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Apotheosis
A Spontoon Island story
© 2005-2023 by W. D. Reimer and M. Mitchell Marmel
All characters © their respective creators
Thumbnail art by
RockBaker
One.
The cheetah yawned and smiled as she entered the solarium. "Good morning, love,” she said. She leaned over to kiss her husband and actually purred as he returned the kiss.
The solarium sat in a house on a hill overlooking a certain cove on the south side of Main Island, just off the main road and nearly a mile from the nearest village. When the occupants had retired a few years earlier, they had selected the site based on a memorable family outing there some fifteen years previously.
Their architect had insisted on her design for the house being carried out, even to the point of pouting and refusing dinner. Her mother had laughed and invited her daughter, who was still in high school at the time, to do her worst. The result was a beautiful mixture of Euro and island styles, and boded well for the daughter’s future in architecture.
The house was of standard wood frame construction, painted white and with a stout tin roof to shield the rain and the worst effects of the summer sun – since, despite his recovery and long life, the old wounds on his flesh still caused the father to suffer in the heat. The path down to the beach had been carefully smoothed as well. Large trees shaded the building, but one room was kept unshielded by any large plant save two flowering frangipani.
This one room was the solarium, a large octagonal room overlooking the cove and the lagoon beyond. Plenty of windows let in sunlight and most of them could be opened to catch even the barest whiff of a breeze. Beds of flowers provided color and a pleasing aroma to the air. There were only a few items of furniture in the room: two chairs, a small sofa, and a grand piano, acquired at a bargain price when Shepherd’s Hotel had been pulled down for renovations after the War.
As Rosalie Stagg, nee Baumgartner, walked into the solarium that morning, a cup of tea in one paw and still yawning, her husband was already there, seated in his favorite chair and looking out over the sea. A cruise ship was passing by, perhaps a mile away. An empty cup sat on a small table beside his chair, along with the morning paper. His silver-headed ebony cane sat in its usual spot beside the chair.
“Good morning, Rosie,” Franklin Stagg said, smiling at her and giving his flag a flick. Despite her nursing and his own renewed zest for life, the whitetail buck looked gaunt and frail this morning, a bit more so than any other mel approaching the high side of the seventies. “It’s a beautiful day today,” he remarked.
She grinned at his unspoken compliment, allowing her own tail to twitch. “It certainly looks like it,” she said as she perched on the arm of his chair and ran a paw over his shoulder.
He patted at the paw as he smiled up at her. “Would you play something?” he asked.
She grinned and kissed him. “Love to,” she said and went to the piano. Another slurp of her tea and she cracked her knuckles before playing.
“I was a humdrum person
Leading a life apart
When love flew in through my window wide
And quickened my humdrum heart . . . "
Stagg smiled warmly at her as he recognized the song, and his own rough baritone joined her voice.
“Love flew in through my window
I was so happy then
But after love had stayed a little while
Love flew out again . . . ”
The song was one that they had sung together on a certain Christmas night long ago, and as Rosie continued to play and sing, she found herself back in a day not many years after they had sung their first duet . . .
***
One great advantage of living on an archipelago is a wonderful selection of secluded coves, many coming equipped with a pristine sandy beach and waving palm trees. It made having picnics fun, even if it also meant having to hire a guide or a boat to get you there.
Not that Rosie minded at all. The motorboat swung at its anchor just a few yards away, the otter who had driven them to the cove taking a nap, and apart from the wind-driven rustling of the trees and the slow peristalsis of the waves rolling onto the beach, everything was quiet. It was a perfect place to wear a swimsuit, stretch out on a blanket, and read a good book.
The book was a rather trashy mass-market novel, now resting forlornly on one corner of the blanket. Since the cove was secluded, the buxom cheetah had dispensed with her swimsuit almost immediately. Well, one out of three wasn't too bad. Rosie smiled at the reaction she could expect from Franklin.
She kept her sunglasses on and rolled over to expose her back to the sun even as she heard sounds coming up the beach. Her spotted tail languidly draped itself over her right leg.
“Exhibitionist.” The word was well-chosen, and delivered in a mildly disapproving tone that also indicated a bit of humor. She rolled partly to one side and grinned up at her husband.
