#Sproggo!
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rb with the lyrics to the silly little song you made up to sing to your pet in the tags
#Sproggo!#you cute little cat#you’re Sproggo!#whatcha think about that?#hey Sproggo!#you’re the cutest cat around!
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If I name my child sproggo don't blame it on me blame it on Max
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Smelteon: Origins
“Lydia, get away from the wallaby grass!” a throaty voice sliced through the heat haze.
That was my dad, Sproggo. His voice wasn’t usually throaty; he must have been dehydrated.
“You can’t keep me cooped up inside all day, darl,” my mum yelled back.
“You’re going to start a bushfire.” Dad’s voice was getting fainter as he wormed deeper into the old tin shed. He always seemed to know exactly where mum was, even if he was nowhere near her; he claims it’s because he’s an Espeon and he has special powers, but we think it’s just an abnormally perspicacious sense of smell.
Mum sniffed and held up her tail so it wouldn’t singe the wallaby grass, and continued sorting through the scrap metal stacked in front of her. She loved to bemoan the fact she never asked to become a Flareon, but being caught in a bushfire during evolution kind of precluded any other outcome.
I turned back round to continue my lethargic survey of the steelworks in the distance. School holidays sucked.
My name is Nicky and I am an Eevee. For those of you who don’t know, an Eevee looks like a fox, it’s small and brown and boring, and this part of the bush is completely swamped with them. There’s actually nothing else at my crappy regional school; it’s a miracle the teachers manage to tell any of us apart.
Growing up, most Eevees evolve into one of a number of variants; Flareon and Espeon, my parents, are only a couple of examples. Knowing my luck, I’ll probably catch the once-in-five-year flash floods and become a Vaporeon, then I’ll be instantly vaporised when the sun comes back out.
“Nicky, run time,” mum drawled, lighting a durry with her tail.
“Stop smoking, it’ll give you cancer,” dad yelled, his voice muffled by the walls of whatever contraption he had his head up this time. See, it was definitely the smell.
“Well, not all of us can amuse ourselves playing with toys all day long,” mum replied, taking a deep drag. Dad went back to sulking. She wasn’t wrong.
Mum harnessed me up, then I did her, and we began pulling our barrow-loads of scrap metal towards the steelworks. This is what we did for keeps around here, everyone knew that, including Sproggo – though he liked to fantasise about making his millions from his next great invention.
“So you’ll be done with school soon,” mum started, her breathing steady despite the tonnage of steel laced to her back and her chronic abuse of her lungs. “What are you gonna do next, chook? Take over the family business?”
I just managed to restrain myself from asking, ‘Which one?’ There was a dry thunderstorm forecast for later; we didn’t need to burn down the whole state.
“I want to go to the city,” I wheezed, doing my best to keep up.
Mum’s mouth puckered up in distaste, and she paused to incinerate a cluster of blowflies which had ventured too close to her face.
“You’ll get run over. There’s too many cars in the city,” she sniffed, as if my aunt hadn’t just been flattened by a road train minutes from our house. “Besides, they don’t want people like us out there. No use knowing how to sort scrap or tap a blast furnace in an office, kid.”
I wondered if she was right, if I would be stuck in this Satan’s armpit for the rest of my life.
“I could learn computers.”
“It ain’t the same, chook. Shit happens; you’ve just got to learn to suck it up.”
I furrowed my brow. I couldn’t think of anything particularly shit that had happened recently, because nothing at all ever happened here. Maybe she was referring to my being born.
We pulled up to the eastern entrance of the steelworks. Mum waved to Dazza, the burly Dodrio who manned the boom gates. Nobody ever got past those gates unnoticed.
“G’day Daz,” mum said.
“Hey Lydia,” one of his heads said, and the boom gates flew open.
After weighing and dumping our steel, mum went to collect $21 from the office, puffing on another stinky cigarette. I could picture her counting notes, durry hanging from the corner of her mouth, but unfortunately we could never haul enough scrap to fetch multiple notes.
“Wanna watch that round the wallaby grass,” one of the blokes called, nodding at mum’s cigarette but looking at her bum. I rolled my eyes, and tried to picture tolerating these vapid inanities for the next fifty years. If I stayed here, I would end up pushing scrap at the steelworks for life.
Mum handed me my share of five bucks and turned me loose for the rest of the day. I decided to crash at my mate Shanny’s place; his uncle was in the habit of brewing bathtub gin and selling it illegally, including to minors.
Shanny lived at the very edge of town, and I’d picked up about six other bored kids from my class by the time I waltzed up to his door.
