Title: The Familiar Nature of Púcas
Author: charisstoma
Word count: 2429
For Meep, not quite what was asked for and cringe worthy of age issues. There’s probably errors but I’m throwing this out onto Meep’s mercy.
Tickled with the ridiculous after watching James Stewart’s movie
Harvey, Tarquinn Jamie Bradley, or Quinn, went off on what his amused friends would call one of his tangents.
First there was Wikipedia’s Púca: The púca (Irish for spirit/ghost), pooka, phouka, phooka, phooca, puca or púka, is primarily a creature of Irish folklore. Considered to be bringers both of good and bad fortune, they could either help or hinder rural and marine communities. The creatures were said to be shape changers which could take the appearance of black horses, goats, goblin, rabbits, or even human though with horse’s ears.
No matter what shape the púca takes, its fur is almost always dark. It most commonly takes the form of a sleek black horse with a flowing mane and luminescent golden eyes. If a human is enticed onto a púca's back, it has been known to give them a wild ride; however, unlike a kelpie, the púca will do its rider no real harm. The púca has the power of human speech, and has been known to give advice and lead people away from harm. Though the púca enjoys confusing and often terrifying humans, it is considered to be benevolent.*
1Then
In Tales of the Pooka: The Pooka, or in Irish Puca, (goblin) is a phantom fairy creature, a changeling, and can take animal or human form; like a horse, donkey, cat, dog, bull, young man. The animal Pooka is usually jet black with fiery golden or red eyes. Some associate it with the devil!*
2Reading that Quinn sighed, ‘more like some superstitious, have to make the sign of the cross over themselves at every little thing, ninnies.’ He read further, Other iconic mystical creatures are incarnated from the Pooka. The bogeyman is derived from the Pooka, as well as the Easter Bunny. Quinn closed the site and smiled, said, “Interesting,” and went on to other interests but in the back of his mind the idea of going to the pet shop to get himself a pet rabbit, black in color, yet tickled. It wouldn’t be a Pooka, he wasn’t that willing to strain his sense of fantasy, but a bunny would be a nice addition around the house. Someone he could come home to and talk about his day.
It was another month before Quinn thought about it again, possibly because he happened to be walking by O’Brien’s Pet Emporium and there was a window display of kittens with one older black furred kitten tumbling amidst them. He tapped on the window to distract the older kitten, though really for all the mock fighting no one seemed to be hurt and the smaller kittens would sometimes attack, in a mass of multi-colored fur, back. Before Quinn knew it, his feet had taken him inside the shop and he asked about the older kitten that was at the long legged gangly stage of cat.
“Oh that’s just Padraig. He won’t hurt the little ‘uns,” Mr. O’Brien said with a fond smile.
“Is he for sale?” Quinn asked.
“No.” Mr. O’Brien called towards the window, “Padraig quit fooling around with ‘em and get on to the bathing of ‘em.” He turned back to Quinn, “He’s a great help with the others but it’s too close to All Saints’ Eve, or Hallowtide for any black cat or kitten to be going out of my shop. It’s not safe for ‘em, you know.” Mr. O’Brien had raised his voice towards the middle of that sentence almost as if someone had been arguing with him recently on the subject.
“Well, I still am interested even if I have to wait awhile, though he’s so cute at this stage. You don’t mind if I stop by often just to watch or play with him?” Quinn said. “Let me give you my address, and home and business phone numbers. You can check up on me if you want. I’m a bit eccentric, my friends would say, but nothing too far off from normal.” He grinned as he said that, wondering just what tales his friends would tattle and his teeth gritted a bit. ‘Well the dye is in the water already,’ he thought and inwardly shrugged.
