Pocketful of Monster

I bought the eggs because I wanted to make an omelette. Nothing odd about that. The usual stand at the farmers’ market, a box of a dozen eggs went into my bike-basket with the rest of the groceries. I paid. I took them home. All perfectly normal actions.

On opening the egg box, I was noticed one of the eggs was an odd greenish-blue. It was also slighter larger than the other eggs. I wondered if it was a duck egg or, better still, a double yolker. The moment I cracked it I was immediately proven wrong on both points.

Into my mixing bowl fell a dark brown lump. I swore. The last thing I wanted to deal with was a rotten egg. I held the bowl at arm’s length and went to dispose of its contents at the sink. Then I heard the noise. It was a high-pitched squeak. It was coming from the bowl.

I set the bowl down and looked at the brown lump within. It was nobbled and warty, like a truffle. It had tiny limbs with clawed paws. It had a lumpish head with long ears that flapped over small horns. It had a snout and a muzzle lined with tiny sharp teeth. It was a monster and it appeared to be crying.

I think I was more disappointed than shocked. I’d been looking forward to my omelette. My dinner plans would have to be delayed until I worked out what to do with the weeping monster. I tapped the side of the bowl with a finger nail. The monster stopped its noise and opened its eyes. They were red and not from crying.

“Hello,” I said to the monster. I had no idea what else to say. It stared back at me, not blinking except for the occasional flick of a vestigial lid. “You’re an ugly one, aren’t you?”

I reached into the bowl to get it out. It gave a sudden wriggle and bit me.

“Fuckssake,” I said, looking at my bleeding finger. The monster smacked its tiny maw. Its red eyes were oddly malicious for a creature that was only a newborn. It was as if it knew it had caused me pain and that made it happy.

“So, what am I going to do with you?”

I cleaned the bite under running water. Then I reached into the drawer to get out a band aid. Behind me there came the chiming sound of miniature claws on china. I turned around. The monster was trying to escape the bowl.

“Oh no you don’t!”

I grabbed a tea-towel and threw it over the bowl. The monster commenced shrieking again as it struggled to get free of the cloth. I sat down at the kitchen table and tried to come up with a plan. The local vet clinic seemed like a good place to start.

I went to the fridge, got out a steak that I’d been keeping for the weekend, and cut off a few morsels. I lifted a corner of the tea towel, then threw the meat into the bowl. The monster was quiet for a few moments before I heard the grotesque smacking sound recommence. While it was busy eating, I put my hand over the tea towel, grabbed, and twisted, until I had a perfectly-wrapped baby monster in my hand. I thought it would protest but it didn’t. It opened its mouth and yawned.

Minutes later, I was cycling down the road with the swaddled monster sleeping in my wicker bike-basket like the ugliest baby Moses ever.

The clinic was empty. A nurse was behind the reception desk typing when I came in.

“Can I see the vet?” I asked.

He handed me a clipboard with a form on it.

“Fill this out first,” he said, “The vet won’t be long.”

I took the form from him and went to the waiting area, carrying the detached bike-basket containing the sleeping monster.

Owner’s name? Annie Beardsley. Pet’s name?

I looked at my warty charge for a moment, then I wrote “Truffle”.

Type of animal? I had the choice of dog, cat, rabbit, bird, or “other please specify”. I checked 'other' and then specified ‘reptile’ as my best guess because Truffle had hatched from an egg.

Date of birth? I wrote the day’s date. Vaccinations up-to-date? No.

I added my address and contact number, then I gave the form back to the nurse. He smiled and started to type up the details. Then he paused.

“Is Truffle male or a female?”

“I have no idea,” I said, because it was the truth

.

“It can be difficult to tell when they are newborns,” said the nurse, “Don’t worry. Dr Havers will have a quick look at the little one’s undercarriage and find out for you.”

Good luck, Dr Havers, I thought. The idea of exploring Truffle’s ‘undercarriage’ sounded incredibly foolish.

A door opened and a woman in a lab-coat came out.

