Virtual Quill

I had a real interesting experience with Fenton’s parents this week. That’s “interesting” as in the curse, “May you live in interesting times.”
They showed up unannounced on Beige University’s Parents Weekend for the first time ever, with wedding plans made unilaterally without consulting me. I don’t like conflict; I tend to be a mediator, but this was too much. I’d made it abundantly clear that the wedding wouldn’t take place until after I graduate, but still they presented detailed plans for a ceremony taking place in less than three months. What were they thinking???
...Or more specifically, what was she thinking because, let’s face it, Fenton’s dad probably had little input into this. I’ve never had much of a relationship with Ms. Fuscus due to Fenton being distant from his mom. That whole family is less than forthcoming in interpersonal relationships, with vast silences taking the place of honest contact. Then again, they may be just using sonar instead.
At any rate, Fenton’s smart house has taken over the maternal role in his life, and I’ve followed suit in seeing Tree as my future mother-in-the-law. This week’s events was a nasty reminder that I’m still going to be getting an actual mother-in-law that I’ll have to deal with.

A few nights ago Gran called (an unusual event itself) and asked me to investigate the background of the man she’d just dumped, Douglas Squirrel. That wasn’t the textbook sequence of events (dump, then investigate!) so I figured she’d regretted her course of action and really wanted a reason to take him back.
An online search brought up nothing more than his bird feeder theft conviction for which he’d served four years in prison, and then spent three more on probation. He served his time without incident, and since stealing from bird feeders isn’t a stigma in squirrel society he was able to go on to a successful banking career.
That would’ve been the end of it, but Gran also sent me via overnight mail a sample of the fur he’d shed on her. (Way to go, Gran!) I did an analysis, and didn’t discover any anomalies. Then I started comparing his DNA to outstanding criminal cases just to reassure her, and that’s when the match came up: D.B. Cooper.
It was before my time, but I read about the case; the only successful hijacking ever of an American airliner. He’d taken over the plane, forced it to land, released the passengers in exchange for $200,000, took off with the crew and bailed out over the Pacific northwest. He was never seen again.
Recently the FBI released a sample of the hijacker’s DNA obtained from the necktie he’d left behind. That’s where I found the match, and Fenton and I drove back to Domain to confront Mr. Squirrel. (Fenton was there to fly me to safety in case our quarry resorted to violence.)
It was a peaceful meeting, though, and Mr. Squirrel actually seemed relieved. I called Gran from his house, and told her the news. She was taken aback, but I talked her into giving him a second chance since he did indirectly serve time for the incident. She relented, and they went out to eat. Fenton and I won’t divulge the news, except to this blog which I know that nobody can access.
So that leaves one final mystery: where did the money go?

Dad made his monthly visit to Grampa at the state pen, and got a rude surprise. Dad texted me as he was leaving, and I got the news that Gran’s new flame has a prison record. At first I thought it might have been some cruel trick that Grampa was playing on his ex, but vindictiveness is not really his style. And sure enough, the news was true. (And here I thought Elanor had checked Mr. Squirrel’s background!)
The crime was stealing from a bird feeder, something that squirrels are notorious for doing. So notorious, in fact, that strict rules were placed on that, along with significant penalties. Writing this, it seems odd to me that birds would have such clout to put those laws in place since they generally occupy the lower rungs of society.
Then again, if that were so, how did Ms. Aura get to be in charge of the dimensional portal leading to the human world? That’s a big responsibility for a simple schoolteacher. Maybe it’s best that I don’t persue this further.
Anyway, Dad’s told Gran about Mr, Squirrel’s record. Now we’ll see how she reacts.

One consequence of Gran and Elanor working at Aby’s Auto Repair is the interest they’ve attracted among older males. Aby’s happy since it means more business for her, but I’m not sure about the intended objects of affection.
In Elanor’s case, when a gentleman casts his eyes upon her she responds with an unmistakable “do not disturb” non-verbal cue. (With wolves, that can be quite unmistakable.) Eventually she might find a way to reconcile a new relationship with the memory of her late beloved husband, but for now her heart is not seeking anyone new.
Gran, on the other hand, just might be in the market. She always had a stormy marriage to Grandpa, and now that she’s divorced she can play the field. In fact, she never had a genuine union of love in her life. She married Grandpa young, and by the time she discovered his true nature as a career criminal she was already pregnant with Dad. She stayed wed for the sake of Dad and the subsequent bunnies that came along.
The question is whether the defensive personality she’s cultivated over the years will scare off potential suitors. Knowing Gran, that can be even more intimidating than a wolf’s.