Every week like clockwork, Quinn returned to the shop; sometimes he would watch from outside and sometimes he’d go inside and talk to Padraig, telling him about Pookas and how he’d really wanted a black rabbit until he’d seen Padraig. Mr. O’Brien seemed to find Quinn’s visits amusing and he’d smile as Quinn’s talking to Padraig would usually have the juvenile cat, who didn’t seem to grow any bigger or older even after weeks, fall to cleaning the smaller kittens, that came and went in the display window, with his raspy tongue while listening to Quinn’s tales.
Autumn came and Winter, and O’Brien’s Pet Emporium would soon be closed for a bit over the holidays according to a sign set in the window. Quinn noticed, as the holidays approached, that there was another gangly long limbed kitten, this one more grey than black, that was taking up Padraig’s duties occasionally now. He’d wrestle amongst the young kittens, showing them at their most playful and wearing them out until after a good wash they’d curl up as cute as could be and sleep. Quinn could never tell if on the days he visited the pet shop if it would be Padraig or the other, Denis, Mr. O’Brien would call him with similar admonitions as he had the young black cat. Those were the days when there’d be a dark haired young man, slim and growing out of that in between stage into a man, helping in the shop. He’d always have a sparkle in his eyes when he saw Quinn and a mischievously flirtatious smile for him but he never did any of the talking, leaving it to Mr. O’Brien to do that if need be.
Quinn found that whether Padraig was in the window or if the black haired, golden eyed young man was working that day, he would end up with an extra bit of warmth in his heart as he left to walk home. Well almost, there was that one time when he’d tried to scritch Denis between his ears because he’d done something terribly cute and all the kittens had been pouncing away on him. Quinn had reached in and gathered Denis up to temporary safety letting him hook his claws and climb up Quinn’s jacket. Denis had purred overly loud, looking off over Quinn’s shoulder, and the shop owner’s helper had dropped a largish bag of bird seed on Quinn’s foot without saying sorry and then stalked off. Somehow Quinn thought he should send a letter of apology the next day, or maybe, his mind veered to thoughts better unthought, a gift card from the coffee shop down the way. Though that would never do because that coffee shop sold toys of a indiscrete sort much too inappropriate for a young man like that, and why his thoughts had gone there he never did know. True the shop did serve some delicious pastries but Quinn remembered that some of the shapes of those delicacies were equally inappropriate. Still, Quinn didn’t know the young man’s name and his work kept him overly busy until a week later so he couldn’t very well visit again so soon. When he finally was able to get in, it was Padraig in the window with the kittens and Quinn found himself telling him about last time and how he’d wanted to do something to make it up to the black haired young man who wasn’t working that day and how Quinn really liked Padraig better and then he even told him about the coffee shop and swore Padraig to not tell anyone and he really shouldn’t be talking about such things because even though Padraig was older than the rest of the kittens he was still awfully young for such discussions.
The young cat had looked up at Quinn totally unimpressed but he grabbed up a kitten and set to a good tongue bathing and still listened. In the end Quinn, to his surprise, got his finger washed with a bit of teeth skimming over Quinn’s skin in an imagined grooming of a difficult part. There’d been a brief lick at the end though and Quinn had left the shop forgetting that the kitten wasn’t the shop owner’s black haired helper.
Some day soon, he’d have to ask Mr. O’Brien the name of his helper but it would probably have to be after the holidays when the shop reopened. Just thinking of the time he wouldn’t be able to visit the shop because of the holidays made Quinn sigh sadly. He was a sad, sad case, Quinn reflected, if not visiting the kitten or flirting with the helper made such an impact on him.
The holidays saw him sequestered in the country, snowed in with his extended family. The freezing storms making travel impossible and even back in the city nobody was going anywhere. Quinn worried about the kittens and who would feed and water them if the owner was gone for the holidays and whoever was watching the shop wasn’t able to get to them to take care of all the animals. Then he remembered that Mr. O’Brien had said there was a Vet’s office that was attached to the back of the shop so that the two businesses spanned from one street to the other and it was a relative of his. A vet’s practice would have to have someone there to take care of any sick or boarded pets over the holidays. He didn’t know what he was doing but Quinn called the pet shop and heard a pleasant voice, that coiled around the words, answer with the Veterinarian’s Office’s name.
