by Renard, Loki
It’s weird that he is real, but when I think about it, there are many things that are weird and yet real. Sharks, for instance. They’re very weird and also very real. Also, very dangerous, just like I suspect Skoll is.
“Where’s Mr Tiddles? If you’ve done anything to him, I swear to god, I will spade you so hard you never wake up.”
“He’s asleep behind you.”
I turn around and see that he is right. Mr Tiddles is curled up on the blankets I woke up on, utterly unconcerned by our abrupt change in circumstance and surroundings.
“Oh. Good. So, what is the plan? Mr Tiddles and I stay in here, in prison, forever? Because if that’s going to happen, I’m going to need a bigger litter box.”
“You’re not taking this seriously,” Skoll accuses me.
“Well, of course I’m not. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it. Waking up inside a cat carrier, being lectured by a man who up until yesterday sold stocks and shares and now turns out to be whatever it is you are.”
“We are grimalkin. Our people live on a planet not far from your own world, which is why fugitives often escape to yours, where they are mistaken for being one of your domesticated cat species.”
“Mr Tiddles looks nothing like you, though.”
“He did once, but his consciousness has been inserted into one of your beasts. His body was abandoned at the transfer station and is technically what you would call dead.”
“So you’re a species of head hopping cat aliens.”
Skoll sighs. “A typically human way of reducing something far more complex than you could begin to understand. But, sure. We’re head hopping cat aliens.”
“Cool.”
“It is cool,” Skoll smiles. “Though Mr Tiddles’ crime was not cool.”
“What is he being charged with?”
“Nip dealing.”
“Nip dealing?” I repeat his words as if that might help. It doesn’t.
“Nip is the most addictive substance known to our people. When exposed to it, they lose control.”
“Sounds…”
“Awful,” he says.
“Fun,” I finish my sentence.
“Dangerous,” he adds.
“Awesome,” I also add.
He growls, and a thrill races down my spine. As Tim the broker, he wasn’t terribly attractive to me. As Skoll, the grimalkin cat-alien, he is intriguing. Though, of course, he technically just drugged and abducted me, which is very much a no-no in 2020. I’d protest, but he’s already wearing a pussy hat and I don’t think it would translate.
I think the problem is that my brain isn’t actually able to process the events it has just experienced. It feels like a bizarre dream. Maybe it will start to feel real at some point. Or maybe it will turn out to actually be a dream. Maybe I fell asleep in the garden, just like Alice, and maybe I’ve followed a broker into a fantasy world of my own making.
“You need to take this seriously,” Skoll growls. I never noticed how his voice had a rolling, growling, almost perpetual purr to its timbre. I never really noticed him at all. I was caught up in my little world. I wonder what else I missed while I was living my life. How many other aliens were in my midst? Sometimes I’d watch television and wonder if a serial killer was nearby, or maybe a ghost, but I never really considered an alien in the next apartment.
“What would be the point of taking this seriously? I’ve clearly lost my mind, or maybe gone into a coma. I might have hit myself with the spade…”
“This is real, Kitty,” he says. “This is as real as anything gets. Mr Tiddles will be facing charges in a matter of hours.”
“Anybody tries to touch him, and I’ll…”
I look around. My spade has been taken off me, but I’m still dangerous. Humans didn’t rise to become the dominant species on Earth by giving up when their spades were taken away. We overcame immense difficulties, living as primitives with nothing but our wits against beasts of tooth and claw. We survived, and I will too.
“I’ll fuck you up!” I finish with what I hope is the right mixture of hysteria and threat.
He opens the door and steps into the cage with me. I take two big steps back. He is massive. I don’t recall Tim being this tall. Skoll has to be at least seven feet tall, maybe more. Suddenly, the enclosure which felt relatively generously large, feels entirely too small.
“Listen, Kitty,” he says, in that way people, and apparently, cat-aliens say when they’re trying to calm you down. “I know this is strange. Humans have a hard time imagining any reality outside their own.”
