The Indicator x The Student: “Dr. Razzle & Mr. Taz”

You came to me the first night of the blizzard. A rough-looking creature with a thick coat

that seemed to do nothing against the North Dakota wind chill. With your long, sharp talons you

anchored yourself to my doorstep, subtly letting me know that you weren’t going anywhere. If

your insistence wasn’t enough, the way your body shook, your disproportionately large ears

framed your good eye–protecting it from the unforgiving snow, and the snot that dribbled from

your nose told me two things: you were cold. You were cold and you needed me.

After a few moments of gazing down at you, I came to the conclusion you had already

been set on: my home would be your shelter. Once I stepped out of your way, you scurried

inside, sounding a “Mrrt” which I had assumed was a “thank you,” but, in hindsight and given,

well, you, was most likely a “took you long enough.” You shook the snow from your body and

quickly made yourself comfortable. You stretched yourself, your bones cracking in the process.

Jumping on my couch, you released a high-pitched sneeze before lying down and shutting your

eyes. I offered you food - my leftover pizza from two nights before - but you wouldn’t stir. I

went to bed. That morning, I awoke to find you between my legs. Your padded feet were facing

the ceiling and your head was resting on my knee.

Your name was Dr. Razzle. My strange little buddy. In those two days we’d been snowed

in, you surprised me. You could be so kind. So sweet. When cramps wracked my stomach and I

had no medicine to ease the pain, you laid on me. Your warm, tubby belly made everything a bit

better. Later, when boredom had taken hold and I couldn’t take it anymore, I took out some paint

and an old tote. I painted a pretty, summer landscape, the complete opposite of the one outside.

There was a yellow sun, a light blue sky, and a field of green grass. Something was missing

though, and I didn’t know what. Not until you nudged the purple tube of paint towards me, the

pink one already in your mouth. Flowers would fit right in.

Your name became Mr. Taz. My roommate from hell. At times you were pissy. So

territorial, never mind it was my home and not yours. The curtains were particularly offensive to

you. After you first glared at them, it didn’t take more than thirty minutes for them all to become

a shredded heap on the floor. Your mood worsened as I tried to clean. You saw an opportunity

when I leaned down to scoop up your mess and you took it. Your little hands gripped my arm so

tightly it left indents and you took my fingers into your mouth. Your molars gnawed and your

incisors cut at my flesh. Once you were finally satisfied with your torment, you jumped away.

The rest of the day you stood on the couch with your hind legs, your arms fanned out and fur

poofed as if you were struck by lightning, daring me to challenge you for couch rights.

Your name flipped as often as you flipped personalities. Dr. Razzle one moment and Mr.

Taz the next. That second snowed-in day really had it all. I woke to Mr. Taz’ angered “Clrrps” as

you pounced on and off my sleeping body before bouncing around our bedroom. Dr. Razzle kept

me company in the kitchen as you brushed up against my legs and sat on my lap, letting me feed

you some bacon. Mr. Taz dug his claws into the coffee table, leaving behind his own masterpiece

of lines. Later, as I tearfully looked through old family photos, some of people I could never see

again and others of people who weren’t what I thought they were, you softly murmured

“Zhi-eek” and placed your paw on my hand. Razzle, Taz, Razzle, Taz. On and on it went. From

that first night of the blizzard to that calm, peaceful morning.

You left our home that third day. Not fully, of course. There were bits of you here and

there–the purple pawprint on the tote and bite marks on my body as evidence for that. A wreck

of shredded metal that had once been a window screen greeted me when I woke up. In contrast to

the screen’s carcass was a perfect, circular sheet of glass laying against the wall. You, with your

sharp talons no doubt, made a hole in the window. A hole just big enough for a creature of your

tubbiness to fit through. Realistically, I should be happy to no longer be snowed in. That you

have returned to the wild and I no longer have to bear your back-and-forthness anymore. Be

happy that my home is mine, and only mine, once more.

I don’t feel happy, though. I feel lonely - more lonely than I felt before I met you.

Perhaps there is something wrong with me. Getting attached to such a lively, ornery beast

certainly isn’t normal. I even find myself wishing that you’ll come back. That, in just a few

moments, I will see you trudging through the snow, carrying a gift in your mouth for me -

courtesy of Dr. Razzle - or maybe carrying something Mr. Taz had stolen. Those thoughts, that

hope, urge me to ask: Should you return, as Dr. Razzle or Mr. Taz or someone new, will I let you

in once more?