“Oh thank God. This is Tarquinn Bradley and I know you don’t know me but I was just calling because I was worried about the pets at Mr. O’Brien’s Shop and if anyone was there to take care of them.”
“My Da makes sure that everybody is okay. Don’t you worry; it was nice that you did though.” There was an amused pleased quality to the voice. “Where are you anyway?”
“Stuck out in the country, snowed in. I was starting to think about cross-country skiing and breaking in and then my higher mental faculties sat me down and told me to use this modern contrivance known as a telephone before trying to ski to the rescue.” Quinn huffed out a breath and laughed, “I’m a bit dotty, I guess.” It occurred to Quinn that it must be very boring to be minding the businesses, for the man on the other end of the phone to carry on a conversation that was so lengthy and well, frankly with someone that must seem a bit more than odd.
There was a purr to the voice that rubbed Quinn in a way that made certain parts perk up, “Not dotty in a bad way. Sweet. It’s sweet, you worrying about them and ready to strap on your white skis to the rescue. All’s well, warm and comfortable with everyone happy here. Well maybe not the poor dog whose owner left him here with a bad case of close encounter with a skunk. It kind of stinks that the lady’s landlord wouldn’t let her keep him there until after the odor was gone. Hopefully it will teach him and her to give skunks a wide berth.” There was a snort, “Dogs sometimes don’t have any sense.”
Quinn laughed, “well it seems that the poor dog in question has some now from what your saying. Sense. Scents,” he repeated.
“That is so bad, if you were here I’d have to whap you Quinn,” was laughed back, “on behalf of poor miserable Freckles.”
“Is he okay or is it just that nobody wants to share the odor of his presence?” Quinn asked.
“If he were listening, you’d be one kibble away from a growl from him. I let him out to roll in the snow for awhile yesterday and then brought him in for a warm shampoo bathing. I think he’s close to being presentable again though it could be my nose is becoming numb. Speaking of which, he’s informing me that he wants back in. I think he heard me say kibble. Funny how a dog’s ears pick up on things like that.”
“I guess I’d better let you go then so Freckles doesn’t bark the door down. Um could you tell me the name of the young man who works over at the pet shop? He’s got black hair and beautiful golden eyes and I’m sounding dotty again and maybe more than a bit of a pedophile.” Quinn laughed uncomfortably.
There was a laugh, “I’m 18 Quinn and my name is Padraig. Freckles really wants to come in so I need to go. It was nice talking to you, I wouldn’t mind going to get a cup of coffee with you sometime if you asked and my Da doesn't load me up with work when you’re off. Have a good rest of the extended holiday. Everything is fine here.”
Quinn listened to the phone click off as Padraig was telling Freckles that he was coming, to hold onto his bark. That seemed like a good idea and Quinn repaired himself to the bathroom upstairs, well away from the rest of his family, to do just that. If he virtuously thought that he’d let Padraig choose which coffee shop they’d visit together, probably steering him away from one certain one, and tried to not think too hard about Pleasures and Padraig in close proximity before he had the bathroom door locked behind him and his pants down in front of the toilet, well he was a good man but only human. Eighteen was old enough but still uncomfortably young. It was going to be a long courtship with many visits to play and talk with Padraig, the cat, when Padraig, the shop helper, wasn’t there. He hoped that cats didn’t tell tales and could hold their tongues about what they heard because Quinn could see himself spilling all his thoughts, dreams and wishes during that courtship of Padraig’s namesake. His hand stroking quickly while his other hand’s fingers played lower, Quinn’s thoughts were on black hair, golden eyes and long legs, and that for some reason had a rough tongue associated with them, just before moaning the cat’s name as he came.
*
1 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/P%C3%BAca*
2 http://irelandofthewelcomes.com/home/tales-of-the-pooka/![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
