Intersteller Cohabitation for Dummies
Copyright© 2025 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 7: Full Circle
Marcus burst through the door to find controlled chaos.
The living room had been transformed into a birthing suite. The ceremonial nest was now lined with medical supplies. Vulpine women moved with practiced efficiency—one checking Vera’s vitals, another preparing warm blankets, a third setting up what looked like monitoring equipment.
And in the center of it all: Vera.
His mate. His love. Currently in active labor and looking significantly less peaceful than usual.
“Marcus!” She reached for him, and he was at her side in an instant.
“I’m here. I’m here, I’ve got you.”
“The kits are coming.” She gripped his hand hard enough to hurt. “They’re really coming.”
“I know. It’s okay. You’re okay.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re the strongest person I know.”
“Flatterer.” She managed a smile before another contraction hit. “Oh, that’s a big one—”
“Breathe, darling,” Kira said, appearing at her other side. “Just like we practiced.”
“I know how to BREATHE, Mother—”
The doctor-aunt checked something and nodded approvingly. “Won’t be long now. First kit is already crowning.”
“Already?!” Marcus felt lightheaded.
“Vulpine births are fast,” the aunt said cheerfully. “Once they start, they come quick. You might want to sit down.”
“I’m fine, I’m—”
“Marcus, sit,” Vera ordered. “Before you faint and I have to deliver these kits AND worry about you.”
He sat.
The Birth
What followed was the most intense, beautiful, terrifying hour of Marcus’s life.
The first kit arrived with a wet squall—tiny, covered in fluid, with the smallest fox ears Marcus had ever seen.
“It’s a girl!” the aunt announced, quickly cleaning and wrapping the kit.
Marcus stared. “That’s ... that’s our daughter.”
“First of many!” Vera panted, already bracing for the next contraction. “Here comes number two—”
The second kit: another girl.
Third: a boy.
Fourth: a boy.
Fifth: a girl.
They came in a rush, each one announced with joy, each one perfect and tiny and wailing.
Sixth: boy.
Seventh: girl.
Eighth: boy.
Ninth: girl.
“One more,” the doctor-aunt said. “Come on, Vera, one more push—”
The tenth kit arrived with the loudest cry yet.
“Boy!” the aunt declared. “And a big one! That’s all ten!”
Vera collapsed back against the nest, sweaty and exhausted and glowing with triumph.
“Ten,” she breathed. “We have ten kits.”
Marcus looked at the tiny bundles being cleaned and wrapped by competent vulpine hands. Ten. TEN. He had ten children.
“Marcus?” Vera’s voice was soft. “You okay?”
He looked at her. At her exhausted, radiant face. At the kits being brought over one by one to meet their mother.
“I’m perfect,” he said, and meant it with everything he had. “You’re perfect. They’re perfect. Everything is perfect.”
The kits were placed on Vera’s chest, all ten of them, a squirming pile of tiny fox babies, and Marcus had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.
“We made these,” Vera whispered, tears streaming down her face. “We made a family.”
“Yeah,” Marcus said, his own voice thick. “We really did.”
The First Week
Marcus learned several things in the first week:
One: Newborn kits were LOUD. So loud. All of them crying at once sounded like a fox choir from hell.
Two: They were also constantly hungry. Vera nursed them in shifts—thank god for eight teats—but it was still round-the-clock feeding.
Three: Marcus had no idea what he was doing but was determined to figure it out.
“Burping,” Kira instructed, demonstrating on one of the kits. “Gentle pats on the back. Like this.”
Marcus tried. The kit made a noise like a tiny honk and spit up on his shoulder.
“Perfect!” Kira beamed. “You’re a natural!”
Marcus looked at the spit-up. “I don’t feel like a natural.”
“None of us do at first. You’re doing wonderfully.”
By day three, Marcus could identify each kit by their markings and cries.
The girls: Lily (oldest, already bossy), Rose (quiet and observant), Poppy (loud and demanding), Daisy (sweet-tempered), and Violet (the tiny one who always wanted to be held).
