Page 7 of Smart@ss Cyborg

I explode, “YOU LITTLECUSS!”I lunge for him with a snarl.

“HEEEEEE!”the furry animal squawks, sounding choked. Which is interesting because I haven't wrapped my hands around his throatyet, but that is precisely my intention. He dodges sideways, freezes for a moment—then bolts, his brush-ended tail swishing madly, almost wagging.

Eyes narrowed, I force myself not to chase him.

After a moment, he must realize I’m not following him. He turns his head, showcasing his right eye and his incredibly wide, heavy-boned jaw. His ears are forward and high with curiosity. Then he swishes my red handkerchief at me.Tauntingme.

This animal isdeliberatelycourting danger from me.

Lips pressed together, I exhale the unnatural remnants of agitation, turn, and proceed to walk away.

Yet again daring hoofbeats fall in behind me. And then…bump.

Bump.

Bump.

He’s touching me with his mouth. Pushing my wadded-up kerchief into my back and the back of my legs.

Bump-bump-bump.This animal doesn’t know the predator he’s dealing with. Otherwise he’d never bait me as he’s unwisely doing, brazenly poking me with his muzzle.

I halt.

He runs.

With a huff, I resume my trek.

Creeping forward, keeping an easy pace behind me, he returns.

His nostrils press to the back of my arm, applying rough enough pressure to shove my limb forward.

I grit my teeth and refuse to react.

Testingly, following so close his hooves graze the heels of my boots, he presses his muzzle more firmly on my arm, then firmer still until he’s supporting the weight of my arm, his hot breaths scalding my skin when he exhales.

I reach back for his mouth, attempting to catch him so that I may pry his jaws apart and wrest mykerchief from him.

He pulls away from me easily and stays away for several steps.

Then he’s back. Touching me. Bolder than before.Bump.

Calmly I stop. I look under my arm, at his nose. Slowly I pivot to face off with him.

He whips his head to the side, his ears yanking straight up as he watches me out of his left eye. His tail is no longer whipping at his haunches. My eyes scan him, noting that besides the ear closest to me, he’s gone dead still. His nearest bushy ear has carefully swiveled to face me, poised to receive signals like a satellite dish.

“Do you want to give me back my handkerchief?” I ask him, feeling foolish for speaking to an animal.

But to my great shock, the dumb animal bobs his chin so deeply he almost taps his neck.

Nonplussed, I stand stock still as the incomprehensible beast steps toward me, raising his muzzle, peeling up his upper lip…

And showing me a set of ghastly orange-stained teeth.

“Oh, for all the fathoms of the sea,” I mutter in disgust. “That’swretched.”

The bulge of his cheek tells me he hasn’t swallowed my handkerchief, he’s only tucked it into his maw, and I feel both uncharitable irritation that he hasn’t choked on it—which is odd, as it’s an extremely negative emotion, something I’m unfamiliar with—and also I’m relieved, because it would be a senseless, needless death.

His own fault, for certain, but needless.

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