“You still look ridiculous, Franklin,” she teased. “What possessed you to wear that to the beach?” The whitetail buck was dressed in a pair of tan shorts that blended rather skillfully with his fur color, making him look – at a first glance – naked from the waist down, and a shirt that could best be described as ‘a brilliant flash and a deafening report.’ He held his cane in one hand, and a floppy straw hat shaded his eyes.
He chuckled and crouched down as she leaned up, and the two shared a kiss. “You bought them for me,” he said reasonably, “so why shouldn’t I wear them?”
“True,” she giggled. A splashing sound caused her ears to flick, and she glanced out at the water, a concerned look crossing her face.
Playing close to the gentle surf were two fawns, a male and a female. The buck bore only tiny antler buds, the sole feature distinguishing the two at this early age. Their parentage was proclaimed by their medium-brown fur, the myriad of darker spots that ran down their backs and sides, their shorter muzzles and slightly pointed ears, and their slightly longer tails. “Frankie! Toni!” Rosie called out.
The two fawns ignored her, having fun splashing each other, and Stagg straightened up and stepped back as Rosie rolled over, sat up and shouted, “Franklin Aurelio Stagg! Antoinette Tauba Stagg! Get over here this instant!”
The twins stopped playing and looked first at her, then each other before washing up in the water and heading up the beach to her. They were in their fur as well, something that still caused her husband no small embarrassment but which merely reflected the customs of the islands. They were only six years old, but were already showing their father’s quick intelligence as well as their mother’s capability for mischief.
Being twins, they also seemed . . . connected, somehow. Rosie had been tempted to ask Brush if he could ask a Wise One to speak with her about it.
They also came at a dead sprint, something they had inherited from their mother. Chasing them as they grew older would probably require both parents to start Olympic training. “Yes, Mom?” Toni asked.
“You know I don’t want either of you near the water without a grownup,” Rosie said sternly. Both fawns looked contrite as Stagg intervened.
“I’ll take them for a walk,” the buck said as he squinted up at the afternoon sun. “It’ll be getting late soon, and we’ll have to take the boat back.”
“Okay,” Rosie said, settling back on the blanket as Franklin and the fawns moved off.
After a short while, Rosie felt – well, something . . .
The cheetah turned her head. "Diana! Good to see you again!" There was a pause, and her ears dipped. “Thank me? For what?” Now, Rosie's ears reddened a bit, and she grinned ruefully. "Much as I'd like to take the credit . . . wasn't my idea, getting pregnant. Not that I minded one little microscopic bit. It was something I dreamed about."
Another pause. “Absolutely not,” the cheetah said in a definite tone. “I was being good to him, the best way I knew how. I didn’t have any idea until the morning sickness started and I saw Doc Meffit.”
An observer would see Rosie smiling and even laughing as she chatted with apparently empty air for some time. "Nu, zai gezunt, drop by anytime," the cheetah finally said, bidding her invisible interlocutor farewell.
Rosie stood up and ran to the water, diving in to cool herself off and emerging to dry her fur before (somewhat reluctantly) putting her swimsuit back on. She was folding up the blanket when Franklin and the two fawns reappeared.
***
“I saw you there
One wonderful day
You took my heart
And threw it away
That's why I ask the Lord
In heaven above
What is this thing
Called love?”
Rosie had been playing for some minutes, while her husband had gone back to looking out at the sunlit sea. They’d been through a lot together, raising their children and staying the course as history and war found the Spontoons and Franneleh had done his part. The Spontoonies had been grateful for what he’d done, which was why no one raised a fuss when the house had been built on Main Island.
Her fingers continued to move over the keys, but one note faltered as she sensed something.
It was as if someone had left the room.
“What is this thing called love
This funny thing
Called love
Just who can solve its mystery
Why should it make
A fool of me?”*
She forced herself to finish singing before looking up.
As tears welled up in her eyes, Rosie gently closed the keyboard cover.
_______________________________________________
*”What is This Thing Called Love?” © 1929 by Cole Porter.
