Kitty vs Alien (Feral Aliens)

by Loki Renard

  She falls silent, and I can tell I have offended her human sensibilities. She has a tendency to take everything said to her personally rather than consider the reason for it having been said. Still, her immediate sulk achieves the same result. We are slightly less obvious a target, though I sense it may be too late. Once one finds oneself in a predator’s stare, one has two choices. Flight, or fight. I’d always choose the latter, but with Kitty aboard, I’m seriously considering the former.

  “Hold tight,” I tell her. “We need to run.”

  “Why…eeeeeeeeeeeee!” Her voice is lost to the wind as I break into a wild sprint, crouching down onto four limbs instead of the customary two. I am faster on four, and much more stable. Whatever is hunting us is still on our tail. I can feel the eyes, the energy of the predators sweeping out around us. The paths of the woods are many and varied thanks to the movements of small browsing creatures, so I can take an indirect route toward escape.

  Kitty

  I don’t know whether to be excited or afraid. That’s often the case when I am around Skoll. The sudden turn of speed is exhilarating, but I am still more than a little salty that he told me to stop singing.

  “STOP!”

  We come to an abrupt halt as a whole lot of grimalkin emerge from the trees almost as one.

  Their leader is a big, black-pelted male with the most astounding golden eyes. I find myself shrinking down behind Skoll's shoulders as best as I can. All these feral aliens are marked in various ways, two are tabbies, one is a ginger, but they all wear the scars of living wild.

  The ones toward the rear of the small group are puffed up. Some of them have tails, I note. Actually, all of them have tails. But Skoll doesn’t have a tail. I wonder what happened to his. Did he never have one?

  Now doesn’t seem like the time to ask. I hold onto his shoulders and I keep my legs wrapped around his waist and I hope like hell this isn’t as bad as it seems. I thought we were finally free, but it feels like we just walked into another trap.

  They are also all very much naked, which doesn’t matter as much for grimalkin as they don’t keep their genitals dangling around like humans do. Everything about these creatures suggests a superior evolutionary process.

  The dark-pelted leader takes a swaggering step toward us, stopping before it comes within reach of Skoll’s claws, but not out of range of a good, vicious lunge.

  “What do you think you’re doing, city cat?”

  Skoll laughs, but it is not a nice laugh. It is the kind of laugh which starts off throaty and rises through all the octaves until it hits a high-pitched snarl. I can feel his body vibrating with the intensity of his warning.

  I let out a whimper of fear. I do not want to be caught between them in a fight. I don’t want to be hurt, not again.

  “Easy!” The feral alien lifts his hands. “We’re not going to hurt you. At least, not unless you give us reason to. But you have no right to be here. This is our territory. City cats don’t belong here.”

  “Just passing through,” Skoll says. “We have no intention of staying in your territory.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Away.”

  “Runaways,” the leader says to his friend. “Or missionaries. Or maybe holiday-makers.”

  “Fugitives, actually. Attacked a military base. We have prices on our heads. It is very possible that we are being tracked this very moment. You could find yourselves on the wrong end of their energy weapons.”

  I’m surprised Skoll is so honest. I guess he has no reason to lie. The truth doesn’t feel like a risk anymore. Standing in front of these predatory wild grimalkin does, however. I don't like the way they’re looking at me — and they are all looking at me.

  “The city knows better than to come here,” the leader says, putting his clawed paws on his hips and raising his brows in a way which indicates disbelief. This is not good. I can sense that creatures like these need to trust immediately or else they probably get all claw-ey and chew-ey.

  “You have a female. A fleshy female.” The leader looks at Skoll. “Did you shave her? Is that some kind of sick city-cat fetish? What’s wrong with her face?”

  I’ve never been so insulted in all my life.

  “There’s nothing wrong with her face. She’s human.”

  “Hoooman,” the leader repeats, drawing the word out all wrong. “Hooooman. What a silly name.”

  “There’s a lot of silly things in the universe. Humans are just one of many.”

  “You would know that better than me. We know these jungles and mountains, these plains and valleys. We know the real world, not the shiny pretense you come from, city cat.” Derision drips from every word, spoken by a tabby grimalkin who stands flanking his leader and looking at us with a glare of utter distaste.

  “Please stop calling me that,” Skoll says with incredible restraint.

  “We could kill you instead?”

  I don’t think they’re going to kill us, but I’m also not entirely sure they won’t. I find it hard to read these feline aliens. They are often relatively polite before they do something terrible. My military interrogators were not cruel at first. They asked reasonable questions, just as these wild grimalkin are. I can feel the tension in Skoll. He doesn’t trust them either.

  “We just want to go on our way,” Skoll repeats the earlier sentiment.

  “What you want doesn’t matter to us. Being in our territory is a crime punishable by death. Or…”

  “Or?”

  “Or you can pay a toll.”

  “And what form would that toll take?”

  “That hooman looks like she would be good eating,” the leader says.

  “No. Humans are poisonous to us. If I let you eat this human, you’d die writhing in your own excrement.”

  “Well, I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “I’ll take this poisonous thing out of your territory just as soon as I can, if you will allow us to pass.”