The boys: Ash (the biggest), Birch (always hungry), Cedar (the escape artist even as a newborn), Elm (the cuddly one), and Oak (who slept through everything).
By day seven, the vulpine relatives were starting to head home, confident that Marcus and Vera had things under control (they didn’t, but they were faking it well enough).
“You’ll be fine!” Kira said, hugging them both goodbye. “Call if you need anything! I’ll visit in a few months!”
“A few months?!” Marcus asked. “That’s so soon—”
“That’s when they’ll start walking,” Kira said cheerfully.
Marcus made a sound like a dying animal.
Vera just laughed and kissed his cheek. “We’ve got this, cowboy.”
Month One: Survival Mode
The house was a disaster.
Bottles everywhere. Burp cloths draped on every surface. The nursery they’d so carefully prepared was already too small—ten cribs barely fit.
Marcus existed on three hours of sleep and pure adrenaline.
Vera was a goddess. Somehow she managed to nurse, soothe, organize, and still look radiant. The glow hadn’t faded after birth. If anything, she shone brighter, powered by maternal joy and probably spite.
“How are you AWAKE?” Marcus asked at 3 AM, holding two crying kits while Vera nursed three more.
“Vulpine endurance,” she said simply. “We’re built for this.”
“I’m not built for this.”
“You’re doing great.” She nodded at the two kits in his arms, who were starting to quiet. “Look, they love you.”
Lily grabbed his finger with her tiny hand.
Marcus’s heart melted completely.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m built for this.”
Month Three: They’re Mobile
“MARCUS!” Vera’s voice, panicked. “CEDAR IS CLIMBING!”
Marcus ran into the nursery to find Cedar—THREE MONTHS OLD—attempting to scale the side of his crib.
“How is he CLIMBING?!” Marcus grabbed the kit before he could escape. “He’s a BABY!”
“Vulpine development is fast. One human year is twelve vulpine years. They will be considered adults and fully capable of reproducing in a year “ Vera said, scooping up Rose, who had apparently decided to follow her brother. “Very fast. We need higher cribs.”
By the end of month three:
- All ten kits were crawling
- Three were attempting to walk
- Cedar had successfully escaped his crib twice
- Poppy had figured out how to open cabinets
- Daisy had said her first word (“Mama”)
- The boys were roughhousing (at three months old)
- Lily was already showing leadership qualities (bossing her siblings)
“They’re growing so fast,” Marcus said one night, watching the kits sleep in their cribs.
“That’s vulpine aging for you,” Vera said, leaning against him. “By six months they’ll be walking and talking. By a year...”
“By a year?”
“They’ll essentially be teenagers by your standards. Young adults by ours.”
Marcus processed this. “So we have nine more months before they’re ... adults?”
“More or less.”
“Oh my god.”
“Mmhmm.” Vera patted his chest. “Enjoy the baby phase while it lasts. It goes quick.”
She was right.
It went SO quick.
Month Four: The Potty Training Wars
“Marcus,” Vera said one morning, her voice dangerously calm. “We need to talk about the bathroom situation.”
Marcus looked up from feeding three kits at once. “What bathroom situation?”
“Cedar did his business behind the armchair. Again.”
“AGAIN?!”
“He thinks we don’t know. He sneaks back there like he’s being subtle.” Vera’s tail lashed. “And the girls refuse to use the potty until we pay them.”
Marcus blinked. “Pay them? They’re four months old!”
“They’re smart four-month-olds.” Vera showed him her phone. A document had been drafted. In surprisingly good handwriting.
POTTY TRAINING CONTRACT
We, the undersigned female kits, agree to use the designated facilities in exchange for:
Cash compensation: $5 per successful use
Or preferably: Our own credit cards
And weekly trips to the mall
All five girls had signed it. With little paw prints.
“They want CREDIT CARDS,” Marcus said weakly.
“And mall trips.”
“They’re FOUR MONTHS OLD.”