<NEXT>
A Spontoon Island story
© 2005-2023 by W. D. Reimer and M. Mitchell Marmel
All characters © their respective creators
Thumbnail art by
RockBakerOne.
The cheetah yawned and smiled as she entered the solarium. "Good morning, love,” she said. She leaned over to kiss her husband and actually purred as he returned the kiss.
The solarium sat in a house on a hill overlooking a certain cove on the south side of Main Island, just off the main road and nearly a mile from the nearest village. When the occupants had retired a few years earlier, they had selected the site based on a memorable family outing there some fifteen years previously.
Their architect had insisted on her design for the house being carried out, even to the point of pouting and refusing dinner. Her mother had laughed and invited her daughter, who was still in high school at the time, to do her worst. The result was a beautiful mixture of Euro and island styles, and boded well for the daughter’s future in architecture.
The house was of standard wood frame construction, painted white and with a stout tin roof to shield the rain and the worst effects of the summer sun – since, despite his recovery and long life, the old wounds on his flesh still caused the father to suffer in the heat. The path down to the beach had been carefully smoothed as well. Large trees shaded the building, but one room was kept unshielded by any large plant save two flowering frangipani.
This one room was the solarium, a large octagonal room overlooking the cove and the lagoon beyond. Plenty of windows let in sunlight and most of them could be opened to catch even the barest whiff of a breeze. Beds of flowers provided color and a pleasing aroma to the air. There were only a few items of furniture in the room: two chairs, a small sofa, and a grand piano, acquired at a bargain price when Shepherd’s Hotel had been pulled down for renovations after the War.
As Rosalie Stagg, nee Baumgartner, walked into the solarium that morning, a cup of tea in one paw and still yawning, her husband was already there, seated in his favorite chair and looking out over the sea. A cruise ship was passing by, perhaps a mile away. An empty cup sat on a small table beside his chair, along with the morning paper. His silver-headed ebony cane sat in its usual spot beside the chair.
“Good morning, Rosie,” Franklin Stagg said, smiling at her and giving his flag a flick. Despite her nursing and his own renewed zest for life, the whitetail buck looked gaunt and frail this morning, a bit more so than any other mel approaching the high side of the seventies. “It’s a beautiful day today,” he remarked.
She grinned at his unspoken compliment, allowing her own tail to twitch. “It certainly looks like it,” she said as she perched on the arm of his chair and ran a paw over his shoulder.
He patted at the paw as he smiled up at her. “Would you play something?” he asked.
She grinned and kissed him. “Love to,” she said and went to the piano. Another slurp of her tea and she cracked her knuckles before playing.
“I was a humdrum person
Leading a life apart
When love flew in through my window wide
And quickened my humdrum heart . . . "
Stagg smiled warmly at her as he recognized the song, and his own rough baritone joined her voice.
“Love flew in through my window
I was so happy then
But after love had stayed a little while
Love flew out again . . . ”
The song was one that they had sung together on a certain Christmas night long ago, and as Rosie continued to play and sing, she found herself back in a day not many years after they had sung their first duet . . .
***
One great advantage of living on an archipelago is a wonderful selection of secluded coves, many coming equipped with a pristine sandy beach and waving palm trees. It made having picnics fun, even if it also meant having to hire a guide or a boat to get you there.
Not that Rosie minded at all. The motorboat swung at its anchor just a few yards away, the otter who had driven them to the cove taking a nap, and apart from the wind-driven rustling of the trees and the slow peristalsis of the waves rolling onto the beach, everything was quiet. It was a perfect place to wear a swimsuit, stretch out on a blanket, and read a good book.
The book was a rather trashy mass-market novel, now resting forlornly on one corner of the blanket. Since the cove was secluded, the buxom cheetah had dispensed with her swimsuit almost immediately. Well, one out of three wasn't too bad. Rosie smiled at the reaction she could expect from Franklin.
She kept her sunglasses on and rolled over to expose her back to the sun even as she heard sounds coming up the beach. Her spotted tail languidly draped itself over her right leg.
“Exhibitionist.” The word was well-chosen, and delivered in a mildly disapproving tone that also indicated a bit of humor. She rolled partly to one side and grinned up at her husband.
“You still look ridiculous, Franklin,” she teased. “What possessed you to wear that to the beach?” The whitetail buck was dressed in a pair of tan shorts that blended rather skillfully with his fur color, making him look – at a first glance – naked from the waist down, and a shirt that could best be described as ‘a brilliant flash and a deafening report.’ He held his cane in one hand, and a floppy straw hat shaded his eyes.
He chuckled and crouched down as she leaned up, and the two shared a kiss. “You bought them for me,” he said reasonably, “so why shouldn’t I wear them?”
“True,” she giggled. A splashing sound caused her ears to flick, and she glanced out at the water, a concerned look crossing her face.
Playing close to the gentle surf were two fawns, a male and a female. The buck bore only tiny antler buds, the sole feature distinguishing the two at this early age. Their parentage was proclaimed by their medium-brown fur, the myriad of darker spots that ran down their backs and sides, their shorter muzzles and slightly pointed ears, and their slightly longer tails. “Frankie! Toni!” Rosie called out.
The two fawns ignored her, having fun splashing each other, and Stagg straightened up and stepped back as Rosie rolled over, sat up and shouted, “Franklin Aurelio Stagg! Antoinette Tauba Stagg! Get over here this instant!”
The twins stopped playing and looked first at her, then each other before washing up in the water and heading up the beach to her. They were in their fur as well, something that still caused her husband no small embarrassment but which merely reflected the customs of the islands. They were only six years old, but were already showing their father’s quick intelligence as well as their mother’s capability for mischief.
Being twins, they also seemed . . . connected, somehow. Rosie had been tempted to ask Brush if he could ask a Wise One to speak with her about it.
They also came at a dead sprint, something they had inherited from their mother. Chasing them as they grew older would probably require both parents to start Olympic training. “Yes, Mom?” Toni asked.
“You know I don’t want either of you near the water without a grownup,” Rosie said sternly. Both fawns looked contrite as Stagg intervened.
“I’ll take them for a walk,” the buck said as he squinted up at the afternoon sun. “It’ll be getting late soon, and we’ll have to take the boat back.”
“Okay,” Rosie said, settling back on the blanket as Franklin and the fawns moved off.
After a short while, Rosie felt – well, something . . .
The cheetah turned her head. "Diana! Good to see you again!" There was a pause, and her ears dipped. “Thank me? For what?” Now, Rosie's ears reddened a bit, and she grinned ruefully. "Much as I'd like to take the credit . . . wasn't my idea, getting pregnant. Not that I minded one little microscopic bit. It was something I dreamed about."
Another pause. “Absolutely not,” the cheetah said in a definite tone. “I was being good to him, the best way I knew how. I didn’t have any idea until the morning sickness started and I saw Doc Meffit.”
An observer would see Rosie smiling and even laughing as she chatted with apparently empty air for some time. "Nu, zai gezunt, drop by anytime," the cheetah finally said, bidding her invisible interlocutor farewell.
Rosie stood up and ran to the water, diving in to cool herself off and emerging to dry her fur before (somewhat reluctantly) putting her swimsuit back on. She was folding up the blanket when Franklin and the two fawns reappeared.
***
“I saw you there
One wonderful day
You took my heart
And threw it away
That's why I ask the Lord
In heaven above
What is this thing
Called love?”
Rosie had been playing for some minutes, while her husband had gone back to looking out at the sunlit sea. They’d been through a lot together, raising their children and staying the course as history and war found the Spontoons and Franneleh had done his part. The Spontoonies had been grateful for what he’d done, which was why no one raised a fuss when the house had been built on Main Island.
Her fingers continued to move over the keys, but one note faltered as she sensed something.
It was as if someone had left the room.
“What is this thing called love
This funny thing
Called love
Just who can solve its mystery
Why should it make
A fool of me?”*
She forced herself to finish singing before looking up.
As tears welled up in her eyes, Rosie gently closed the keyboard cover.
_______________________________________________
*”What is This Thing Called Love?” © 1929 by Cole Porter.
<NEXT>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Cheetah
Size 120 x 87px
File Size 63.9 kB
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