  “There is no passing without paying the toll. You can pay in flesh or coin, but you will pay.” The leader begins to move toward us, his presence full of menace, and I know that violence is about to break out.

  We are being robbed and perhaps murdered. This is no different than any highway robbery in medieval times, except for there being no highway. I have no patience for this, and no time for it. We have just escaped one oppressive technological regime to be immediately assaulted by a different structure of oppression.

  I’m not brave enough to leap into battle against these creatures. My entire body quakes with the memory of what happened when I last ended up on the receiving end of those brutal claws and even more cruel hunting psyche. I can feel it, like a predatory force starting to well all around us.

  “Go away and leave us alone!” I shout over Skoll’s shoulder. “Just… fuck… fuck off!”

  “It speaks!” The wild felines all look at one another in surprise. I suddenly realize that they think I’m like an animal or something, just a piece of meat to be consumed. They probably think Skoll was carrying me along like a packed lunch.

  “Quiet,” Skoll growls to me. But it is far too late. I am already talking.

  “Yes! I speak! And I say you should let us pass. You have all this jungle; you don't need the bit of it we specifically happen to be walking through. You're no different than the city cats who divide absolutely every bit of the world up and claim it for themselves and then make laws they impose on people without even asking if those people agree to those rules….” I am on a roll. “They do that on my planet too. Does anybody ever ask anybody if they agree to anything? Consent! I didn’t consent to exist, and having not consented to exist, I am now subject to an endless set of conditions, requirements, and restrictions which I also never agreed to. Do you know what that is? It’s bullshit, that’s what it is. And I’m tired of being almost killed because nobody cares.”

  “Quiet!” Skoll yanks me from his back so he can wrap his hand over my face.

 
; “Whoa. The meat gets it,” one of the rear grimalkin says.

  “She does," the leader agrees. “Damn near word for word. This cannot be an accident.”

  “Wait… what?” I feel Skoll's hand release me a little as he exclaims in surprise. He didn’t expect my little outburst to resonate. To be fair, neither did I. The grimalkin haven’t shown any inclination to listen to me since I arrived.

  “The meat shares the spirit of the wild,” a grimalkin who would probably be offended to be referred to as ‘tabby’ says. “That means these two are not invaders. They’re fellow walkers.”

  “Yes. We are fellow walkers,” Skoll agrees. “I may not have been born to the wild, but we have no choice but to embrace it now.”

  He’s really not a diplomat. What he just said is basically the equivalent of moving to a new neighborhood and telling everybody how you only moved because you stabbed someone in your old neighborhood, and also who can you talk to about setting up a new HOA?

  “What is a fellow walker?” I ask, at risk of exposing their sudden acceptance of us as some kind of mistake they might regret making.

  The leader of the wild grimalkin makes an expression usually reserved for the simple or the young, but I don’t mind because I would rather be thought of either of those things than as prey.

  “We are wild cats. The city cats, they have civilized themselves, which means they are cruel in an orderly fashion. For us, being wild means making our own rules. Each for their own. It means enforcing them with our own flesh, our own claws. I am Falkri, protector of these wilds. These are some of the hunters of my tribe. They will share their names with you when they choose.”

  “So the weak, juvenile, and female… those who cannot enforce their will with their flesh and claws? What do they do?”

  “Kitty!” Skoll hisses. “You do not need to deconstruct their culture within seconds of meeting them. Take a minute.”

  “Our young, weak, and female are protected. They are not preyed upon.”

  “Well, I am two of those things, so you can leave me alone, and Skoll doesn’t want to invade your territory. He just wants to get free of the city cats with all their, like, rules and stuff, man.”

  Skoll is looking at me with a mixture of disbelief, relief, and admittedly, irritation. But I think I just saved us. These wild grimalkin would have torn him apart if he’d carried on with his attempt to get them to just let him wander around in their favorite bushes. He represents everything they’ve tried to escape, everything they resist. I represent something else. Something weird and strange. They like me, and I think I like them.

  “Come with us, meat who understands the wild,” Falkri says.

  “My name is Kitty. In my culture, being referred to as meat is offensive, and a little bit frightening.”

  “Apologies,” Falkri says, inclining his head in a courteous sort of way. I am surprised. Grimalkin don’t often take my feelings into account.

  “This is Skoll,” I say, jerking my thumb toward him. “I’m his chain-kept. That means he owns me.”

  “We do not believe in ownership of anything, let alone beings with minds and hearts of their own.”

  “He believes in it,” I say, a broad smile creeping over my lips as Skoll shoots me a very unhappy look. “He’s planning on beating me later.”

  “Is he.”

  “Don’t, Kitty,” Skoll growls. “This is not the time.”

  “Not the time to get out of trouble? It is always time to get out of trouble.”

  “She escaped my home, and was captured by the military, who almost killed her. I was forced to kill two of them in order to save her, and that is why we are now running from the law. Do not think, for a second, that this human is innocent, or anything other than exceptionally dangerous. She has earned that chain she wears around her neck.”

  Falkri stares at him, then at me, then back at him. “That is a lot of trouble for meat.”

