The Cat's Meow: A Halloween Anthology

by Hera B. Magic

  She was losing track of days. Her nose twitched. Blood. Her stomach growled as though she were the size of a mountain lion—she’d seen one from a distance. It had looked at her and she at it, her heart beating in a way that suggested it was going to explode. It hadn’t. And the mountain lion had gone on its way.

  Perhaps her affinity with house cats extended to big cats. She wasn’t brave enough to run up and see if she could talk to it. Maybe it had been sizing her up for dinner and had decided she was too small and bony.

  Vicky crept through the scrub, determined to see if she could scavenge instead of hunting.

  I will not throw up.

  I need this meal.

  Please let there be a meal.

  The scent of blood and…was that some kind of deer? Her cat nose didn’t know all the scents. They were stronger and there were more of them—human noses were so lame. But the confusing array no longer made her dizzy.

  A large brown deer thing lay dead in a small clearing. It had gotten caught in a trap. Someone knew what they were doing. She glanced around. How far away was the person? Should she eat and run or see if they were friendly? Who wouldn’t help a naked sixteen year old?

  Her skin rippled along her back. Yeah, she could imagine the kind of help she might get. Old dudes could get a little handsy when they thought no one would ever find out.

  She hesitated and gave the air another sniff. She was too hungry to wait. She darted into the clearing, looking for the wound and an easy few bites. Despite her hunger, her stomach still flipped at the idea of raw meat.

  Something moved behind her. She startled and turned. The hunter wasn’t old, not that much older than her—or should she be counting in cat years? He was dressed in camo and armed with a gun and a knife. From the hard look in his eyes he was no boy scout. This was his kill. And she didn’t want to be next.

  He watched as she backed away. She hissed for good measure and her fur puffed up. Yeah. Bet he was quaking in his combat boots.

  His eyes narrowed. “You hungry, puss?”

  No, dumbass. I just like sniffing dead things. What came out of her mouth a pathetic meow. If she knew he was alone she’d change. Too soon. He probably wasn’t alone. He was too well kitted out.

  “I could spare you a bite. You look a little mangy.”

  Mange is a skin condition, fuck wit. I need a wash and a feed. Cook that deer up and we can talk. She stopped backing away and watched him more closely. He hadn’t smiled. Nor had he called to anyone for help. How was he going to get the deer back to his camp. Did he live out here?

  His skin was tanned, but it looked natural, not from the sun. He had straight dark hair that was past needing a cut and dark eyes. He was cute if you liked the survivalist look.

  Right now she did. A lot.

  More than a cat should.

  “Shit, I’ve been out here alone too long if I’m talking to you. You little flea bag.”

  I don’t have fleas! Could he get any ruder? She gave him a hiss of displeasure and sat down. She was fairly sure that he wasn’t going to shoot her. She was going to take that as a win. He was also alone. Double win.

  If she turned back in to a girl, would he panic?

  Yes. And probably shoot her. Play it cool, Vicky.

  They stared at each other and he lost. She deigned to give him a cat smile, which was more of a squint since she had no lips.

  “What’s your name? Mangy? Sooty? Chatty? Chatty Catty?”

  Oh dear God. Was his brain all there?

  Although if he cooked her some deer, she didn’t care what he called her…she could always pee on his shoes before she left if he turned out to be a prick.

  He set about cutting the deer free. His movements weren’t as sure, and she smelled nervous sweat on his skin. He kept glancing around and checking the sky. It would be dusk soon. She could smell it and hear the change in the forest.

  “I can’t carry it all. You can feast on what’s left.”

  Like hell. She didn’t like liver cooked, raw or otherwise, and intestines were gross any day of the week.

  He butchered the animal and started wrapping the chunks. Saliva filled her mouth. Raw meat wasn’t as nice as cooked, but it smelled good to her cat nose. He tossed a small chunk her way. Before she could stop herself she pounced on it and ate it…ten second rule was in force. It was still good. She knew real cats didn’t worry about the ten second rule. Real house cats didn’t like her much either. It was like they knew she was a fake.

