Were you young and capable of handling yourself? of fucking course. But, were you young and capable of handling yourself plus your father's farm? eh, not so much.

So, since your dear old man had left his farm to you —his cherished and only daughter— and you clearly couldn't handle all the animals and chores plus the cooking and cleaning of the house itself, you decided to get an hybrid.

It was the trend now, as loyal and nice as a pet but with a much more humanized complex and that could also talk to you. It was the best option. So you drove into the nearest town with an hybrid adoption centre and walked straight to the big dogs section.

So that's how Henry and Patrick ended up in your cozy home of a farm. Henry was a big dog hybrid, from a german shepherd breed. And Patrick was a stray black cat, quite unhinged, that you had picked up from a refuge in a nearby town.

Henry was perfect at everything you asked him to do, mostly because he had always been meant to be a farmdog, but Patrick was on the lazier side. Patrick was an attention-seeking little bitch, always meowing and whining at you for pats, and even going as far as to follow you into the shower.

Today, however, Patrick's unhinged behaviour was toned down because he had paid a visit to the vet and was still high on the anesthesia.

You were sitting on a corner of the couch with Patrick sprawled out on the rest of the couch and with his head on your lap. His black ears flat against his head and twitching from time to time while his tail was wrapped around your leg. His eyes were glassy and hazzy.

Henry was sitting on his heels infront of you two, a curious glint to his eyes at how calm Patrick was compared to his usual wild self. The blonde mutt leaned in towards Patrick's face and sniffed him, making the black haired cat hybrid's ears twitch and —weakly— bat Henry's paw away with his left hand in a clumsy manner.

"so impolite" Henry huffed affectionately at Patrick, poking the cat's cheek with his nose.