It was a tense moment at the Twist household when Ben arrived home. Seeing his mother’s both in their were-cat fursonas eating their customary grapefruit breakfast, while Samantha’s kittens Saffron and Jasmine were devouring their canned cat food. Ben looked at his mother the acting mayor; still feeling sore from his fight with Samantha last night, the young werewolf just snorts as he quickly leaves the kitchen and heads up to his room.
“I don’t care if it starts another shouting match,” Samantha looking cross; “Ben will explain himself.”
“Let it go Samantha,” Frances placing a paw on her life partner; “Let Ben be the one to start the conversation, until then let him stew.”
“But the longer we wait for him,” Samantha getting up; “the bigger the argument. Better to have this out here and now.”
This time Frances could not stop Samantha from leaving the table; her ears drooping as she shakes her head in dismay, she knows this will only end badly. As a professional therapist; Frances knew the best way for a person to deal what is bothering them, is to talk about it, but at their own pace and when they are ready. Frances feared that Samantha was going to learn that the hard way. Yet before Samantha could march upstairs and confront Ben and much to Frances’s relief, the phone rings and Samantha curses at having to stop and answer it.
“Hello,” Samantha half snarls; “who is this? Agent who?” Frances listens as she cleans up the kitchen table.
“One moment,” Samantha sounding ashen; “I’ll get her for you.”
Frances watches as Samantha approaches her with the phone in her paw.
“It’s for you,” Samantha looking worried; “you better take it.”
“This is Frances,” Frances taking the phone and placing it to her muzzle “who am I speaking too?”
“This agent Brooke Reed of the FBI. Are you sitting down?”
“What is this about,” Frances speaking; “why do you need to call me at this early hour?”
“It concerns your brother” Agent Reed speaking; “Deputy Carter.”
“What about him,” Frances voice denoting a slight yowl to it.
“Your brother has been shot while assisting me in arresting a dangerous individual,” agent Reed speaking; “he is on his way to the hospital as we speak.”
“WHAT,” Frances almost snarling; “when did this happen?”
“Just fifteen minutes ago,” agent Reed responding; “Deputy Carter is fine, he is only wounded in the shoulder. The perp who shot him is dead.”
“I'm on my way to the hospital,” Frances shouting; “I’ll meet you there.”
“Unfortunately no,” agent Reed speaking; “I’m just arriving at the police station to talk to sheriff Cooper and then have a very careful chat with Frederick Parker. It was one of his men that shot your brother,” agent Reed speaking.
“Who shot Samson,” Frances racing upstairs to get dressed; “I want a name.”
“Chelnik Vladomir,” agent Reed answering; “I can’t tell you anymore, because it involves an active investigation.”
Frances listens as the line went dead; pausing for the moment as she stands still naked as she defurred. Frances feels the furry paws of her life partner Frances hug her from behind, comforting her as she looks on bewildered.
“You want to talk about what was just said,” Samantha comforting Frances; completely forgetting wanting to confront Ben.
“Yes,” Frances removing herself from Samantha’s embraces so she can get dressed; “but not until we get to the hospital. I want to make sure my brother is all right.”
“I’ll join you,” was all Samantha said as she quickly defurred and started getting dressed.
Frances smiling as she catches a glimpse of Samantha pert breasts before she quickly covers them up with a bra; quickly finishing getting dressed herself; Frances decides to head to Ben’s room and talk with him.
******
Ben was sitting at his desk where he usually does his homework. Thinking upon what Alex said to him.
‘You both said some nasty things to each other yesterday. You can’t let it fester.’
“Sometimes I hate it when you are right Alex,” Ben sighs to himself.
Ben was about to get up when he heard a knock at his door; Seeing it was his mother Frances entering, the werewolf sighs as he watches her sit down.
“While I’m sure you’re not interested in talking about what happened yesterday,” Frances speaking; “you are going to listen to what I have to say.”
“Don’t exactly have much of a choice now do I,” Ben still feeling mad.
