by Janene Wood
Eh, no biggie, she shrugged, pouring a generous quantity of ground beans into the pot. Once it had steeped, she filled her mug with the steaming brew, added a little milk and sugar and made a stirring motion with her finger over the top of the cup to mix it all together. Easy. She carried her cup into the living room, along with three small pastries, and inserted Dark Side of the Moon into the tape deck.
Sitting on the floor in a stream of golden sunbeams, she closed her eyes and sighed blissfully as the warmth seeped into her bones, filling her with utter contentment. Even Jack's looming departure no longer seemed quite so cataclysmic.
It seemed only moments later that Kate’s peaceful meditations were interrupted by something warm and soft rubbing back and forth against her thigh. Her eyes flew open in consternation, but it was only a scrawny-looking tortoiseshell cat, purring softly and looking up at her expectantly. She must have forgotten to shut the door after her last trip downstairs.
“Well, hello there,” she murmured, raising a tentative hand to pat the friendly intruder. The cat pushed its head upwards into her palm and purred even louder, sending strange vibrations through Kate’s fingers. Its fur was a patchwork of mottled oranges, browns, and blacks. Missing half an ear, it had three white paws and looked half starved, the poor thing. Kate couldn’t tell its gender, but it was behaving like several men she knew: outwardly charming, but pushy and insecure when you got to know them a little better. Its fur was unexpectedly soft and sleek, except where her hand grazed the hard scabs of a few half-healed scratches. War wounds, no doubt, from recent skirmishes over turf.
Kate had never really been a cat person, but that was mostly due to her lack of exposure to them, rather than a genuine aversion. The only pet she had ever owned was a goldfish. A cat was a definite step up. This one seemed friendly enough, even if it was only buttering her up to be fed. In fact, it was making such a concerted effort at winning her over that she decided it deserved something for its trouble.
Swallowing the dregs of her coffee, she returned to the kitchen. The cat followed, purring loudly, a deep, guttural sound that seemed further evidence of its masculinity. It looked disappointedly at her when she placed a container of milk on the floor, as if to say, is that the best you can do?
“It’s all I’ve got, puss,” said Kate in response to the cat’s indignant glare. “Take it or leave it. It's no skin off my nose, either way.”
Resignedly, the cat accepted her offering and quickly lapped up every last drop of milk. Kate refilled the container and watched in satisfaction as the tortoiseshell finished off a second helping. Sated now, it took a leisurely few minutes to groom itself, licking each of its front paws in turn and washing its face. Kate watched, entranced, but was aware of the seconds ticking by. The boxes in her hallway weren't going to unpack themselves.
“Well, puss, I’ve got things to do, even if you don’t. Come back tomorrow, if you like. I might have something a little more to your taste...if I manage to get to the shops, that is,” she added uncertainly.
As if comprehending her meaning, the cat arched its back and stalked haughtily out of the kitchen, its tail pointing disdainfully skywards.
“Well, be like that, you ungrateful creature!” called Kate. “Next time I might not be feeling so generous!”
The tortoiseshell bounded easily down the three flights of stairs to the foyer, the contents of its full belly sloshing around inside as it ran. The tenant from the second floor flat was on his way out of the building and there was just enough time for it to sprint across the tiled floor and leap through the gap before the front door closed and the opportunity was lost.
Outside, it paused on the front landing, taking a moment to glance up and down the street. The coast was clear, so far as it could tell, so it stretched languidly and sauntered down the front steps to the footpath, thinking to make its way to the leafy park across the street and the sun-drenched patch of grass it had noticed earlier. A cat-nap would round out the morning just perfectly.
It made it as far as the kerb before the unmistakable scent of dog made it pause mid-stride, its hackles rising. Sure enough, around the corner appeared not just one but two fierce looking bulldogs, held in check by a harried-looking woman and the flimsiest of leads. Seeing the tortoiseshell in the distance, the dogs began barking and straining against their leashes, dragging the woman after them. In the interests of a quiet life, the cat revised its plans and make a strategic withdrawal, streaking up the trunk of a giant elm and climbing high into the warren of bare branches. Without pause, it scurried to the end of a particularly long branch, leaping onto the roof of the townhouse. Down below, the dogs were barking ferociously, furious at being restrained. The woman yelled at them to behave and managed to drag them away, leaving silence in their wake. The cat watched them go with a smug feline grin.
Discretion being the better part of valour, it decided to remain on the roof, surveying its demesnes with typical feline arrogance. It was safe up here, high above the world, except perhaps from others of its kind. That wasn't a concern at the moment since the only other animate presence was a pair of nervous-looking pigeons. The cat took an experimental step in their direction and the birds flapped their wings and took off into the sky.
Ascending to the highest point of the roof, the tortoiseshell strolled effortlessly along the narrow apex to the opposite end of the building, as comfortable up here, thirty metres in the air, as it was on solid ground. It leapt the narrow gap between houses and gradually made its way to the middle of the row where a narrow lane, too wide to leap, halted its progress. With a flick of its tail, it turned ninety degrees, sliding down the rear slope of the roof, where it paused briefly before leaping down to a third-floor balcony. From there it jumped onto the top of a protruding bay window, and then again, to land on the sturdy branch of a copper beech tree. It quickly descended to an even lower branch before stepping easily onto the top of a brick wall. It finally reached the cobbled floor of the narrow lane by scrabbling head-first down the wall.
The lane was enclosed on both sides by high walls and tall deciduous trees that obscured the sun for most of the day, even in winter when the branches were bare. Cold, damp and narrow, it was used only for traffic of the two-legged or two-wheeled variety. Having abandoned the idea of a catnap, the tortoiseshell turned instead in the opposite direction, following the lane along until it reached a small alcove, where a short flight of steps led up to a wooden gate, its painted surface faded and worn, its hinges and screws rusted and frozen in place from age and lack of use. The cat stepped into the alcove and turned, looking carefully up and down the lane to ensure there were no prying eyes. It stilled, sniffing the air, hesitating. Seemingly satisfied at last, it closed its eyes and began to change. Its body gradually grew larger and more human-like; its skin becoming smooth and hairless; its paws transforming into hands and feet; its unmistakable feline features morphing into those of an attractive young woman.
The naked woman's eyes were the colour of wood-smoke and her silky, black hair was long enough to reach the cleft between her buttocks. She shivered and let out a sigh. The change was always unsettling and painful, both physically and mentally, the severity depending on the nature of the creature she shifted into. Becoming a cat was an easy physical change, but mentally, it felt like undergoing a lobotomy. