My entry to the local library’s summer adult writing contest. I didn’t win, but that’s neither here nor there.

Synopsis: Gus, bon vivant and gryphon-about-town, gets some bad news.

A Beast of a Roommate

by UsedKayak

“Gus? Are you in there?”

I poked my head over the edge of the mattress and glanced to the floor. The numbers on my clock radio blinked up at me pleadingly, begging me to finally set the correct time. “It’s too early,” I said, snuggling deeper into my nest of blankets and pillows. “Come back in a few hours.”

Another rapid-fire burst of knocks. “It’s almost two in the afternoon. Can I come in? It’s important.”

Fantastic. I rolled over (flattening an empty pretzel bag) and raised my head with a groan. “What is it?” I asked, clicking my beak open and shut a couple times. “Did Theo set the house on fire?”

“I’m coming in.”

I’ll take that as a no, I thought. I scratched behind my ear with a foretalon. “Can’t we just talk through the closed—”

The door swung inwards with a protracted creak, revealing Jenn standing in the doorway in all of her five-foot-two glory. She reached in and flipped the light switch; despite its satisfying click, the room stayed dark. Frowning, she flipped the switch a few times more. “Do you have this thing on a dimmer?”

I yawned. “Nah, the bulb went out last month. Haven’t gotten around to replacing it yet.” She huffed in frustration, then reached over to the window and yanked the pull cord. The blinds zipped open, and the room flooded with light.

“Jeez, Jenn!” I said, raising a foretalon to shield my eyes, “are you trying to blind me?”

“Sorry,” she said, staring for a moment at the dead flies collected on the windowsill. “You know, you really ought to—is that my bread?”

Blinking the sunlight out of my eyes, I followed her gaze to the floor. There—between an overturned wine box and an empty takeout container—sat an open bread bag. Two dark (and by now probably very stale) slices of rye sprawled like murder victims on the beige carpet in front of it. “I wanted a sandwich.”

Jenn sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Gus, how many times have I told you not to—actually, you know what? Forget it.” She leaned against the jamb and crossed her arms, her gray university t-shirt contrasting with the spoiled milk-colored door trim. “We need to talk,” she said.

Always a great way to start a conversation. “What about?” I asked as I lifted a wing and started absentmindedly preening.

She sucked a cheek between her teeth. “Debbie stopped by earlier for—”

“Already? Rent isn’t due until next Friday, I thought.” I plucked out a crooked feather and let if fall to the floor.

“She wasn’t here for the rent; she was here for the inspection she—”

“I thought the lease said no surprise inspections.” I stretched out my wing and gave it a quick flap; a few down feathers drifted lazily to the mattress. Although knowing that harpy…

“It wasn’t a surprise; she gave us notice yesterday morning.”

So that’s what all the commotion was. Yesterday’s afternoon nap had been rudely interrupted by the roar of that damned vacuum cleaner at least twice. I furled my wing back against my torso and sank down into my nest. “You should have told me,” I said; “I could have helped you guys tidy up.”

Jenn just glanced around my room and raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I’m sure you did a bang-up job regardless,” I lied. “How did the inspection go? Is the dishwasher finally getting fixed?”

She raised a hand and swiped an errant lock of auburn hair out of her face. “Well, we’re not going to be getting our security deposit back, on account of all the clawmarks in the parquet floors.”

“Those were there when we moved in.”

“Come on, Gus. We both know that isn’t true.”

“She can’t prove it.”

“I very much doubt that. She’ll have pictures.”

I rubbed my temple with a foreclaw. “Alright, fine. So we’re all out, what? A quarter month’s rent each? That sucks, but it’s not the end of the world. Hardly seems urgent enough to warrant having this conversation.”

She tensed in the doorway. Even with my paltry skills at reading human facial expressions, I knew her furrowed brow could mean nothing good.

“Jenn?” I asked. “Is there something else?”

“Yes,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “Debbie wants you to move out.”

My head shot up. “What? Why?”

“Well, there’s the parquet floors, for one. I’d imagine if she saw the state of this room, that’d be number two. And then there’s…” She stared up at the popcorn ceiling as she searched for the right words. “Apparently there have been some complaints from the neighbors.”

I tilted my head. “Complaints? About what? I haven’t even done anything!” Recently.

Her face flushed. “Well, apparently Mrs. Isengrin’s cat went missing last week, and from what I’ve heard she’s been telling anyone who will listen that she suspects you—”

“Oh, of all the prejudicial—” I said, whipping my tail in irritation. “I can’t believe anybody still believes that bigoted nonsense; it’s the twenty-first century, Jenn!” My tail tuft knocked a pillow off the bed, sending it clattering into a stack of empty tuna cans.

“Yes, I know that, Gus, but you know how Mrs. Isengrin is. I think she’s still upset about her rosebushes.”

I scoffed. “If she didn’t want her precious flowers to get pissed on, she shouldn’t have planted them so close to the property line.” Grumbling, I lowered my neck back onto a pillow. “Gryphons eating cats, my tail. We’re half-lion, after all; it’d be like a human eating a monkey.” I pulled at a loose thread on one of my blankets and wound it around a foreclaw. “So that’s it? A few scratches on the floor and some nasty gossip from the neighbors is enough for Debbie to want me to move out?”

“Pretty much. She’s offering two hundred dollars cash if you give her your keys by the end of the month.”