  “She’s not meat. She’s my mate.”

  “Your… mate,” Falkri repeats. “You sleep with her?”

  I find myself blushing as Skoll replies. “I ravage her until she screams.”

  “Ha! I would like to see that. It would be very strange.”

  “He’s not going to see that, right?” I whisper the question to Skoll all quiet and whatnot. My face is flaring red with embarrassment as they all look at me with obvious carnal curiosity.

  “Where is her vagina?”

  “Okay. Alright. That’s enough,” I say in a futile attempt to redirect the conversation. I am starting to really regret bringing up Skoll’s chain.

  “Between her thighs, the same place as a grimalkin female.”

  “Is it the same size?”

  “Tighter, but able to accommodate similar depths.”

  I cannot believe Skoll is answering their questions. He and the wild leader Falkri have fallen in beside one another while I do my best not to fall behind and be devoured by the creatures with the insatiable appetites who now surround me. I try not to listen, but it is impossible not to.

  “It is best to spank her until her ass is hot and sore. She’s never as receptive to copulation as she is when she has been punished and thoroughly dominated.”

  So it turns out that I am going to die today after all. Of embarrassment.

  “In the way we pin our own mates, teeth on neck?”

  “Not as harshly. She has no scruff to absorb the bite.”

  “You must have to be very careful with her. She has a fraction of the mass of our females.”

  “I am careful. She is worth it.”

  That’s sweet, at least. I suppose.

  “Skoll?”

  “Yes, Kitty?”

  “Can I rip this implant out of my skull so I don’t have to understand what you're saying?”

  “No. You can’t.”

  “Skoll?”

  “Yes, Kitty?” He sighs.

  “Can you talk about it in some way I don’t understand, like telepathy?”

  “No,” he snorts.

  “Is she ashamed of her mating behavior?”

  “Humans are private maters. They keep all carnal behavior behind closed doors, except for when they film it and put it on the internet for everybody to see.”

  “Internet?” Falkri frowns.

  “It’s sort of… like a place all eyes can see. Everybody has a personal window, some people have more windows, a small one they can carry around, and then a bigger one for home use. Some people have windows so big they can watch strangers have sex in real size HD. But it is imperative that their own friends and family do not see. That is considered greatly shameful in almost all Earth cultures.”

  Skoll was paying attention when he was down on Earth. I’ve never thought of things as being the way he’s describing them. When I hear my world described through his eyes, it does sound somewhat strange. Have I been odd all this time and just not known it? Have we all been strange?

  Probably.

  I guess it’s good that Skoll and Falkri are making friends over his human observations. I no longer feel death hanging in the air. The wild grimalkin are curious about us, and that is a good thing as long as they’re curious in the “tell me of your customs” way and not in the “how do you taste, nom nom” kind of way.

  Slowly over the course of our walk, Skoll drifts away from the group enough to speak to me quietly.

  “This could be a trap,” he murmurs in my ear. “We should be very careful. They could turn on us, or worse, return us to the city for the bounty.”

  “What are they going to do with your money? Do you see any shops out here? Do they look like they wear clothes? Not everybody hunts the innocent for money, Skoll.”

  “We are not innocent. I killed a soldier. And you…”

  “And I, what? Wouldn’t let you take Mr Tiddles?”

  By this time, Mr Tiddles has wriggled his way more or less entirely out of the purrito and is doing fierce battle with the ties. The wild grimalkin find him even more fa
scinating than they find me.

  “What is that? A meal?”

  They are absolutely obsessed with food. I suppose I am too.

  “He’s not my meal. He’s my pet. He’s like another animal I look after like it is family,” I explain.

  “So, you have little unspeaking versions of us living as pets on your planet?” Falkri asks.

  “I mean… I suppose. It’s probably more technical than that.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t know either.”

  “Maybe we will find out.”

  “Doubtful.”

  The conversation peters out as we walk over a ridge which I should have suspected hid something spectacular because it had that suspicious sort of rocky dirt look about it.

  “Oh my god!” I gasp, clasping my hands to my face. This is the stuff dreams are made of. This is a perfect little fantasy world laid out before me, a beautiful treasure waiting for us.

  12 The Village

  Kitty

  The wild village is set among cliff growing trees, where homes have been constructed from branches and boughs to create a series of low slung cave-type dwellings festooned with leaves and moss, each with a very satisfying little round door leading to the interior. The houses are situated among a pleasant clearing where the sun streams in, and several little streams run from the mountain, tracing their way through the rocky ledges to drip and drizzle in a pleasing and peaceful way.

  I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. This is an enchanted place. I don’t need to be told that. I can feel it. Not the sort of enchantment associated with fairies and sweetness and light. The sort of enchantment which is real and rooted in nature. The kind of enchantment we all shared in at one time, before the world grew concrete buildings and paved itself over and put up traffic lights.

  This is what things should be like. I feel it in my gut. On this distant planet, in these strange woods, I feel as though I have found my home. Mr Tiddles seems to agree as he struts down the path with his tail held high and begins to explore.

  "You are welcome here as long as you follow our rules,” Falkri says. “You must renounce the world you came from and embrace the wild.”