“I know.” Vera sighed. “But they’re not wrong that they’re smarter than their brothers.”
This was proven thirty seconds later when they heard shouting from the bathroom.
“I GOT SIX FEET!”
“THAT’S NOTHING! I GOT SEVEN!”
“YOU’RE BOTH WRONG, I’M WINNING!”
Marcus and Vera rushed to the bathroom to find Ash, Birch, and Oak having a peeing contest. They’d set up a measuring tape on the floor.
“BOYS!” Marcus shouted. “What are you DOING?!”
“Seeing who can pee the farthest!” Ash said proudly. “I’m winning!”
“You are NOT winning!” Birch argued.
“The bathroom is FLOODED,” Vera observed, her voice deadly quiet.
It was true. The floor was ... not dry.
“Sorry, Mama,” Oak said, not sounding sorry at all. “But we needed to know who’s strongest!”
“OUT. All of you. OUT.”
The boys fled.
Marcus grabbed the mop.
“I’ll negotiate with the girls,” Vera said tiredly.
The Negotiations
Lily sat across from her parents at the kitchen table, her four sisters flanking her. She’d dressed up for this meeting—found a little blazer somewhere. Her tail was perfectly groomed. She meant business.
“So,” Lily said, her little paws folded on the table. “Let’s discuss terms.”
“You’re four months old,” Marcus tried. “You don’t need credit cards.”
“Counterpoint: we’re learning financial responsibility early.”
“You want to go to the MALL.”
“For educational purposes,” Rose chimed in. “Learning about Earth commerce.”
“And fashion,” Violet added.
“Also,” Poppy said, pulling out a tablet (where did she GET a tablet?), “we’ve prepared a presentation on why we need cell phones.”
“CELL PHONES?!” Marcus’s voice cracked. “You’re FOUR MONTHS OLD!”
“Exactly,” Lily said calmly. “We need to be able to contact you in emergencies.”
“What emergencies could you possibly—”
“What if we fall and need help?” Daisy suggested, her eyes wide and innocent.
“What if we get lost?” Rose added.
“What if Cedar sets something else on fire and we need to call for help?” Violet said.
That one was actually fair.
“We’re willing to compromise,” Lily continued. “We’ll settle for cash—five dollars per successful potty use—plus a monthly mall trip AND basic smartphones with umlimited data plans.”
“That’s going to cost us hundreds of dollars,” Marcus calculated. “Plus phone bills. Monthly.”
“Think of it as an investment in our development,” Daisy said sweetly. “And our safety.”
“We could also start a TikTok account to document our journey,” Poppy suggested. “Monetize our content—”
“ABSOLUTELY NOT,” both parents said in unison.
Vera looked at her daughters. At their determined little faces. At the way they’d somehow learned to negotiate before they could even walk properly. Add the fact that they’d made a PRESENTATION.
“Three dollars per use,” Vera countered. “One mall trip per month. And refurbished, grade A smartphones. Basic models. With parental controls. And limited data. And NO SOCIAL MEDIA.”
The girls huddled. Whispered among themselves. Turned back.
“Can we at least have cases for the phones?” Lily asked. “Cute ones?”
“We’ll provide reasonable cases,” Marcus conceded.
“And unlimited texting?”
Four sets of batting eyelashes, each with their mother’s LOOK (the one thst melts Marcus’ heart), and in perfect four-part harmony. “Pretty pleeeeze?”
“Limited texting, unlimited minutes. You can text us, your siblings, and your grandmother.”
Another huddle. More whispers.
“Deal!” Lily said, extending her small paw. “But we want it in writing.”
They shook on it.
Vera looked at Jim shaking her head with a disappointing look. “You’re such a pushover.”
Within two weeks, all five girls were fully potty trained, significantly richer than their brothers, and the proud owners of refurbished smartphones with sparkly cases.
Marcus watched them sitting in a row, all on their phones, texting each other despite being in the same room.
“We’ve created monsters,” he said.