  The meat got half way down and threatened to make a reappearance. She wasn’t eating chuck, not even her own.

  Oh God. She couldn’t keep it down. She shouldn’t have thought about spew. The meat landed back on the ground looking barely chewed. Perhaps that was her problem.

  “Eh, bit too hungry to gobble down that much.” He tossed a smaller bit to her. “Best eat what you can. There are bigger things than you that will eat what’s left.” He stood and slung the makeshift bag over his shoulder, then started walking away.

  She looked at the carcass, then at him. She wanted a cooked dinner. So she scampered after him.

  “Shoo, cat. You aren’t getting my food.”

  Vicky stopped. He didn’t point the gun at her, just flapped his free hand. Maybe she should try for cute. She tilted her head and tried to look pathetic—which wasn’t that hard.

  “I don’t do pets.”

  I don’t do dumb asses—no matter how cute in camo—so let’s call it even.

  Her ear twitched. Something was close. Something big. She sniffed but the wind was going the wrong way. Her fur stood up on end—really she should be able to control that—mimicking a loo brush was not a good look.

  He noticed. “What is it, kitty?”

  I am so eating your face if you call me that again.

  She didn’t know what it was, but he started to move faster. So did the thing hunting them…well, him and their dinner.

  Then she saw it. Golden, clawed death had never looked so good. Why couldn’t she be a mountain lion instead of a black house cat?

  Shit. Human boy versus mountain lion. This would be all bad. The boy froze. He’d seen it too. He swore but hadn’t lifted his rifle. The meat pack slid to the ground. Vicky could see the lion’s nose twitch.

  She concentrated and “sent” a message to the mountain lion, kind of the way she’d talked to house cats in the past, all images and scents. She suspected she missed the finer points of cat telepathy, but right now delicacy didn’t matter. There’s half a deer behind us.

  The lion looked at her. It didn’t speak with words, but the return images made perfect sense. Camo-boy was in the lion’s territory.

  He doesn’t know any better. Humans. She effected a cat shrug while the lion gave a small chuckle—which was more growl like. Camo-boy gripped the gun more tightly.

  He doesn’t want to hurt you. He is hiding from the human sicknesses. When they pass he will leave.

  Lion didn’t look pleased. She was confused about why Vicky was helping.

  Why was she? Cooked meat? The chance of being safe…not to mention human again.

  He is my human. She tried to make it something the lion would understand. He will only hunt what he needs. He is afraid of you.

  That the lion already knew. He will leave me half his deer every time in thanks. The images were slightly more bloody and graphic than Vicky needed. But she concurred even though she had no idea how to tell the boy that.

  The mountain lion melted into the dusk. Vicky heard it circle behind then. She knew when it found the kill by the snarl of approval that reverberated through the forest.

  Camo-boy looked at her. “I’m going to call you Lucky.”

  He had no idea how lucky he was. But Lucky was a name she could live with until she told him she was really Vicky. Then she’d have to work out how to explain what she was.

  He really didn’t need a pet, and if he did, a cat wouldn’t have been his first choice. Espec
ially not such a scrawny cat. Had she been made homeless, or was she simply a feral animal looking for an easy meal?

  He’d almost been an easy meal. Despite the warmth of the cabin, he shivered. While he’d seen the signs of a mountain lion around these parts, he’d never seen it in the flesh. Had it seen him previously? That was a very unsettling thought. He might not be a good hunter, but he didn’t like being hunted either.

  The smell of cooking meat filled the cabin. Killing a deer was wasteful as he couldn’t take it all—it wouldn’t fit in the tiny freezer which he only ran when needed. He didn’t want to run out of fuel. But this deer meant he had fresh meat for days and wouldn’t have to worry about food for a while. With the lion about, he was less inclined to wander the woods.

  He looked at Lucky who was watching the pan. The little bit of raw meat he’d put on a plate had gone untouched. Was she sick? Were the plagues infecting animals now? He hadn’t heard anything on the radio.