“Well, that’s insulting.”
“Don’t be insulted.”
“Too late. I already am.” I stand between him and Mr Tiddles, remembering at all times that this is really about my cat.
“You better hope this isn’t real,” I tell him. “If it is real, then you’re a real jerk, and you’ll have to live with that.”
He glowers down at me, his blue eyes flashing in that dark and dangerous face. This is like being far too close to a lion, but one with the sentience to know how to really hurt me. I was never comfortable being near the predatory beasts in the zoo when I used to visit it. I always had that evolutionary tingle which told me I wasn’t supposed to be on the other side of a flimsy fence. There was a sense of awe, and danger, and the very real desire to go look at something which didn’t consider me food.
I have that feeling again now, but even more pronounced, because this is not a zoo. Or maybe it is, but if it is, I am the one on display. I am the one inside the cage, being kept for the amusement of the sharp-fanged predators.
I am afraid, but of course I know better than to show fear. Every animal in the world responds to displays of strength, so I resist the urge to cower, and I refuse to whimper and dive underneath the blankets. I stand and I face him as he closes the distance between us.
“This is real, and you need to develop some respect.”
“Fuck you.”
He grabs me by the scruff of my neck, holding me in his powerful paw like a naughty kitten. “Respect must be taught,” he says, half to himself, and half to me. “It is not innate to cubs, or humans.”
“Let me go! You’ve got no right to touch me!”
“You’ve got no rights at all,” he growls, his eyes narrowing to two predatory slits. “On this planet, you’re nothing more than a pet, do you understand? You’re a possession. Something to be owned.”
His words are outrageous, and now I am afraid. I wasn’t before. This all felt silly and fake, like some kind of trip or dream I’d wake up from. It doesn’t feel like that anymore. His touch brings me to my senses, puts me deep into my body, sparks anxiety, excitement, and something else I cannot admit to.
He flexes his hand and sharp claws emerge from his fingertips. He wields them like five scimitars, swiping them across the back of my overalls. They fall in a heavy pile of cloth around my ankles, hobbling me and leaving me standing in my underwear, which provides no protection at all when the flat of his leathery palm lands across the center of my cheeks.
Skoll hauls me over his thigh which he has propped up on the edge of the watering bowl. That leaves me swinging over his leg, my ass raised to his punishing palm, my body at his mercy — and he has no mercy. He whips my ass hard and fast, making my rear ache with instant regret.
There’s a flash of fur at the periphery of my vision, and I grit my teeth. I am serving as an excellent distraction from Mr Tiddles. I’m the only one on this planet who cares about him, and I’m running out of ways to save him. I let Skoll whip me. I even put on a show.
“Fuck you!” I curse. “I’ll never let you get your paws on Mr Tiddles. You’ll never… oowwwWW!”
This really hurts. He’s making sure it hurts, too. I get the feeling Skoll believes he should be obeyed, that because I am weaker, smaller, and more human than he is, I have to do as he says. He’s wrong, but it is damn hard to prove that in this moment, as he’s reducing me to a squirming, wailing, painful mess
over his thigh.
“What about now?” he purrs. “Does it feel real now?”
“Yes! Yes! It fucking feels real!”
It feels like burning, painful, hot reality.
“It sucks, so I know it’s real.”
He lets me go. My hands snap back to my ass, holding my burning cheeks. He left me with my underwear, but no dignity. There are tears in my eyes, but I’m determined to hold them back. I don’t want to show weakness, no more than I’ve already shown. I’m about to get my own back.
I’m kicking off my ruined overalls and trying to pull my shirt down past my very sore ass. This is not comfortable.
“Where’s the cat?”
Skoll asks the question in a hiss. It’s a stupid question, because all I have to do is flick my eyes toward the door, which is still ajar. He was so intent on punishing me, he forgot who the real prisoner was supposed to be.
