 He started, with a neighbor's cat, a fact he would later come to regret, but at the time it had made so much sense. When the bedroom door opened, Wynton had looked up in sudden surprise that quickly turned to a smile. He'd felt Kelly stiffened beside him. She was still barely even awake after having been pulled into the day first by the gentle stream of his kisses along her spine, and then the sudden cold water appearance of their child. They were both good parents, however, loving in every way they could be, and as their son walked up to the side of their bed, Kelly's side, always, they watched with soft eyes as he gathered himself for whatever he was going to ask, his baring awash in a fragile, childish gravitas. Mommy? He said, and he only still called her that when he had something very important to ask. Can I have a dragon for my birthday? Kelly hadn't meant to laugh. Wynton knew that, and in the moment after their son ran out of the room, dignity shattered on the floor behind him. He wrapped his strong arms around his wife and tried his hardest to be reassuring. She was a great mom, always had been and always would. The world had just conspired against her that morning. He patted her hip twice, the way he always did, and went looking for their child. Hey, Wes, can I come in, buddy? Wes's door was on the opposite end of the hall from his parents. There was no lock on it, nothing to stop Wynton from entering, but he'd always made a habit of asking for permission. It seemed important. Maybe one day his son would get the message and stop barging in unannounced on them. No, Wes said loudly. His little voice quivering from somewhere in the direction of his race car bed. You know, your mom didn't mean to laugh, sometimes that stuff just happens. Besides, dragons are pretty rare, you know. Wynton leaned into the doorframe, arranging his slouch carefully for the moment the door would open. They are? Wes replied, his voice now only a foot or two away. Uh-huh, rarest creature in the world. Your mom has never seen one before, they're so rare. But you know, I've got a little secret about them to share if you'll open the door. The door creaked open a moment later, and Wynton fixed an easy lopsided smile onto his face as its motion revealed his son. The boy was standing up straight and tall, trying to regain some sense of poise he doubtlessly learned from the same shows that taught him about dragons. His effort was somewhat ruined by the wide, watery eyes. Wynton reached out a hand, idly rubbing his son's hair. There you are, he said. You really want to know the secret? Wes nodded solemnly. His father crouched down, right to eye level, as his hand moved from Wes's hair to a solid man-to-man grip on his shoulder. Okay, the secret. You see, dragons are very sensitive creatures. They're big and tough and strong, but they also get scared sometimes too. A dragon will only show itself to good people, people it knows it can trust. Wes's breath had completely stopped as his father spoke. They were locked together across not even an arms-length gap bound by a father's grip, and the sweet idiocy of the lie Wynton couldn't stop himself from telling. So you see, you have to be a very, very good boy to see a dragon. Even better, to have one of your own, you'd have to be a little hero. Do you think you can do that? When his son nodded, the spell Wynton was under seemed to break, and he began to realize the magnitude of what he'd done. He just promised his son a dragon, a damn dragon. He was out the door less than five minutes later, not even stopping to give Kelly a goodbye kiss in his hurry. He saw the cat as he backed out of the driveway and just acted. There was less than a month to Wes's birthday, and he'd never liked the neighbor anyway. Wynton arrived at his lab at 9.21 a.m. on a Sunday with Montgomery the cat held tight in his arms, the back seat in tatters, and his chest nearly there too. He shocked the hell out of the grad assistant in there at the time, a shy brown haired girl who'd had the unfortunate misconception that she might be able to get some work of her own done that day. Susan, drop whatever you're doing right now. We have to make a dragon. She dropped it. Quite literally a Petrie dish shattered on the floor. Professor, what are you? No time for questions. My son's birthday is in a month and it's all hands on deck. He'd just pinned a seven year old's hopes, dreams, and self worth on getting a dragon for his birthday. He'd basically written himself a one way pass to whatever circle of hell kept the worst dad's ever if he didn't deliver. It started with scales, a fact which the cat seemed oddly pleased about. This fur had begun to slough off by the end of the second day. And for nearly an hour between the processes, Montgomery had sat there like one of those horrific, hairless creatures naked as sin and looking like his wrinkles had