“Truffle Beardsley?” she said formally though unnecessarily as the monster and I were the only occupants in the room. I picked up the basket and followed her into the office.

“You can pop Truffle up there,” she said, indicating an examination table. I set the basket down and took a seat.

“So, how can I help?”

“I have no idea what to do,” I said, pointing at the basket, “I didn’t ask for this responsibility.”

She rolled her eyes. “Pet ownership is a serious business,” she began, “You can’t just bring an animal into your home without doing your research. A pet is for life..."

“It’s not like that,” I interrupted. She seemed to think I was the monster in this situation. “It just kind of arrived…”

“Oh, a stray,” she said, this time in a much more approving tone, “Well, let’s have a look, shall we?”

I did enjoy the expression that came over her face when she peered into the basket.

“What the fuck…” she said, as her face drained, along with her professional demeanour.

She unwrapped the tea-towel.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

She picked Truffle up.

“Shit!”

She dropped Truffle back on the table and looked at her finger which was oozing blood through the latex glove.

“He’s a feisty one,” I said, “At least, I think it’s a ‘he’. The nurse said you would check out his undercarriage.”

“I don’t think so,” said Dr Havers, grimacing. She pulled off her glove and swabbed her finger with some sanitizer.

“What the hell is it and where did you get it?” she asked.

“It’s a monster. It hatched from an egg that I bought at the farmers’ markets.”

“And what are you going to do with it?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

Dr Havers put on a clean glove. She grabbed Truffle and held him/her/it at arm’s length. She looked as if she were about to lob a hand-grenade.

Truffle was not happy. Truffle shrieked and snarled as Dr Havers pinned him down on the examination table and we both had a good look.

“It’s sort of like a toad, like an ambulant toad,” she observed, “A fanged toad with limbs and horns.”

“He likes steak,” I offered.

“I bet he does,” she replied, “There’s a small cage up on the shelf there. Could you pass it to me?”

I fetched the cage and she was able to manoeuvre it so that Truffle ended up inside. The little monster was livid and hissed as it threw itself repeatedly against the bars.

Dr Havers smiled as she watched Truffle’s rage. “A client came in last week. Hamster died. They left the cage behind.”

Then she looked at me, “I’ve got some friends at the university who would be very interested in taking a look at this…whatever it is.”

“I’m going with ‘monster’,” I said.

“Sure. Well, I’ll make some calls if you like and see if I can organise for you to get him looked at. It might be a hybrid species or a mutant.”

“My money’s on mutant,” I replied, “And what should I do now?”

“Take him home. Feed it steak. Give it milk or water to drink. Keep your hands out of the cage. He seems to like being wrapped up, so if you do go to pick him up, swaddle him first. I’ll give you a compression bandage if you like, that should keep him nice and snug. And confined.”

She moved around the office, grabbing packets and popping them into a bag which she handed to me.

“Here you go. I’ve got your details on the form that Andrew had you fill out. I’ll give you a call in the morning and tell you who you can see.”

“You don’t want to keep him here overnight?” I asked. It was worth a try.

“Nope,” said Dr Havers, “Now if you see Andrew on the way out, he’ll help you to settle your bill.”

That evening I sat on the couch, finally eating my omelette. The rest of the eggs had been regular eggs, thank goodness. Truffle was wrapped in a length of compression bandage and asleep in my pocket. Movement seemed to settle him. He was also full of steak and milk.

“$500 for an emergency consult, you little shit,” I said to the sleeping monster, “Plus $30 dollars for the cage and another $20 for the ball.”

The monster in my pocket gave a small snore. It had been a long day for both of us. Tomorrow we would be heading to the university if Dr Havers came good with her friends’ contact details.

“Time for bed,” I said as he snuggled deeper into the pocket. I could have almost liked him at that moment. Then he farted in his sleep. The foul odour came right up into my face.

“Holy hell!”

I was very glad that I’d bought the hamster ball. The cage was good, but I’d wanted something to silence the tiny beast during the night. I was looking forward to seeing how Truffle liked it. My guess was that he wouldn’t like it at all.

That made me smile.