I said in an earlier section that man is a political animal, but what we don’t really understand is how truly chaotic that is. Office politics, local public offices, layers upon layers of bureaucracy and people all striving after their own ends in some form or fashion. To many species who observe the way humans do things, it is a wonder they survived to develop space flight, or that they get anything done at all.

I admit even fifty years later I sometimes still think the same way. But out of this chaotic social situation there usually comes some guiding goal, some common interest that drives humans who may want different things, to work together.

When I got up that morning I didn’t know what that meant. But when nightfall came again, I did.

When I woke up at last and ventured upstairs it was the dawn hour of the Earth morning, while William and Rebecca were, according to the bio I received ‘early risers’ and at first that seemed true. But in the weeks since all this havoc began, they’d been rising late.

Fauve however, hadn’t altered her routine much at all. I remembered what I heard her say the night before, but in a very un-dlamisa like act, I chose not to tell her I’d caught it. The only clue to what she was going through was that while she sat at the dinner table alone with her cup of coffee and a small sandwich that she hadn’t eaten, was that her eyes were red and she barely looked up when I walked into the room.

“Your sandwich is in the fridge.” She murmured. It was fairly common for me to get up around the same time as herself, so this wasn’t a surprise. But like every day I said a sincere, “Thank you.” before I opened the door and removed a plate.

I went over to pour my own cup of coffee, I knew well enough how to make it so that it was at its best for my palate, so this was no problem. But when I reached up to the cabinet, Fauve cleared her throat.

I stopped in midreach and looked in her direction. She put a hand on a small box. “Here.” She said and drummed her fingers on it a few times, “I got this for you. It’s from one of those special order places at the mall.”

I cocked my head toward her and approached, briefly putting aside my want of that wondrous sacred brew. When I leaned forward, her hand went up and began to rub the top of my head, my tail began to wave back and forth and all my ears went down in maximum happiness. The human touch can feel so… damn… good. It’s addictive.

She gave me the little ghost of a smile when my hand closed over the small palm sized box. It was very thin, but it had a bit of weight to it. It was also wrapped up in a strange multicolored paper with a label on it. I looked at the label, it just said ‘Thanks’.

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Fauve wasn’t much of a talker, I guess. She didn’t say much, but she meant what she said, she’d have made a good dlamisa.

“What do I do with it?” I asked, and her smile went a little broader, her fingers began scratching my head, running them through the thick black and red fur, it took care of an itch I didn’t know was there. My left foot started tapping involuntarily before she even answered…

“You open it, doofus. Just tear off the paper.” She snickered a little and I did as she said, my tongue started lolling out the side of my mouth before the paper was all the way clear, and… there was a box. Just a plain cardboard box.

I glanced at her while leaning over the table, she nodded again, and with her encouragement, I opened the top and found…

A cup.

I reached in and took it out to give it a look, and Fauve explained. “I ordered it the day after. But custom jobs, they take time, and I had to send the first one back after they screwed up your real name.”

It was a coffee cup. The coloration was patterned after my black and red fur, and in big bold letters was the name they gave me. ‘Bailey’. But when I turned the cup to the other side, I found a string of musical notes.

“How…?” I looked at her, my hands shook like a human’s, my tail wagging so fast that it could have propelled a small boat if it were in the water. The musical notes were a close approximation to the way my name would sound if humans could have said it. It wasn’t quite perfect, but it was so close that if I heard it called out I would have looked for who was trying to get my attention.

“Do you like it?” She asked when I straightened up, the handle was flanged out slightly in the almost leaf-like shape of my ear. I didn’t know what it cost to make this customized to me, but at a guess, it wasn’t cheap. Especially for a young girl on a part time job.

The practice of gift giving among humans is an ancient one. One of their ancient stories is of a man who walked a thousand of what they called ‘miles’ to bestow on his friend a gift, and his friend answered in return, “My friend, you came so far to give this to me?” To which the giver answered, “My friend, the journey was part of the gift.”

Humans give gifts for many reasons, some benign, some nefarious, but there isn’t a human alive who does not want to be given a gift with the truest sincerity. Even for those who aren’t especially greedy, a gift is a symbol of gratitude, of affection, even if it is only a passing thought. But there is more.

Human children have a prolonged period of socialization and development, it is not innate, it is learned. What this implies is that when a child acts to give a gift, it lacks a strong manipulative component. What they say, what they do, what they mean, is guileless relative to their adult peers. They are, in a word, sincere.

I went to the coffee pot with my cup in hand and poured the hot black liquid inside. I added my little bit of sugar and a thick helping of cream which turned the black stuff the color of tan skin and took a long, slow slurp while Fauve waited for an answer.

I loved it.

“It’s perfect.” I said and went to crouch down beside her to get more head scratches.