“Now is not the time to be glib with me Benjamin Franklin Wilson Twist,” Frances using the young werewolf’s full name; “your mother Samantha is all hell bent in wanting to start up last night’s argument over you losing that job offer at Grrrrrrr. Yes you are mad that the offer was rescinded due to the were-alert and the mayor issuing shutdown notices based on the fact that the restaurant does pose as a major exposure risk to our kind.”
“I call bullshit on that,” Ben growling; “Grrrrrrr has a front entrance manned by an attendant that ensures no normal can get in. The windows are blacked out and the vestibule doors are heavy oak with a metal core that makes it impossible to anyone but a were to open and close them. That restaurant is as about as secure as city hall. They could have stayed open during the were-alert and mom knew that,” Ben seething; “she just over reacted like any politician worried about her job.”
“That is not fair to your mother,” Frances staring at her son; “Samantha had the job of mayor thrusted upon her. She never wanted it,” Frances speaking; “but she accepted the task because no one else was competent to do the job. Samantha’s own words by the way.”
“Is this your way of trying to get me to apologize to mom,” Ben shaking his head.
“Sort of,” Frances responding; “I know the were-alert has put you on edge. It’s put me on edge as well; including Samantha, but you cannot let your anger over the situation control you. Its clear you both said things you deeply regret.”
“Things would have been different,” Ben looking at his hand; “if I could write while in my fursona.”
“Why would that make a difference,” Frances looking at her son.
“Because I was filling out the forms for employment at Grrrrrrr,” Ben responding; "when the owner got the shutdown letter. I would have had them done fast if it could just grasp the pen with my paw just as easy as I could with my hand.”
“I doubt it would make a difference Ben,” Frances shaking her head; “for most its not easy to write or perform fine motor tasks while in their fursona. Our paws; while complete with opposable thumbs; are not used to such tasks. What we gain in strength when shifting, we sometime lose in dexterity.”
“Yet I see you writing all the time while in your fursona,” Ben look at Frances; “loss of fine motor control doesn’t seem to bother you.”
“Well,” Frances looking at Ben; "part of the reason is I’m a were-cat. We don’t tend to bulk up in muscle mass like werewolves do. In fact most of the smaller based were-species are like that. Remember what I said earlier?”
“What we gain in strength,” Ben sighing; “we lose in dexterity.”
“Yet that doesn’t mean it wasn’t easy for me to write while in my were-cat form,” Frances responding; “I had to practice. And being a professional therapist for other were-beasts; writing while in my fursona is a job requirement.”
“Why is it a job requirement for you,” Ben asking.
“A lot of my patients feel comfortable when I’m in my fursona,” Frances smiling; “writing down what they say is a lot faster than transcribing the words from a recording device later on.”
“So I’ll never be able to put pen to paper when in my werewolf form,” Ben looking forlorn.
“I never said that,” Frances answering; “I’m just saying it’s difficult. But not impossible; you just need to practice. I suggest you start with your name first. Once you mastered being able to sign your name with your paw, the rest will come easy it just takes time.”
“Doesn’t help me know,” Ben answering; “I still don’t have a job.”
“Let’s have this talk after Samantha and I get back,” Frances responds as she gets up; “I just got a call regarding my brother. I need to go see him and make sure he is all right,” Frances waving a hand silencing Ben; “I’ll tell you more when we get back. We will talk then; about everything.”
Ben watches as both Frances and Samantha rush out the door; no longer upset over what happened last night; the young werewolf looks at his hand for what seemed like an eternity before quickly removing his clothes and shifting into his more natural lupine form. Looking at his paw and seeing the rough calloused pads of thick skin for his finger tips and palm; Ben grabs a pen and tries to hold onto it like he does when in in his human form. It snaps and the ink spills all over him staining his fur as he quickly grabs a tissue to wipe off the excess.
“First things first,” Ben looking at his paw once again; “holding onto the small item without snapping it with clawed thumb and forefinger.”