I say nothing. I am sore and I am embarrassed, but that doesn’t stop me from also smiling broadly, very pleased with myself.
“Don’t smile like that.”
“You let my cat out. I should be mad at you.”
“How many times do I have to tell you that’s not your cat. That’s a fugitive and he’s on the loose.”
“RUN, MR TIDDLES! RUN!” I scream after my beast. “Be FREE!”
“Quiet,” Skoll growls. “I will have to go after him. You will stay here until I can decide what to do with you.”
“He’s long gone,” I say triumphantly. “Mr Tiddles knows how to make an exit.”
I hope he is alright. I know he’s a survivor, one way or another. I have to be one too.
Skoll leaves. This time, he makes sure the cage is closed.
3 Your Fugitive’s Name is…
Kitty
I am in the cage for a long time. The light outside wanes and is replaced with an electric glow, and then goes out completely. I hope that Mr Tiddles has gotten away. I hope at this point that Skoll isn’t lying, and that there is a criminal hiding inside my cat, because if he’s wrong then my pet is loose on a planet he doesn’t understand and could easily be hurt.
This is worrying, and painful. Hours on, my ass still aches from Skoll's harsh palm. He is prepared to use force to subdue me, and I have no recourse. Whatever the laws in this world are, I doubt they allow for me to complain about my treatment. I’m no better than an animal now.
I suddenly have a whole host of problems I never expected to have. What planet am I on really? It’s definitely not called Purr. Where’s Earth relative to it? How do I get back? What talk shows will I go on when I get back? Will there be a book deal? How many people will think I am crazy? All of them, probably. Even I think I might be crazy.
I eventually fall asleep on the blankets at the back of the cage, exhausted from worry and being thrashed by a very mean cat-alien.
* * *
“Wake up, Kitty.”
Skoll's voice rouses me from slumber. He is standing over me in what I can only call formal pants. They’re silver with three white stripes down the outside of each leg, and long red boots with the same white stripes running around the tops. He looks like an athletic super soldier, his dark mane waving in whatever breeze is out there. He’s still shirtless, so I am treated to the sight of his broad chest and aggressive biceps as he stands with his arms crossed, looking at me as if I’ve done something wrong.
I can’t work out if he looks sexy and cool, or if he looks like he should be a backup dancer for Beyonce. Does one really preclude the other?
“Where’s Mr Tiddles?”’
“Still at large. You are coming to see the magistrate.”
“Me? Why?”
“The fugitive has escaped and has not been recovered. Therefore, you are being held responsible for his crimes.”
“Uh, say what, now?”
“When the criminal is not able to be held responsible for their crimes, our laws declare that the nearest entity of responsibility must be punished. In this case, that is you.”
“No, it bloody isn’t. I let a stray cat in my home. I fed him. I looked after him. I didn’t know…”
“Yes, the magistrate may take mercy on you due to your extreme lack of knowledge,” he says. “He may also take mercy on you if you show remorse.”
“Remorse for what? For having a cat?”
Skoll sighs. “We will have to go with stupidity as a defense.”
“Fuck you. I’m not stupid.”
“Your actions demonstrate otherwise. I have made it clear to you that you have been harboring a fugitive criminal and you have shown no understanding of the gravity of that charge, let alone seemed the slightest bit sorry for it.”
“Because I’m not!”
His head jerks back, his majestic mane flowing in affront.
"You will be sorry, Kitty, my kitten. I will make sure of it.”
I feel another one of those tingles running through me when he calls me his kitten, even if it is a little redundant and maybe overdone. There is real threat in his voice, along with real affection. I think he likes me.
“This is because I turned you down, isn't it.”
“Excuse me?”
“A month ago, you texted and asked me out on a date. I told you no. That’s what this is about. Isn’t it.”
“I asked you out on a date so I could get close enough to the being you call Mr Tiddles.”
“I don’t think so. I think you liked me until I turned you down.”
“I still liked you after you turned me down,” he growls.
“Oh!”
