NORMAN THE UNNORMAL
A loud snap behind me makes my heart skip a beat, but I don't move a muscle, knowing exactly what could happen if I do without knowing if it's Norman approaching me. I have had three encounters with a different werewolf hybrid called Ripper that have almost ended in me losing a limb or two. I've lost an eye thanks to Norman's arch enemy. Norman always blows on my neck every time I bring him scraps from the slaughterhouse to let me know it's him. He blows on my neck and I turn to pet him. His tail wags excitedly as he devours the bucket of scraps. "Look, you can't keep on coming to my window unannounced." I say. Norman's specific breed-terors- have intelligence levels that exceed the average werewolf IQ. I know he understands me perfectly. His ears perk up after he finishes eating when I hold up his favorite chew toy. "Who's a good boy? Who wants the Squeaky toy?" I say. Norman grabs the toy and runs around in circles.