I heard from Fiona, Corrie and Bruno today. Not from Rudy.
It seems that Rudy had been taking his relationship with Fiona for granted, and Fiona being Fiona, decided to take a proactive approach to the situation. She completely camouflaged herself to become invisible to him and vanish from his life. (Fenton asked why she didn’t simply leave town, but she had classes to attend. The girl is super-conscientious.)
After a few days of missing her, Rudy finally admitted to her that the absence was affecting him. Of course, he didn’t exactly confess that intentionally; her final disguise was quite convincing.
Fiona returned Bruno’s clothes to him, and Rudy and Fiona had a somewhat-delayed Valentine’s Day.

It’s Valentine’s Day on Thursday, and Fenton and I will continue our tradition of taking a long flight through the night day, ending up with us perched at the very top of the clock tower watching the sun rise. Beat that for romance, Brangelina!
It’s our first V-Day as an engaged couple, and that makes it more special...and a little scarier. We’re now planning on a lifetime commitment which comes with a load of emotions that Fenton hasn’t carried before. He’s got some serious wing-strength, though.
Last Tuesday in the primary we split our vote: I voted for Hillary and Fenton voted for Obama, Judging from the current state of the campaign it looks like a lot of couples did that.
Speaking of couples, I visited Rhonda and Quinn over in the Family Housing dorm. I asked them if they were going to contribute to the “Family” part of the name anytime soon, and they said not right now, but it’s in their plans eventually.
Meanwhile, Rachel’s looking forward to another visit from her girlfriend Joan Hoof, She keeps putting her ear to the ground, listening for the clip-clop of her arrival.

The Big Game is today, not that I’m interested. While I follow Beige University’s teams, the professional sports don’t involve me. I suppose that’s because I see pro franchises as mechanisms for blackmailing cities out of tax revenue to build stadiums under the threat of moving to other cities.
I do kept swept up in Beige’s teams, especially when they’re doing well. Even though the athletes are separated in the athletic dorm and are rarely seen in actual contact with other students, they are technically a part of the campus.
(BTW, I acknowledge that by being nocturnal, there are lots of students with which I have no contact!)
Anyway, there are lots of parties planned this evening, and since The Game is played at night Fenton and I will probably go to one of them and watch the commercials. That’s what most people do, anyway. Only in America do we have an unofficial holiday for gathering in large groups to watch TV ads.

Here at Beige University we’re making dorm arrangements for next year. I’m still going to room with Rachel, and Fenton will continue to share his ecosystem with Bob Shrike.
Rachel and Bob were relieved, as they each semi-expected Fenton and I to start living together due to our engagement. The answer is not yet; for all of my family’s uniqueness we’re traditional in that regard.
Also, Fenton and Bob have a perfect set-up since one is nocturnal and the other isn’t. For all practical purposes they each have a private room.
Rachel, meanwhile, has become the little sister I never had. (...Until Coney gets older, of course!) I grew up as an only child, in a rabbit culture that put a premium on the traits of cuddliness and fluffiness...adjectives that would never apply to me. I did wish for siblings and I eventually got them. I don’t regret that wish, even when the answer comes in the form of Rudy.

The strike is history, thanks to Kell. She finally got management (in the person of R.L.) to confess what they really feared from the Internet, and she was able to allay those concerns. I’m quite proud of her; she’s not a geek, but she was able to marshall enough technical information to back up her arguments and win a fair contract for her fellow predators. (I’m sure that being married to the co-owner of an ISP helped on that count.)
The predators have resumed hunting, but are frustrated since most of their prey is hibernating. Instead, they settled for those who’ve been kicked off reality TV shows.
So life goes on. Fenton and I see each other whenever we’re not taking separate classes, and very occasionally the topic of conversation comes around to our future. While engaged, we’re not actively making any wedding plans, and I certainly haven’t picked out any flatware patterns.

I’m getting daily reports on the strike from home, plus what I see on the news. (Here in the Ivory Tower it really hasn’t impacted our lives to the extent that it has in the real world.)
Kell admits to enjoying the extra hours she spends with Coney, although even when she’s working she makes time to focus on her. She’s required to walk the picket line for four hours, and the rest of the day belongs to family life. That includes Dad’s footrubs; there’s something to be said for being married to the son of a Physical Therapist.
My brain just generated the mental image of Gran giving Kell a footrub. Out! Out, I say!
As I mentioned before, the settlement we got from the motel that chased Dad into the Wild has sustained us financially. Other predators aren’t so lucky, of course, and hunger is becoming a factor. This strike can’t possibly last much longer. At this point, there won’t be a winner...It’s who is going to lose the most.

