Splinter Week Day 7: Monster / Instinct
“Some kind of gremlin freak! Is it rabid?!”
“I’m not getting near that thing!”
“Scare it off with your wrench then! You, monster, whatever you are, back off! Get away!”
Getting away would have been Splinter’s highest priority if only these maintenance workers hadn’t strayed into this tunnel. He couldn’t leave without his turtles. His ears flattened at their cries from the nest secreted in the nearest blocked drain—confusion, fear, calls for him to drive off the disturbance, hide us, save us! To his horror the human closest to the wall heard it too, brandishing his drill.
No time to consider anything else but ducking the frantic swing of a wrench, then a crowbar, diving onto all fours to knock the man off balance and then scurrying toward the drain, scooping the squirming, squealing turtles up to cradle close to his chest.
Their hideaway was a blessing and a curse, sealed off with the promise he and the turtles wouldn’t be washed away in the case of flooding but in the same breath, sealed with the warning that it was a dead end. Now his back was to the wall. The workers crowded with their tools, blocking out light, hope and escape.
He couldn’t risk addressing them aloud, not even to deescalate, negotiate or beg; speaking as the humans did was still so new to him, he might say all the wrong things. All he could do was rely on age-old animal tactics, fur bristling, gnashing his teeth in warning. He had dealt such damage to Oroku Saki’s face before to protect those he loved; he would not hesitate to do it again.
One of the humans hesitated, however, upon noticing the little ones clinging and cooing, burying themselves in Splinter’s fur. He did his best to cover them entirely with his paws so as to not let on exactly what they were.
“It’s got babies,” the man observed—the only classification of them that mattered.
“It’s an infestation! We gotta call pest control!”
“No, wait! It’s…I dunno, it may not be a gremlin or whatever; it could be a weird possum or the biggest, mangiest cat you’ve ever seen tryin’ to protect its…litter?” At the others’ incredulous looks he fidgeted; Splinter couldn’t help but flinch at the loose handling of the drill. “I mean…look. It’s not attacking, s’just freaking out cause we got it cornered. Maybe it was just trying to get back in there to the babies.”
Curling even tighter around them, Splinter let out a lower, more cautious hiss. Someone with common sense against all odds? Dare he hope the others would agree?
“Maybe if we just…back up, leave it alone, it won’t even do anything.”
“Are you serious? We can’t just leave it here to keep breeding!”
“Hey, how many strays are there in New York already? Too many for us to do anything about it. And y’think any sane pest control guy is gonna come running if you call to report gremlins?”
They stood silent for so long, considering their options, that Splinter’s head swam from anticipatorily holding his breath. It wasn’t until he heard the scuff of boots gingerly shuffling back that he could shakily exhale. As could the humans, who eventually seemed to realize he wouldn’t be lunging out at them anytime soon.
“…Okay. Good. Uh…you and yours just go about your business, kitty, and we’ll mind ours. C’mon, guys, give ’em a little room. Not bothering you now, okay?” The man waved his free hand awkwardly. “We were almost done in here anyway.”
Splinter thanked heaven that the men had already turned away before one of the turtles tugged an arm free to wave ingenuously back. Cupping his son’s hand, he kissed his tiny knuckles, his forehead, and then thanked heaven twice for grace and good, kind instincts.