“Nicky.” Shanny sighed when he saw me. “This is getting out of control. My uncle’s trying to get a proper job, you know, before someone rats him out to the cops.”
In the end, though, he couldn’t turn seven of us away, so we all spent the afternoon getting day drunk in his living room. I wouldn’t have liked to know what we looked like through the window, eight sweaty Eevees draped over the furniture slurring along to Jimmy Barnes in the wrong key.
After the sun had set, someone had the stupid idea to sneak into the steelworks, and because we were drunk, we all agreed enthusiastically. Eevees are brown, we reasoned, so we would blend in with the ground. No fault was found with the plan. We crept up to the eastern fence, waited for Dazza to piss off on a toilet break, then ducked underneath the boom gates.
Liv immediately began to giggle hysterically. Shanny tried in vain to shut her up, and she wasn’t having a bar of it. “Someone go and cut our names into the top of the blast furnace,” she said.
“That’s a sick idea,” her brother Johnno said, as Shanny desperately herded us into the shadow of a workshop. “Not gonna be me though. It’s like five thousand degrees up there.”
It was actually just over a thousand; didn’t anyone pay attention in chemistry?
“Nicky’s mum is a Flareon,” some asshole pointed out.
“So what?” I snapped.
“Nick-y! Nick-y!” It was too late. The inebriated Eevee tide had already raised me off my feet.
“Put me down,” I roared. I was starting to regret all that bathtub gin. The blast furnace was at least thirty metres tall. I was punted onto the stairs leading up the side of the giant cauldron. They only went up the control room; I would have to climb the rest of the way via the maintenance ladder.
“Do it,” Johnno said, fishing a pocket knife out of his fanny pack. I gripped the handle between my teeth and began the garish ascent, wobbling ridiculously on my feet. There was no backing down from a challenge, especially when the drink made me incapable of thinking through a single consequence.
I very almost made it. I’d lodged myself on the chute which chucked iron ore and limestone pellets into the furnace, because the heat was bearable there. I’d etched three names into the rusty metal – mine, Shanny’s, and Liv’s – and was about to start on the next (definitely not Johnno’s), when a shrill warbling from below unnerved me and made me drop the knife. It fell down the chute. Instinctively, I dived after my lost possession, and out of the corner of my eye I watched my mates on the ground scatter, busted by Dazza, as I fell into the blast furnace.
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“Wh- what is that?”
“I don’t know. I have never seen anything like that before in my life.”
“Is it alive?”
“I don’t know.”
I knew I was dead; nobody could possibly survive falling into a blast furnace. There was a reason they called the coke in there the Dead Man. (I’m actually not sure if that’s the real reason, but it seemed fitting at the time).
I tried to prise open my eyes to take a glimpse at hell, but all I could see was a sort of white haze.
“Nicky?” mum’s voice was shrill. Why was my mum here?
“Mum?” I rasped.
“It’s Nicky!” she shrieked. “Nicky, you bloody idiot. You scared the shit out of me and your father. What happened to you? What’s all that crap on your back? Does it hurt?”
I narrowed my eyes in confusion. Was I still drunk? I could imagine worse things than spending the whole of eternity pissed. At least the squinting helped me bring my vision into focus, and eventually I could make out mum, Dazza, and a gaggle of strangers hovering over me. I wiggled my limbs experimentally. They felt heavy, but otherwise normal.
“I feel fine,” I said.
Two Machoke reached down to grip my legs.
“Oi,” I protested weakly. “Hands off.”
They helped me off my back, and it looked bizarrely like they struggled to do so. Machoke could lift tons of steel, so it was preposterous to suggest a pair of them would have trouble flipping a scrawny Eevee over. Perhaps I had been welded to the side of the furnace.
I averted my eyes to look at my feet and screamed. My fur was short and sandy-coloured, instead of shaggy and brown. A band of shiny metal wound its way round each of my legs. Was this a joke?
“Good one, Shanny,” I yelled at nobody. “Really took the piss there, didn’t you.”
Dazza’s three heads stared at me, concerned. I looked past him and realised the blast furnace had been completely emptied. The tap hole was open, but no molten iron was gushing out as it usually would.
“So, I’m not dead?” I checked, just to make sure.
“I don’t think so, mate,” Dazza said. “I mean, you’re talking and everything.”
“You look like… Just look,” mum said, lighting a cigarette and sucking on it violently while tossing me her pocket mirror.
