Jacobsā Journal: Tape 7.5 - Suppawt
Having passed out for several hours, Administrative Oversight Jacobs sleeps in his desk chair, legs propped atop his desk.
The sound of his door creaking open startles him from his drunken stupor, ever-alert. No rest for the wicked.
JACOBS: āHāHello? Show yourself?ā
Jacobs observes no movement, with the door only slightly ajar. After a brief moment, his right hand removes itself from the desk drawer where he keeps his spare firearm. He reclines again and raises his legs back into their prior position.
Suddenly - a heavy weight leaps onto his abdomen, simultaneously pinning him into place and shocking him into a frozen stare into the eyes of SCP-529. She looks around, barely acknowledging Jacobsā confused stare. She inspects the view and stability of her perch.
Jacobs: āJosie? How theā¦That door was closed.ā
Josie finally looks directly at Jacobs, an element of cheekiness in her stare.
Jacobs: āCan youā¦open doors?ā
Josie begins preening, starting an obnoxious bath starting from her chest on down. Or rather, as far down as is possible. Jacobs regards her with mild irritation, mostly because he also feels mildly impressed at the feat.
Jacobs: āAnd I thought Lambert was the security risk. Clever littleāā
Jacobs reaches up to scratch her ear, but Josie swats his advance away, staring at him directly again.
Jacobs: āSo-rry. Didnāt realise being the bed doesnāt come with patting perks.ā
Josie returned to bathing, ignoring her bedās sarcasm. Jacobs rolls his eyes.
Jacobs: *sigh* āSuppose itās the best gift Iāve gotten for any Christmas. Being the pet bed. Had more than enough wishing I had one, now I can be one.ā
Josie pauses and sniffs Jacobsā face with light little huffs. She eventually opens her mouth, taking deeper sniffs whilst wearing the goofiest expression. Jacobsā brows furrow as he simply doesnāt know whatās happening.
Jacobs: āWhatāre youāā
Josie sneezes right into Jacobsā face. After a moment, frozen by the sudden spritz, Jacobs wipes his cheeks and mouth clean with his sleeve. He holds back a building anger, keeping his breathing in check.
Jacobs: āI ask you: what could have possibly warranted that?ā
Josie turns, sniffing the air, almost following the scent. Jacobs traces her gaze to the two empty bottles of whisky near the wastepaper basket on the floor, one overturned. Jacobs turns back slowly to the cat, his anger boiling over into a distinct embarrassment no human had ever encouraged.
Jacobs: āWellā¦fair. I suppose Iāve made my own bed on that matter.ā
Josie, having seemingly finished cleaning her half-body, loafs atop his chest. Despite this, he can still feel the weight all the way down onto his stomach where nothing visible is resting. Jacobs gets comfortable as Josieās eyes remain half-open, and stares up at the ceiling.
Jacobs: āIāve tried dogs. I know people say theyāre loyalādonāt get me wrong, they areābut I could never get past how eager they are to please. It feels like overwriting something to make it yours. By the time itās trained, itās no longer a dog. Itās a tool. Iād struggle owning someone like that, suppress them.ā
Jacobs feels a tapping on the top of his right hand. Looking down, he spots Josie patting his hand, and presenting her head. A half-smile on his lips, Jacobs reaches out and scratches behind her ear. She moves her head so that Jacobsās scratches move to her chin. Josie sinks into the slow scratches, closing her eyes and purring rhythmically.
Jacobs: āYou know what you like. Thatās good. Yāknow what, Josie? Merry Christmas.ā
Leaving his hand under Josieās head for her to sleep atop, Jacobs closes his eyes and knows heāll be able to face the hangover tomorrow a little easier.