"Hobbes, what are you?"

The question had come very suddenly; it took Hobbes a second to even realize that Calvin had done something besides stare at him like he had for the last ten minutes. "I'm sorry," he said, his ears twitching. "I'm not sure I understand your question."

Calvin stroked an imaginary goatee. "First, let me point something out: No one else can see you. We realized that two days after I met you. I am literally the only one in this entire town who sees an anthropomorphic tiger when I look at you."

"Except the two guys who broke into the house while you were away last year."

"Maybe. They had already taken all the jewelry and the TV before they left. The only evidence that you scared them away is your word, and for all I know you're a product of my imagination."

Hobbes bristled. "What?"

"That's what I was trying to get at. Everybody I've spoken to in the year you've been here has, at one point or another, called you a stuffed tiger, so I'm assuming they just see you as a stuffed animal. So that's the minds of an easy twenty people versus my own. So, my question is: are you a stuffed animal that I mentally Photoshop into a bipedal, sentient, intelligent Bengal tiger with human vocal cords, a human aging rate and opposable thumbs? Or are you a bipedal, sentient, intelligent Bengal tiger with human vocal cords, a human aging rate and opposable thumbs that everybody else I've ever met has mentally Photoshopped into a stuffed animal? The former option only makes sense if we consider the possibility that I'm insane, which probably isn't too far off the mark, as, since we've already established, 'sanity' is not a strictly definable term. The latter option makes no sense no matter WHAT conditions we consider."

"Which is exactly why it makes sense."

Calvin blinked. Then blinked again. "You lost me."

Hobbes leaned forward in his seat. "How many people do you know who would just accept that an anthropomorphic tiger exists?"

"No one."

"And what would happen, do you think, if one suddenly appeared in their lives?"

Calvin thought for a second. "...Mind blown."

"Mind blown doesn't begin to cover it. The average human might just lose their mind if they found that there was an entire other sentient subspecies that they were completely unaware of. One that branched off of a supposedly dumb animal, no less. You know how you feel really tired when you're running, but in fact you could run for a lot longer? It's sort of like that. The brain alters your sensory input to protect itself from harm. Apparently, I'm very, very similar in looks to a stuffed tiger, so that's what they alter me into."

"Which is all very well and good," said Calvin, "but you move around by yourself all the time. Why don't they alter you into, I don't know, a human, maybe?"

Hobbes shrugged. "Maybe my proportions aren't quite close enough to human ones."

Calvin leaned forward. "Alright then. Let's say that's our hypothesis. How exactly would we test that?"

"Simple. Me being an anthropomorphic tiger that people imagine is a stuffed animal is, according to you, extremely improbable. However, an effect without a cause is impossible. There is no conceivable way something could just happen with nothing causing it, right?"

"Right." Calvin suddenly had a brainwave. "Scratch my arm."

"What?"

Calvin pointed at his left forearm. "You've got claws. Use 'em. I'll show my mom, and if she can see them, you exist."

"...I was thinking more along the lines of me pouncing on you."

"You've done that. You've done that over a hundred times. Not once did I experience any lasting damage. I imagine that was on purpose, but it still means that the only evidence of you doing that is me getting dirty. If this leaves a scar, and if Mom can see it, you are very, very, very obviously real. Scratch. My. Arm."

Hobbes sighed, reached out his arm, extended his claws, and hesitantly dug into Calvin's skin with them. "You're sure?"

"Just be quick about it. It's worse if you drag it out."

Roughly three seconds later

"OOOOWWWW!"

Calvin's mother jumped at the scream of pain, dropping the dish she had been washing. A second later, her seven-year-old son came barreling into the room, his left forearm covered in blood.

"Do you see them?" he gasped, evidently oblivious to the pain such a wound would create in his excitement. "Do you see them?"

His mom bent down to examine his arm. "Oh, dear god," she whispered. There was far more blood than what she had seen at first glance. Grabbing a paper towel, she wiped away as much of it as she could with one sheet, then cleaned the remainder of it with a second. "What did you do, Calvin?" she asked her son, who still seemed to barely notice the pain. "Were you playing with knife? You aren't supposed to do..." The rest of her sentence caught in her throat as she saw the wound on Calvin's arm.

Four long gashes in his skin, the entire length of his forearm. Calvin's mom was no expert, but that kind of mark could only be created by some kind of animal. "Calvin," she whispered, "what did this?"

Calvin beamed, glancing at the stuffed tiger that was leaned against the edge of the doorway. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Calvin's mom did a double-take. She could have been wrong, but she didn't think that Calvin brought Hobbes into the room. But there it was, leaned against the doorframe in a way that looked almost casual, if it had been alive. She glanced back at Calvin's forearm. Did Hobbes- No. No, of course not. It's a stuffed animal.

When she looked back up, the stuffed animal was now sat up right next to Calvin, and his mom suddenly noticed that the stitching that formed it's mouth was slightly crooked. Almost like a smirk.

A/N: Have you noticed that the only real evidence that Hobbes isn't real is that nobody can see him? He has tied Calvin to a chair, he has shaved Calvin's head, the evidence of his pouncing on Calvin, while temporary, is clearly visible and his mom actually asks him about it more than once, and, well, somebody's got to lower the rope ladder. Because of this, I'm writing this under the assumption that Hobbes is an actual anthropomorphic tiger that nobody can see because of our Weirdness Censor. Something that I don't think Calvin would have.

Also, this conversation, while maybe a little mature, is actually fairly similar to the conversations that Calvin and Hobbes have while going down hills in the wagon or the sled. They often have very, very deep philosophical and/or scientific discussions, so sooner or later the subject of discussion was going to be Hobbes' existence. In this fic, it just so happens to be a year or so after their meeting.

Calvin actually is a genius, by the way. He's displayed the knowledge of philosophy and science more akin to someone four times his age on more than one occasion. He just doesn't give a $#*^ about school.

I was planning on making this story several chapters long, spanning Calvin's childhood and college life, making gradually more and more characters overcome their Weirdness Censor, but if nobody likes it, I won't continue. So if you do like this idea, leave a review and let me know. And while you're at it, you could offer a few ideas for later chapters.