I sussed out my new appearance. I had acquired a helmet and a shield along my back, of the same metal which adorned my legs. I shook out my ears and they flapped satisfactorily, so my muscles still worked.
“Do you reckon,” Sproggo piped up from the back of the crowd (oh! I hadn’t noticed him there), “this is a new type of evolution?”
“Great, our Nicky is a freak,” mum snapped stressfully. Her eyes darted back towards me. “Sorry, chook, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Not necessarily,” Sproggo said thoughtfully. He looked like he was enjoying himself. “I mean, nobody’s tried diving into a blast furnace while evolving before, have they? It could be a perfectly natural thing.”
“Nicky is covered with metal,” mum just about shrieked, and Sproggo shrank back into the masses.
“Hey,” I said sheepishly. “At least I won’t die if I get hit by a car now.”
That line might not have been the best call, but three cigarettes later mum had calmed down enough to poke at all my new body parts, checking to see if any of them were sharp.
“The tail packs a punch,” she announced. “But the rest is platy.”
I swished my tail around for good measure as everyone continued to stare at me.
“Cool,” I heard Johnno’s voice mumbling from somewhere behind the front row. So my mates had stuck around too.
Thereafter, life quickly returned to our trite outback routine, even more suppressive than the heat. Nobody dared try the stunt again in case they got the timing wrong, but the town’s interest had been piqued. I’ve got no doubt more like me will come along eventually.
For now, I have the upper hand in any fight I get into at school, so I’m peachy.
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El Sproggo💜 #nephew #kiddo #baby #sweetheart #cuddles #family #cutie (at North Nibley, Gloucestershire) https://www.instagram.com/p/CZkEHvrM4rM/?utm_medium=tumblr
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{{ open // like to be messaged for plotting and/or a starter
“-- Sproggo, wait--!” How the fuck was his three-year-old running faster than he could?! Oh yeah, he had a fucked knee and a dog on a leash. Being as they were in a park, the only solution he readily saw was to stop and let Shadow off the leash, whereupon she bounded after the toddler and Sprog immediately started to try and catch her instead. Max whistled, Shadow coming back with her tail wagging, Sprog in tow.
“-- What’m I gonna do with you, kiddo?” he asked, not expecting an answer as he bent to ruffle Sprog’s blond hair, then ruffling Shadow’s ear. “-- Alright...I see how it is. Why don’t you go grab that stick, yeah? If you bring it back, I’ll show you how to get Shadow to do something cool.” Sprog clapped his hands and ran off to pick up the nearby stick, Shadow sitting at Max’s heel.
Sprog stopped short, attention caught by someone the infant didn’t know as he toddled up to them and tugged on their clothing, pointing. “’Sat?” he asked, enquiring as to what something was. Well, fuck, stranger danger meant nothing to his kid. Max approached, exhaling and with Shadow in tow, intending to retrieve his son and hoping that the person didn���t mind the three-year-old’s curiosity.
#shuffled:start#{{ additional starter reply to bring it up to three is in the queue dw dw i just wanted this out there
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Shoutout to this little guy who was being super affectionate today. He is the less expressive of my two cats but today he was purring like a motor and head butting and even doing happy paws. He’s so full of love and I’m so happy we were able to give him a safe home off the streets where he could be his sweet self.
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#benson is sooooo cute#and when he’s in a loving mood he is so cuddly and adorable#and that’s why it’s important I tell Sproggo that he didn’t get supplanted by the baby#he’s still my best friend
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Hi, new followers who followed me based on my WGA post! Just a reminder that I am always down to answer questions about working in television. I’m very grateful for all the people who gave me advice when I was considering it/working my way up, and I am happy to pay it forward. My ask box is open! :)
#will also answer questions about my cats#precious cinnamon roll sproggo who has never done a single thing wrong in his entirelife#and benson who is literally currently biting me
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This summer, we had a box delivered that Sproggo was OBSESSED with. He spent most of his time lying in the box. It was a smallish box, square, with low sides. He would curl up in the box and rest his head on the edge. We were starting to get worried because it was starting to break.
Well, around that time we got Benson. Sproggo was stressed so he spent even more time in his box. We had the recommendation that it was good for them to have things that smelled like each other before they met face-to-face, so for a couple of days we put a washcloth in the box, and another in Benson’s room, and then we swapped them.
Sproggo was SO OFFENDED. He walked up to the box, sniffed it, and never went in it again, even after we removed the offending washcloth. “Remember when we ruined Sproggo’s box?,” Robert and I would joke.