“I still like you now,” he clarifies. “But liking you doesn’t stop me from doing my job and bringing you to justice. You will pay for your crimes, Kitty Wallace.”
“I haven’t committed any.”
“Perhaps not on your world, but on mine, you absolutely have. And you’re here now.”
He is looking me with consuming intensity, his mouth slightly open revealing those big, long fangs. All the better to eat you with…
I have to get myself under control. I can’t be distracted by Skoll's hotness, or his hardness, or the fact that there’s a swelling in those white pants which would have to correspond to a very large…
“Kitty!”
He snaps my name and snaps me out of my carnal gaze.
“What? I didn’t do anything!”
“Mhm,” he growls.
“You’re the one who should be worried, if I don’t get my cat back. Mr Tiddles…”
"Would you stop referring to him by that blasted name!”
“What’s his name then?”
“The closest series of sounds you can comprehend for his name would be…” Skoll pauses and thinks for a second. “Your fugitive’s name is Richardkimble.”
“Richardkimble?”
“Yes.”
“Mr Tiddles suits him far better.”
“It is simpler,” Skoll says in a tone which implies which many things I do are simple, no doubt on account of my humanity.
Skoll's expression is dour. He is so very human in so many respects, and utterly, wildly alien in others. I sense that he is not happy at having lost Mr Tiddles, but that is almost definitely his fault. He was the one who opened the door to harass and punish me.
“Take me to the magistrate,” I say, trying to be bold. “I have a few things to tell him myself.”
“If you want to survive this experience, I suggest you attempt to find a more respectful tone. The magistrate will not be disrespected by a human criminal such as yourself.”
“Excuse me, I’m not a criminal.”
“Of course you are. Now come.”
He reaches out and holds me, his big hand on the back of my neck keeping me under control as we step out of the cage and into something even stranger than I had imagined. It is a hall, of sorts, a sort of passage. But it’s not a passage in the way my hallway at home was a passage. It is more like a shimmering wall of something like water beyond which several different pla
ces seem to swim back and forth.
“How… what…”
“This is a travel wall,” he says. “It leads almost everywhere on Purr.”
“So Mr Tiddles could be anywhere now? You keep this right outside the cages of your most wanted criminals? On my planet we have a saying about stables and horses bolting and… OW!”
I gasp as his palm meets my rear again. I am dressed in sneakers, socks, underwear, and an oversized t-shirt which has garden dirt all over it. There’s no protection against his hand. There’s no protection against anything.
“I need pants!”
“You do not need pants. You are fortunate you are allowed clothing at all.”
“Maybe I could get some of those fuck-me boots you’re wearing.”
His glower becomes even more intense, brilliant blue flashing outrage in the most exciting of ways. “These are not fuck-me boots, Kitty. These are the uniform of the Elite Bounty Hunters.
“They’re fabulous. Is that a heel?”
“There’s no heel,” he growls.
“Lifted sole?”
He snarls and I laugh. I am no less afraid of him than I was before, but mocking him takes some of the fear out of me.
“I see you need another thrashing, impetuous human,” he announces with another hard slap, which turns into another, and then into another.
I yowl in outrage and squirm for freedom, but freedom is in limited supply now, even more so in Skoll's massive hands. The first time he thrashed me I was shocked. This time I am, well, shocked again. He handles me with such ease it almost feels as though he has done this before, ripped a helpless human from her world, told her that she is a criminal, and summarily punished her for daring to make jokes about his boots.
Every time his palm lands against my ass, my underwear rides up a fraction more until he is spanking bare skin. The pain is sharp and the punishment is stern. He says little, letting his discipline do the talking, his huge arm taking my weight no matter how ferociously I squirm.
I keep expecting him to stop, but he doesn’t. A dozen slaps turns into two dozen, and then three dozen, and then my cries become more plaintive and pathetic as the heat in my ass starts to sink deep and spread, turning to a dangerous kind of humiliation.