I’ve returned to Beige U. for the spring semester, but the big news is back home where Kell and the rest of Civilization’s predators are on strike. (BTW, it doesn’t affect me or Rudy, since schools and universities are already no-predation zones.)
As you probably know, the issue is how much meat predators are permitted to take home for their families after giving the bulk of the catch to their employers. That has steadily eroded over the years. In the 1950s a single predator could support a mate and a litter, but by the 1980s most families required two predators to make ends meet. Now, even that is an iffy proposition. Hence, the walkout.
Management’s goal is easy to see: they want to break the union and go back to where each employee was a powerless lone wolf. So far, however, the strikers’ pack mentality is holding...even among felines. (!) The question is, what will happen when hunger sets in?
Kell has an advantage over her fellow strikers, since after she married Dad she acquired a taste for his native cuisine. (I’ve heard that frequently happens in mixed marriages, but fortunately Dad hasn’t moved in the other direction!) So, while other predators are going hungry Kell can sustain herself on carrots.

Dad's home, safe and sound. What more can I say?
I can say a lot, actually, but I'll keep it at feeling a deep sense of relief. We heard from him at around dinnertime on Christmas Eve, and he was in our arms by midnight. No present could ever produce the same feeling.
It was left to me to clean up the loose ends. First I fixed the identity theft issue caused when the moths that ate Dad's clothing at the motel also stole his credit cards. Then I sent a few strongly worded letters to the motel's owner seeking damages for their employee running off a customer into the Wild. They responded with a generous settlement, probably due to my using Herd Thinners, Inc. stationery.
Finally, while Dad is indeed home, so is Kell. She and the rest of the world's predators have gone on strike, so for our family finances that motel settlement money will come in handy.

It’s hard holding one’s breath for twenty-four hours, but that’s been my situation since we got the awful news that Dad was missing. I know that I should hope for the best, and that’s what I’ve been doing.
We’ve pieced together what happened at the motel where Dad was staying for the ISP convention. The trouble began when a swarm of moths broke the window to his room and devoured all of his clothes while he was in the shower. So far, just an inconvenience. However, a vicious snowstorm was blanketing the area, which knocked out all the motel’s power and phones. Dad ventured outside to go to the front desk, but as he did the towel covering him was blown away by a gust of wind. At that moment the motel clerk on duty (an enormous ursine) stepped out of the front door to see a naked rabbit standing in front of him. Instinct and appetite took over, but Dad outran him.
I’ve wondered why Dad didn’t stand and fight the clerk; with his wrestling experience he certainly could have had a chance of holding him off long enough to explain that he was a guest. My theory is that he now has a family that depends on him, and that factored into his decision to choose the flight option. (From the picture we saw, it was one of the largest bears I’ve ever seen.) I think a standard-sized predator would have gotten a battle from Dad.
Kell’s been frustrated since her boss won’t let her go find him. Instead, R.L. hired Canine, the Bounty Hunter from TV, who immediately went off in pursuit with his camera crew. As I write this, we’ve heard nothing from Dad or the Canine. Kell’s going nuts, and Rudy and I aren’t faring too well, either.
Yes, I said Rudy. He won’t admit to being sick with worry, but I caught him eating the grass buried under the snow in our front lawn. He claimed he was looking for a pencil he’d dropped in the fall.

I’m back in Domain, where everything appears to be running smoothly for once. It seems as if one disaster or another befalls us every holiday season, but for now trouble has passed us by. Of course, that will depend on Dad safely traveling to the ISP con on Friday, and returning on Sunday. (Why they’re holding it the weekend before Christmas, I’ll never know!)
Fenton and I went over to his family’s tree, and made the insectivore equivalent of popcorn strings. Yep, insect exoskeletons instead of popcorn. Bugs come in a wide variety of shapes and colors, and strung together are quite festive.
Speaking of holiday cheer, Tammy wrote to me from their lighthouse on the North Carolina coast and said that they won their local decoration award...again. It helps that her husband and son are both fireflies.
Finally, Rudy and Fiona were banned from putting ornaments on the tree. They can’t resist placing most of them on her ears.

Finals are done, and Rachel seems to have passed her Herbivore exams. She had to study to like mad to learn the shapes of the leaves she’d been trampling into pulp all her life, but she pulled it off. I could empathize with her, as it reminded me of my efforts to get caught up on the basics of an insectivore diet as a high school senior. Rachel even started eating some non-trampled vegetation, and found they had a lot more flavor. We’ll see how that goes down with her family when she returns home! (Rachel’s girlfriend Joan, meanwhile, prefers oats.)
Tumbleweeds are blowing down the dorm’s hallways, meaning that most everyone has already left (especially the plant eaters). Fenton and I practically have the whole place to ourselves, except for the resident advisor. She’s a Border collie who also works in the genetics lab, so I know her pretty well.
I closed up my lab research for the month, and packed for home. The holidays are in full swing back home, and I still have shopping to do. Dad is on a tight schedule as well, since he has to go to an ISP conference the week before Christmas, in order to promote Hare-Link. I hope he doesn’t get snowed in!