I yanked on the thread, snapping it off the blanket. “Well, she can take her two hundred dollars and shove it. If she wants me gone, she’ll have to evict me—if she can find the grounds.”

“She won’t need to find grounds, Gus. Our leases expire at the end of July; she’ll just non-renew you.” She scratched the back of her neck. “Honestly, I’d take the money.”

“I’m not taking the money.”

She frowned and rapped a knuckle on the doorframe. “She also said that, if you aren’t gone by the end of the month, that it wouldn’t reflect well on the rest of us. That maybe she would have to start looking for a different group of tenants. Ones that are less permissive of—how did she put it?—‘destructive slobs’ living in their midst.”

My beak clenched. “Why, that little…” I rolled off the bed and began pacing the room, sending discarded TV dinner trays and empty fast food bags tumbling in my wake. “Turning my own roommates against me? I ought to tear her throat out.”

“Gus, I don’t think threats of violence—”

“Why does she want me out so badly, anyway? Her only gryphon tenant? Sounds awfully fishy to me. First thing tomorrow, I’ll go to the university’s student legal center and see if they have any civil rights lawyers on staff.”

“Gus, I don’t think dropouts qualify—”

“Maybe they haven’t taken my name out of the system yet. And if they have, I’ll go straight to the Dispatch; the public loves a good terrible landlord story. And don’t you have a friend who’s majoring in journalism? Maybe she has an in with the campus newspaper or radio station—”

“Augustus, would you shut your damn beak and listen for once in your life?”

I stopped in my tracks. Jenn hadn’t used my full name since the last time I put tuna in the microwave. I turned to face her; her dark eyes gazed back at me with the same intensity as my old English professor’s when I obviously hadn’t done the assigned reading. I opened my beak to say something only to find I had completely lost my train of thought.

Jenn let out a tired sigh and unclenched her fists. “I can’t afford to lose this place, Gus. Not so close to the start of fall semester.” Her voice was barely louder than a whisper. “I think you should take the money.”

I blinked. “Who died and made you queen of this house? I don’t need to listen to you.”

Her gaze dropped to the floor. “The others and I just had a house meeting. We’re all in agreement.”

I felt like the wind had been punched out of me. “No,” I said, “you’re lying.” I felt my feathers ruffle involuntarily. “Dan’s always had it out for me, and I’ll admit I haven’t been the most considerate roommate as of late, so I can understand the two of you wanting me gone. But Theo? He would never.”

“The meeting was his idea.”

For a few seconds, I stood there dumbfounded, kneading my claws into the dirty carpet. “I see.” I silently walked over to the closet, slid open the mirrored door and pulled my old leather satchel off its hook.

“I can help you look for an apartment if you—”

“That won’t be necessary,” I said. I grabbed my keys from under a paper plate; then, reaching under my bed, I retrieved an armful of CD cases and dropped them into my satchel with a cacophony of plastic thumps.

“You don’t have to leave right away. Debbie’s given you until—”

“No thanks; I’m not in the habit of hanging around where I’m not wanted.” I circled the bed, unplugged my blinking clock radio from the wall and set it atop my CD collection; spotting my cell phone on the floor, I tossed it in my bag as well.

Making my way to the opposite wall, I unpinned last September’s Gryphon Fancy centerfold, folded it back on its creases, and slipped it into the satchel’s front pocket. I glanced over my shoulder; Jenn had disappeared. After deciding against taking my Dogs Playing Poker poster (on account of the large hole in the wall behind it) I slung the bag over my shoulder and made my way downstairs.

In the living room, Dan was sitting on the couch—shirtless, as usual—playing some inane sports game on the plasma TV. Theo was curled up on his rug in the corner, reading a book. Dan spotted me coming down the stairs and smirked. “Augustus,” he said with an exaggerated affectation, “looks like you’ve been voted off the island.”

I opened my beak to tell him off, but Jenn beat me to it; unfortunately, her reproaches yelled from the kitchen didn’t stop him from snickering stupidly at his own joke.

“That’s not even the right phrase,” Theo said uncomfortably. “It’s ‘the tribe has spoken.’” I crossed the living room, my claws clicking on the wooden floor, deliberately avoiding eye contact with him. Unfortunately, he didn’t get the hint; as I approached, Theo stood up and interposed himself between me and the door. “Gus,” he said, forcing a smile on his green, scaly muzzle. “I, uh, got you a little something… He reached towards a plastic grocery bag on the side table.

“Whatever it is, I don’t want it,” I said.

His foreleg froze and he chuckled nervously. “I insist. It’s, uh, draconic custom to give longtime companions a parting gift.”

“Sorry, Theo,” I said; “it’s gryphonic custom to not accept gifts from traitors.” Theo’s eyes widened, but he meekly stepped out of my way.

Outside, it was another beautiful June afternoon—the skies were blue and cloudless, and the sticky air reeked of mown grass and car exhaust. The distant sound of tires rolling on the hot asphalt mixed with the incessant buzzing of cicadas. All in all, there were plenty of worse days to become homeless.

But before embarking on the next chapter of my life, I had some business to attend to. I circled around to the backyard, sidled right up against the chain link fence, lifted a hind leg, and—flipping the bird in the direction of her house—gave Mrs. Isengrin’s flowers a nice, heavy watering.