  Nah, she must just be hungry.

  “Hey kitty.” He snapped his fingers and she looked around. Her stare was cool and she didn’t get up. “You’re the first thing I’ve spoken to in a month.” He let his hand drop. “Even you don’t want to talk to me.”

  The loneliness was crushing. And while he’d listened to the chatter on the ham radio, he hadn’t joined in. His father had drilled into him the need to keep this place a secret. Although if marauders came looking for supplies he might welcome them in just for the conversation and to remember what company was like.

  Lucky got up and rubbed against his ankle.

  He patted her head. “It’s not your fault you can’t talk back.”

  She meowed as if to refute that and head butted his hand. It might be nice to have some company. He tried not to think about Dad and what had happened. As much as he wanted to head back to civilization, it wasn’t safe. He knew not to rush the return, no matter how tempting. Disease was still rampant. War had broken out in Europe, and society was fraying in the US as systems failed. Too many people were dead.

  He drew in a breath, determined not to panic. The first few days up here he had fallen apart. He’d cried and been angry. No one had seen and no one had cared. He was the proverbial tree in the forest…did he really exist?

  Lucky purred and tilted her chin for another scratch. If he didn’t exist, neither did the cat. The cat felt very real. Dinner smelled real. He got up and opened a tin of vegetables and added them to the pan.

  He was going to be here for winter.

  He was sure of it.

  He’d need to start cutting wood.

  Keep busy. There was too much free time up here. Too much time to think. Again he wished his father was here. At least they could’ve played board games and talked. He fed Lucky some cooked meat.

  “If you throw up, you’re sleeping outside.”

  Her tail flicked but that was her only response. He knew he didn’t have the heart to throw her out. He needed her. Probably more than she needed him.

  Camo-boy was so sweet. She stretched out on his bed, enjoying the warmth from his body, which would’ve been totally more awkward as a girl. After seeing him naked, though, she wouldn’t mind pressing up against him.

  Maybe when he let her out to go toilet, she could duck behind a tree and change. No cat-shifter conversation required. Yeah, that sounded like a plan. In the morning. Right now she was full and warm and this was the best night she’d had since taking off as a cat.

  The morning was overcast and Camo-boy was hopeful for some rain because water supplies were getting low. Apparently there was a river half a day away. His father hadn’t wanted to be too close to it, as it would have made this cabin easy to find.

  In fact, he’d told her lots of things he wouldn’t have told a person. It was like he needed to talk, but he didn’t need answers.

  Changing back into Vicky would spoil that. But she wanted to talk to him. He needed a human friend. Not a cat.

  Once he let her outside, she got distracted by a butterfly before remembering she needed to change. After making sure he was busy and out of sight, she braced herself for the ouch and willed herself to be human.

  Nothing happened.

  She tried again.

  Nothing. Had she spent too long as a cat?

  A squeak of alarm came out of her mouth. What was wrong with her? She shook her head and tried again and again with the same result.

  “Hey, Lucky what’s wrong?” He scooped her up. “Have you been stung?”

  He checked her paws and face. “Please don’t get bit by a snake and die on me. I don’t think I could handle it.” He kissed the top of her head as she cried without tears or sound.

  I’m a person. I’m stuck. Help me.

  “Geez, I sound needy. We’ve been together less than a day and I’m begging you not to leave.”

  She rested limply against his body as he carried her back to the cabin.

  I can’t leave. I can’t shift.

  And she couldn’t bring herself to eat either.

  After two days he was starting to get really worried. Fear and concern were etched on his face. “You need a vet. Are any vets alive?”

  He frowned. “It’s not safe to leave. Shit. Please don’t die. I thought you were sick the way you kept throwing up the raw meat.”

  Vicky opened her eyes and looked at him. He thought she was a cat, and he was considering getting her help and risking his life. She couldn’t let that happen. She didn’t need a vet. She needed a miracle.

  With a sigh she moved a little and forced a little cooked meat down.