wrinkles. He began purring and bathing himself while the scales grew. The sensation seemed pleasant somehow. Next came claws and that part was easy enough. Wynton simply added a few lion genes in watching the cat's natural weapons thicken into something quite menacing. In Wynton's mind, a dragon should also have spines and those were supplied by the More Eel. If for no more reason than they had its genome on hand. It went on like that. The cat's tail becoming long and whip like its body elongating, replacing indolent fat with a true predator's muscle. The wings were harder and they didn't get to those until week three. Wynton worked feverishly, his hands flowing over his computer's keyboard like some kind of piano virtuoso as he directed robotic assistance in the endless minutiae of DNA recombination. At the station not far away, Susan led a group of her fellow grad students in another task, one that he had little hope for but which had to be attempted anyway. By Friday of week three, Montgomery had sprouted long semi-opaque wings. They seem too bad now, but there was no time for anything else and Wynton had hopes they might grow into something better by the time of the dreaded birthday. He turned his full force to the last project, the one he thought might never work and the last week was spent trying to somehow implant fire into little Montgomery's heart. On the faded day, Wynton walked up to the door of his own house as if you were going to the gallows holding a cat carrier that smoked menacingly and just now realizing that Kelly might crucify him for what he was about to do. Wes' birthday party proper would come the next day when petty things like school couldn't get in the way. On that day, however, the real day, he would get his gift. Promises had been made and Wynton was not about to break his little boy's heart. They knew he'd been working on something when Kelly and Wes filed into the living room and sat down on the couch. They whispered excitedly to each other, preparing for whatever crazy show dad had cooked up this time. Kelly had given him a playful wink as she wrapped her arms around their son, hyping him up for whatever box lay under the blanket in front of him. She screamed when he pulled it off and Mount Gummary walked out. He was no longer really a cat and certainly not a dragon. Mount Gummary might be better classed as a chimera. He was a strange path work of parts that nature had never intended to go together but who nevertheless moved with the kind of sinuous ease that a master of Wynton's level could be expected to create. From snout to tail, the former cat looked the part. He was a 15 pound terror, a miniature apex predator who spread wings that had grown into a true spectacle as he rose onto his hind legs. His scales were a work of art, a deep auburn towards the spines of his back that faded into done gray at the sides and sunset orange at the belly. His powerful jaws snapped once, twice as his forked tongue flicked out, testing the air. Mount Gummary began walking up to the boy. In in response, Wes wriggled free from his mother's stunned grip, his eyes shining with triumph as he approached his new pet. He reached out a trembling hand to the creature. And it meowed loudly in a tone that only charitably became a roar at the end when a small puff of smoke came out. Kelly looked at him in horror, understanding dawning on her face. She'd seen the missing cat posters. She could put a timeline together. Wes was in heaven though. The meow completely ignored and for as long as the moment lasted, Wynton felt like the best dad ever. He would pay for it later that night. When smoke turned to fire, in the middle of what would have been a coughed up hair ball had Mount Gummary still been a cat. Perhaps some experiments would have been better left undone. Mount Gummary the cat looked through foreign eyes at what must have been his new owner, if such terms still mattered when his whole world had changed. Above him, the man gesticulated wildly, his mate and their child having rushed out of the room just ahead of the burning carpet. Listen dude, you have no idea how many rules I'm breaking here, but could you please at least make an effort to meow correctly? Or better yet, if you're going to sound like that, don't even meow at all. Of all the modifications to you, how is that the one that didn't take? Why not the damn fire? Mount Gummary blinked as he watched the humans antics. His name was hard to remember. Winston? Wynton? Something along those lines. Too much had changed to trust his memory. Finally exhausting himself, the man collapsed down out of the sofa, his form hazy from the thick smoke in the room. Mount Gummary hopped up beside him, laying the broad, triangular expanse of his head onto the man's lap in a silent plea to be petted. A moment later, he felt fingernails against the small scales along the back of his