Well now they have met face-to-face and get along just peachy. My mom sent us some early Christmas presents over the weekend and right away I noticed something. “Robert…..” I said, “I think this is the exact shape as Sproggo’s old box!”
And I’m happy to report:
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Look who was REALLY excited we came home from Toronto today :)
#cats of tumblr#Sproggo#we’re picking up Benson tonight#Sproggo’s kind of a loner and he has FIV so he stayed here and the cat sitter checked up on him#but the cat sitter is fostering several kittens around Benson’s age#so he got to spend his vacation at what we called cat summer camp#he’s gonna miss his new buddies but i bet he’ll be happy to see us too!!
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Other cat news: today I was in the zoom writers’ room and I heard a banging downstairs and I thought it was someone knocking at the door but there was no one there. I was confused until I realized Sproggo was busy throwing his little body against the door to our basement. I opened the door and Sproggo DASHED down the stairs, hot on the heels of Toast, the stray cat who lives in our backyard (and is Sproggo’s ex-girlfriend and Benson’s mom). She had broken into our basement and Sproggo was trying to get to her! My poor Romeo.
Anyway truly if any of you live in LA and want to adopt a very sweet (spayed) cat, please hmu, she would make someone a perfect friend :)
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Don’t mind me, just crying about how my cat is my truest friend. I’m still having troubles with my back and my physical therapist recommended that I lie down on a hard surface my entire work day, so this is me lying on a yoga mat on the floor of my office. Sproggo was curious at first but has now decided that this is His Spot. Sometimes I don’t even notice when he comes in, but I always find him there when I get up after a session ends. He just likes to be there. He’s so cute, I can’t get over him.
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Sam, I'm sorry if you've told this before, but how did you come up with the names for Sproggo and Benson? I love hearing about them and seeing photos! Thanks!
I wrote a longer answer but Tumblr ate it lol. Sproggo is named for Mad Max's baby, who is never given a name, only called "Sproggo" which is Australian slang similar to "kiddo," which is honestly kind of funny when (spoiler) the kid gets run over and Max Max falls to his knees yelling "SPROGGOOOOOO NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!" We had just watched Mad Max around the time we were befriending the neighborhood stray in our backyard and it stuck.
Benson is for the song "Benson, Arizona" which pays over the opening credits of John Carpenter's "Dark Star." It's randomly one of my husband's favorite songs. For the first twelve hours we had him, we called him "Wubbo" (eta: after an astronaut in For All Mankind with a silly name we were obsessed with at the time) but we had to call around to overnight emergency vets to get kitten formula and we had to say Wubbo a bunch of times and it was honestly too silly. My husband suggested Benson and it stuck!
Anyway bonus pic of two little friendos!
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Sam, you may ask, you tell us about your two kitties, but how do they get along?
Honestly? Pretty good! The dominance hierarchy has been clear since day 1, since Sproggo (brown tabby) is a big tough muscle cat from the streets, and Benson (orange tabby) is a baby softboi. I describe their relationship as VERY Big Brother/Little Brother (the pic does not give you the best perspective on their sizes — Benson is still about half Sproggo’s size). Benson LOVES Sproggo, is absolutely obsessed with him. Sproggo likes having Benson around as long as Benson is matching his energy level — if they both want to cuddle or if they both want to play. The only trouble is when Benson wants to play and Sproggo wants to sleep and Benson is just jumping on Sproggo and gnawing on his face and Sproggo looks at me mournfully like “why did you do this to me, Mother.”
Anyway I love them!!!
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Sproggo has a quest for you
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So, I had been planning on going to Comic-Con this year, but I injured my back last month. I had been going to physical therapy with the hopes of healing in time, but after sitting in a doctor’s waiting room chair on Tuesday for 45 minutes in just blinding, distracting pain, I realized there was no version of me going and having fun. Just me going and being in pain all weekend and probably having to tap out very early each day and being upset about it, or me staying home. So I made the decision that SDCC 2022 is, alas, not for me.
But! I feel like we made lemonade out of lemons. First of all, we were able to give our room away to someone who could really use it, and it made me really emotional to think of someone having a great time in it! I’m so pleased!
And then….. on Wednesday this little guy wound up on our doorstep.
Everybody! Meet Benson! A neighbor found him and was looking for someone to take him in. We’d been talking about getting a second cat to keep Sproggo company and here this little guy was! A baby like this is very care intensive, so we’re glad we had already decided not to go to SDCC next weekend, or else we wouldn’t have been able to take him in! He’s so sweet and cute, just three weeks old but already quite brave and curious about the world. We love him!
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