  He needed her to live. If she lived, he’d look after her until she found a way to change. That would have to be enough. But the idea of being stuck like this forever made her want to curl up and sleep until she died.

  But she didn’t because he needed her, and no one had ever needed her before. She ate and got stronger. She realized that as a cat she needed raw meat to be healthy. She’d been in poor condition after fleeing the city and a few days of not eating hadn’t helped.

  Camo-boy’s name was Seth. He told her about his family life and his parents’ divorce as he made her eat and took care of her. She had the feeling it was as much for him as it was for her. But she actually didn’t care. No one had ever loved her this much.

  Perhaps she was an unlovable human.

  It was days later when he announced they were going to the river. He loaded up a sled with giant empty water bottles. Put her on the sled—because he couldn’t leave her behind and she needed the fresh air. And off they went.

  “I think you used up a life, Lucky.”

  Huh?

  “How many more do you have? What exciting adventures have you had?”

  Nine lives. Cats had nine lives.

  How many times had she shifted? Her skin went cold as she counted up, twice to be sure.

  The first time when she was five after the kids at school were mean—she didn’t know who had been more shocked.

  When the car almost hit her at eight.

  Three times for fun to see if she could make it happen.

  At ten to run away because the older boy in the house had tried to sleep in her bed and no one had believed her.

  To run away after getting beaten by a foster father because she was researching witches and witchcraft. She’d only wanted to know what she was.

  Once because she’d wanted to be free for a little while. Her foster parents had been upset. She’d overheard them saying she was too much trouble and too damaged. But unlike the others, they had kept her and she’d tried really hard to be good. She’d vowed never to shift and be weird again.

  Until the plagues.

  Nine times.

  She’d used up her lives and she’d never really gotten the chance to live. She lay down and watched Seth walk through the brush. Maybe she’d forget what it was to be human and she’d no longer miss it.

  What a depressing thought.

  Or maybe
that was what she needed to do. Forget and move on.

  Lucky was definitely not well even though she seemed better. She seemed kind of listless. He’d thought a trip out would have gotten her moving, but she hadn’t jumped off the sled once.

  Last time he’d been to the river it hadn’t looked good. There’d been a few dead animals on the shore. He’d have to boil and filter it all, and without rain he didn’t have a choice. However, today the river was flowing freely and there were no obvious signs of death.

  That didn’t mean he had a good feeling about it.

  Lucky sat up, fluffed up and hissed.

  He saw nothing. Was the mountain lion stalking him again? He slid the rifle off his shoulder. A woman in odd clothing appeared. How had he missed her?

  Lucky gave a peculiar growl.

  The woman on the bank looked at him. She was pretty, but her eyes were like ice and she carried a sword. Lucky edged up to his side and the woman’s gaze fell on his cat.

  “Well, that is interesting. I haven’t seen a Cat Sith in a very long time.” Her voice held a ring of power that made him want to leave this place.

  “I just came to get some water. I don’t want trouble.” What the hell was a Cat Sith? Was Lucky a special breed?

  “The river is fine now, though I suspect the diseases will need to run their course.”

  “Are you hiding from the plagues?” Seth asked. The woman must have seen the river when it had been edged by death. He was glad he hadn’t got too close and that he’d had water to ration.

  “Your cat is.” The odd woman looked at him. “You don’t know what she is.” The woman squatted down. “Come here, little Cat Sith.”

  She clicked her fingers and Lucky started toward her. She was going to take his cat.

  “Lucky?”

  Lucky crossed the distance without looking back. His heart broke as the woman picked up the cat. “Give me my cat back.” The rifle was cool in his hand.

  “She isn’t yours, mortal child. She is a fairy cat and owned by no one.” She patted Lucky and whispered something in the cat’s ear before setting her down. “Look after her for a mortal year and a day and you will be rewarded.”

  Lucky bounded back to him. He picked her up and hugged her. “I love you, Lucky,” he said in a voice only Lucky could hear. “A fairy cat? And what are you? A fairy?”