#althulf

[knightiajade]

Personally, documentaries are by far the best way to research an animal. You get to see the animal move, behave, hunt, be hunted, mate, call, all without human interference, and I cannot begin to say how helpful that is; seeing the animal behave. A twenty second video could be of more help than a whole wikipedia page. And minable editing that (usually) isn't trying to make wildlife a drama show for some humans minute attention spans, you're able to really set yourself into the biome. With additional information given by the narrator, of course

But while trying to find out what I am, I realized how under documented some animals are. No wonder we have so many wolves, I found 145 documentaries on them, how many on dholes? Three!

It's getting irksome. I couldn't find a single one on fossas OR Jaguarundi'. Margay? One, which could barely be counted. The AI voice wasn't pleasant to listen to, to put it nicely, but I still thought "I could get over the voice and AI usage I GUESS, it's the only thing I could find, so, as long as it's a good doc-" the script is written by AI. It's clips of many, many, completely different margays--and they threw a ocelot in there too. That's. A different species.

[knightiajade]

I'll lay down and my cat will approach. She is purring already, expecting pets. I do not want to give her pets, for my hands should be hooves, my joints, spaced much different, I feel if it is the one thing keeping me together; ignorance, turning a blind eye to my body. But I can't not pet her.

Neptune knows and has known, since the third day of our five years together, that I am the one who supplies the food, gives the water, gives the best pets, and opens the doors. She associates me with these things.

Even if she doesn't know the meaning of 'man,' she understands that I am much different than her. She understands that I regularly do things she cannot.

It's the same with the dogs, they look to me in the mornings when my mom is working and brother still sleeping, hoping for food. It is a comfort, in an odd way, looking back at it, them begging me for food like a pup, vocalizing and leading and licking, even if I'm not their first choice. But it still brings a sense that I am different than them, I will never truly be their older sister who keeps them quiet in the thicket while mother and father secure the kill of chital, I will always be the strange one.

Even if we do not know how they look on us, whether they believe we are just odd dogs, or a different species but still family, I will always be the strange one.

I can't participate in their games, as much as I would love to, the overwhelm of grief thinks it is much better to watch from afar instead of prove that I'm not able to run with them without tiring or bite them through blankets comfortably with such a short snout or tug a toy the opposite direction with hurting my teeth.

I will always be different, we will never understand eachother truly, for how could you ask a dog to understand a deer or a cat to understand a wild dog hiding in a man's skin?

[knightiajade]

A humans way of a proper, respectful greeting is direct, maintained eye contact and baring teeth.

I acknowledge that, even if among my kind those are some of the most sure ways to show aggression, I am hidden amongst another species. I might as well honor their traditions. It would be unkind to disappoint. If there's one thing I like about this life; is how easy it is to be kind without downing my chance of survival.

Yet I always find it so unnerving when I'm swept off to meet a new friend of father or coworker of brother or some other man who holds power. In this case, the boss of brother.

He comes up fast, shined shoes shining and greased hair greasing. Dressed like any ordinary man, but with far too red skin and far too blue eyes that make me think even humans must find them unsettling. My heart skitters, his smile only grows, making it just so much easier to imagine fangs . . .

He reaches for my hand. His palm is sweaty. I lower my head, twist my hips in what should be an appropriate replacement for a tucked tail, drop my eyes and lick my lips. All the handshake does is make me feel weak.

In a moment the interaction is gone, and my stomach is still in knots, I'm hurrying to untangle it, the scent of blood will surely send him running back. I find it now so silly that I am intimidated by such things. Have I not learned? Will I ever?

There is no where for a tan pelt of cougar to hide and stalk from, no wolves here with tongues shot out like auction paddles bidding for my death, no glinting eyes stare at me from shallow waters. There is no panting behind me.

There is only a man who camouflages perfectly in the crowd, there is only a man with a blood soaked pelt, there is only a man with piercing eyes that size me up and down from my throat to hind legs. There is only a man with paws sweaty from the hunt. It is only a man.

[knightiajade]

I, as an alterhuman, struggle a lot when it comes to eating and drinking, I'm not equipped to eat the way I want, the way I should, the way I subconsciously end up trying to.

I find myself acting like I have an elongated snout, and it angers me when I realize I can't treat my body the way that feels proper. It angers me so much I just end up worse. Too mad to correct the behavior, I huff and try again and again until I cry.

I cry when I drink, forcing my jaw to stay still, my mouth shut, my tongue stuck to the bottom of its lair, trapped and chained in much the same way I feel I am.

It's mad, I can't even drink without crying. It's mad, I remind myself, you've been doing it for years, everyday, you haven't had problems until a few months ago, why can't you just drink?

The next day I'm fine, I still hide from everyone, though, and I chastise myself for it, it would do me better to go outside, or at least chat with my family.

But then the next I am halfway through the corridor that leads to my room, staring at the puddle of water at my feet I made while trying to lap at my cup of water.

The next hour I am outside, tearing a sandwich apart, dreaming of a carcass to eat instead. I am mad when it falls apart and smears my hands, the porch, and plate with mustard. So I try without a plate, behind the garage so only the squirrels are there to see. I am disgusted with myself, I don't want to eat it on the ground, I don't want to lick dirt to get every crumb, I don't want to eat a pebble along with the meat, I don't want to bend over like this, it hurts even though it shouldn't.

I cannot eat like a human, and I cannot eat like a dog.

But still my beastbrain drives my humanform forward, for there is food, where there is food there is strength, where there is strength there is life, where there is food you must eat it, for if you do not, you die.

So in dawn and dusk, before my family rises for the call of light, and after they lay down for the night, I'm careful to shush my cat and persuade her with treats so so does not make a sound, nor follow me down to the kitchen where I eat, and eat, and drink more tears than milk.