neck. He hissed in pleasure, hot air pouring out of his mouth. Mount Gummary bad, no more fire, none. Mount Gummary merely shrugged his wings. He hadn't meant to anyway. The two sat on that couch for several long minutes, as above them they had heard a bath running. The sounds of a child at play and mother's harrowing attempt to keep him in the tub safely away from the insanity his father had brought home and dared to call a pet. For the first time in nearly a month of frantic work and change, Mount Gummary began to relax. He curled into the human's lap, wrapping his long, sinuous tail around the man's thigh and closed his eyes. The thick column of his chest grew hot as he thought of mice and rabbits and anything else he might now fit down his gullet. A low rhythmic thrumming filled the air. It was more ominous sounding than the purring he remembered, and in a way that pleased him, it fit the same purpose regardless. The human, whose name he now remembered had to be written, had moved his hands down to the knotted muscles that connected Mount Gummary's wings to his shoulder blades, massaging them gently as he began to speak. What do you think of all this, bud? He asked. Ever since I made that idiotic promise to Wes to give him a pet dragon for his birthday, I just kept acting. It took five minutes of words to dig myself into a month-long hole, and now that you're actually here, it looks like it might be even longer than that. Mount Gummary, the cat, or whatever he was now, shuddered back into awareness. He didn't know what was happening, not really, but he understood some of the words more than he ever had before at any rate. He knew the human was sad about something, and he knew that the mate and child earlier had been scared when the carpet caught fire, but he struggled to put all the pieces together. Had he done something wrong, was it all his fault? His body uncurled from snout to tail in a long wave of sinew and scale. He leaned up onto his back paws, if they were still paws, just like he always used to, with his previous owner, and put his front paws onto Wynton's chest. With the new length of his neck, he was able to look down on the human from above. What are you trying to say to me? Wynton asked in wonder. There's intelligence in your eyes now, far more than any cat would have had. I almost think you can understand me. Mount Gummary's chest thrummed again in response. His mouth opened with a harsh rasp. Uh, buddy, what are you? Mount Gummary licked him. His long forked tongue shot out, able to paint a line from Wynton's chin to hairline in only three licks. The man sputtered, first in shock, and then in laughter. And soon man and cat were locked in a mortal game of play fighting. Wynton would push at his chest, ruffling what should have been fur, while Mount Gummary butted the nascent stumps of horns against his owner's chin. In all his excitement, Mount Gummary's wings began to flap, first in an irregular beat, but then gaining confidence until he took off, hovering unsteadily, a foot above the couch. It was magnificent. He never felt so powerful, not even when he'd lit the rug on fire. He was flying, like all the birds he'd once hunted, flying in a tight spiral around the room at higher and higher speeds until he crashed into a wall, punching clean through the drywall and crashing onto the kitchen floor in a stunned heap. Jesus, Manny! Wynton shouted, rushing over. Are you okay? The cat regained his feet, undeterred. That feeling had been better than all the petting in the world. Could you please try not to break the house? His owner was trying to be stern, but Mount Gummary could see the twinkle in his eyes. The man was just as excited as he was. Look, I broke just about every law in genetic engineering to make you, and frankly, I don't give a shit, but this is Kelly's house. I just live here. Her rules are a lot more strict. Mount Gummary began to flap his wings again, searching for somewhere to fly to, perhaps the top of the fridge or the oven with its now comforting flames. The world was suddenly his to command. After a month of terror and far too much change, everything was looking up. In his excitement, he meowed again, beginning low in the register and growing in both pitch and volume until he filled the kitchen with a shrieking roar. I still can't believe my masterpiece sounds like that, Wynton said sadly. Honestly, Manny, that thing is horrific and you gotta pick one, meow or roar, that's it. Just then, they both heard sounds from the stairs, a lighter footstep than the human males, but not so light as a child. Mount Gummary sniffed the air, tasted it with his tongue, the mate, no doubt. Uh, Manny? Wynton said, his tone worried as he glanced at the fresh hole in the wall. Kelly's coming. You might want to hide. Your box is behind the couch. Mount Gummary dashed away, never so happy to see a cat carrier in his life.