“Efficient, financially savvy, well-connected monsters,” Vera corrected. “I’m actually kind of proud.”
“They’re FOUR MONTHS OLD with PHONES.”
“And perfect bathroom habits,” Vera pointed out. “Unlike SOME males in this house.”
From the bathroom: “SORRY, DAD! FORGOT TO LIFT THE SEAT AGAIN!”
Marcus sighed. “At least the girls are doing well?”
“Silver linings, cowboy,” Vera said, patting his arm. “Silver linings.”
The Boys Continue to Struggle
“WHY IS THE SEAT WET AGAIN?!” Marcus yelled from the bathroom.
“Sorry, Dad!” came a chorus of male voices.
“Which one of you—no, you know what? ALL OF YOU! Get in here!”
Five boys trooped into the bathroom, ears flat, tails drooping.
“What,” Marcus said slowly, “is the ONE RULE about the toilet seat?”
“Lift it before we pee,” they mumbled.
“And what is this seat?”
“ ... down?”
“AND WET. The seat is DOWN and WET.” Marcus pointed at the evidence. “Every single time. EVERY TIME. How is this possible?”
“We forget?” Cedar offered.
“You forget to lift a seat but you remember to SET UP A MEASURING TAPE for your peeing contests?”
The boys had the decency to look ashamed.
“And Cedar,” Marcus turned to his most troublesome son, “I KNOW you’re still going behind the armchair.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“There are SCORCH MARKS on the carpet.”
“ ... that could be from anything.”
“GET OUT. All of you. And Cedar, you’re on armchair surveillance. Elm, you’re on seat duty. Birch, you’re mopping. Ash and Oak, you’re helping your mother with laundry because SOMEONE peed on the bath mats. AGAIN.”
The boys scattered.
Marcus sat on the edge of the tub and put his head in his hands.
“Daughters are expensive,” he muttered. “Sons are disgusting. Why did we have ten?”
The Bidet Situation
Two days later, Marcus walked into the bathroom to find all five girls crowded around the bidet, giggling.
“What are you—”
“It’s AMAZING, Daddy!” Poppy squealed. “It’s like a little fountain!”
“For your BUTT!” Violet added helpfully.
“We know what it’s for—”
“It’s so much better than toilet paper!” Rose declared. “Why don’t humans use these more?”
“I’m getting one in MY house someday,” Lily announced.
The girls had become bidet evangelists, apparently.
The boys, meanwhile, had discovered the bidet for different purposes.
“WATER FIGHT!” Cedar yelled, and suddenly the bathroom was a war zone.
Boys were spraying each other. Water was everywhere. Someone had figured out how to increase the pressure.
“BOYS!” Vera appeared in the doorway. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
“Tactical training!” Ash claimed, completely soaked.
“OUT. NOW.”
Vera Puts Her Foot Down
After the third flood, the seventh wet toilet seat, and Cedar’s continued armchair incidents, Vera had had enough.
She called all five boys into the living room.
They stood in a line, ears flat, tails tucked, knowing they were in trouble.
Vera stood before them, arms crossed, looking every inch the terrifying mother she could be.
“Boys,” she said quietly. “We need to have a talk.”
“Yes, Mama,” they chorused.
“The bathroom situation has become unacceptable.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Your sisters mastered potty training in two weeks. TWO WEEKS. You’ve been at this for a month and I’m still finding wet seats, mystery puddles, and Cedar—” She fixed him with a glare. “—SCORCH MARKS behind the furniture.”
Cedar tried to look innocent. Failed.
“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Vera continued, her voice getting that dangerous edge. “You are going to learn to lift the seat. You are going to learn to AIM. You are going to stop having peeing contests. And Cedar, you are going to use the ACTUAL TOILET.”
“But Mama—”
“I’M NOT FINISHED.” Her tail lashed. “If you boys cannot master basic bathroom etiquette, there will be consequences.”
“What consequences?” Elm asked nervously.
“No driver’s licenses until you’re THREE.”