing it she continues her search, moving aside cases and well read books.
But search as she might, she still can't see hide nor tail of that creature who is this writer's bane. With a sigh she begins to get back up, when a sound causes her ears to flick towards it.
A movement at the edge of her vision causes her to spin quickly, pointing her hoof before her she shouts in triumph.
"Ah ha, I have you now!" Only to be met by an empty closet, writers clothes next to adventuring outfits silently mocking her.
Growing, irritated at this game she huffs " I won't be beaten by some tiny menace, not today."
Turning she trots softly over towards her private bathroom, opening the door she glances furtively left and right. From the four pony sink, over the ornate boudoir; to the walk in stone wrought shower tiled with the finest neighponese materials. Not a single item is out of place, even the soft towels lay untouched upon the wash cabinet.
With an exasperated sigh she mutters "You think you can hide from me, but you're wro..," her ears turn quickly towards a noise she fears.
Behind her, where her writing desk lies, she hears the crinkling of the precious materials she needs tonight.
*Scritch scratch crinkle*, the noise is like the steps of a giant upon her ears, as her eyes grow wide. It can't be, she made sure to secure such precious things before she left. The fiend can't be allowed to do this to her again, no, she will stop it before it completes it's plan!
In just a few moments she shall end this farce, or lose her dignity trying.
Tensing her hooves she does a flip and mid air twist, landing facing the direction of her foe. The fiend that has caused her so much stress, pain, and rewrites. This time she shall be the victor in this eternal war, against her fluffy terror of a housemate.
The creature is before her as it stares into her eyes, a toothy fanged grin on it's face. It's lithe form coated in well groomed fur the color of sand, moon white mittens upon it's lethal clawed paws. The wild ruff around it's face is emphasized by streaks of sunset orange and gold markings. It's forehead bears a golden pattern like a scarab, and it's seemingly prehensile tail and body have the light pattern of a desert cat's spots. Ears tipped in tufts like maregyptian water rushes twitch back and forth in satisfaction, as it's limbs continue their terrible decimation.
It stands upon a destroyed swathe of her most valued asset, fine strips and ragged pieces of the best paper litter the desk. Her hand crafted ink drips to the ground staining the carpet black. The wells that once held it balanced on the edge of her work space. They seem to be crying over their state, a growing puddle beneath them filling with dark tears of sorrow.
Her pens lay littered upon the floor, no less than five stuck tip down, and thoroughly damaged with little chance of repair.
But the worst was yet to come, as A.K Yearling lunges forward her greatest foe completes it's goal. Before her eyes it backs up, and with an innocent looking bump, her typewriter falls towards the ground.
To the mare it occurs in slow motion, seconds taking minutes as the most valuable tool for the writing of her books comes crashing down. Her best ally in the recording of her adventures, it's final moments nearing faster and faster.
In a drawn out cry of sorrow she screams.
"Noooooooo!"
As it hits the ground a resounding *Ding* is the last sound the typoewriter, makes before a cacophony of crashes as the sounds of expensive internal parts shattering echoes through the room. It rolls over a few times, each roll cause a smashing or breaking of a key, until finally it settles on it's side. Her once beautiful typewriter is now a mangled mess of metal, wires, and keys. The cord that once attached it to the power pedal laying lifeless and torn upon her bedroom floor.
With tears in her eyes the famous author and explorer walks over to it, head hung in sorrow. She bows her head, giving a moment of silence for her loss. With a final salute to her lost companion, she gets up on her hooves to apprehend it's killer.
Upon the oak desk the fluffy terror yawns, proud of itself, it purrs upon it's victims of paper shredded beyond recognition. Admiring the carnage it has caused upon the tools of it's often absent owner.
As Daring Do approaches with tears in her eyes, she glares down at the fiend, and asks in a voice filled with pain.
"What do you have to say for yourself, Tomb Raider?"
The vicious destroyer before her lifts a paw and preens herself; before answering A.K Yearling, in the smuggest tone possible.
"Mrowerow?"
With a sigh A.K reaches down with her left hoof and lifts the feline furry fiend from her desk. As it purrs rubbing against her, she walks over to her bed setting it upon the covers. Lifting herself onto the bed she lays beside it, stroking it's silky fur and mourning her loss.
The menacing feline fiend purrs contentedly, curling up against the mares belly and kneading the covers; surprisingly without claws.
She looks down upon her feline companion, her longest and only unbeatable foe.
In an exhausted voice she mutters "You really hate it when I go away for so long don't you?"
The beast curls into a ball, and answers the explorer with a "Mrowerow prrrr,", as it contentedly prepares to nap.
It's ears perked towards it's owners voice, it awaits a further comment concerning the punishment it gave the mare for leaving it alone.
A.K sighs once more, mentally calculating how much this disaster will cost her. It isn't a huge amount to be sure, but it will set back work on her next book by a few days. Still stroking the feline by her side, she asks one more final question, in the voice of a mare who has gone too long without sleep.
"Will there ever come day when I can work on my books without you destroying everything first?"
The speckled spotted cat opens one eye and looks at her owner, mouth opening in a tiny grin.
"Mro" it responds before closing it once more.
A.K Yearling groans in defeat, and lowers her head beside her foe. Preparing to rest, and knowing when she wakes she'll need to do damage control first thing in the morning..
"Why did I have to..bond with..such a furry menace..of a cat like you," are her last words as she falls asleep exhaustion catching up to her.
The feline known as Tomb Raider beside her merely smiles a catty smile; ears turned back listening to the sound of her breathing. As soon as it is assured she is fast asleep it responds.
"Mrowowow Mra Mret Mris Mrayrways Mrike Mer Mrowner."
As those mewling sounds that seem suspiciously like words leave it, the feline too passes into wonderland. Dreaming of accompanying it's owner on her adventures of daring and danger. Of being the constant companion to one Daring Do.
Author's Note
So to anybody who read this and has a cat, dog, ferret, anything really. You knew what this was about before you read the story.
You know the pain poor A.K Yearling/Daring Do puts up with.
The constant battle between your paper, pen, and keyboard and your companions.
Their fluffy paws and bodies getting in the way, and even causing disaster.
The horrible rolling typos, chewed cords, and accidentally deleted stories.
You feel for A.K Yearling don't you?
Tomb Raiders speech translated:
"Mrowowow Mra Mret Mris Mrayrways Mrike Mer Mrowner."
*Laugh* A pet is always like their owner.
The feline in question is named Tomb Raider because Daring Do, and there is a backstory to her that I may publish in November.
I do hope you enjoyed and emphasized with "The Fluffy Menace", and hopefully got some of the references in the story too.
Cheers.
Glen Gorewood
Note: I am actively returning to this story and adding edits.
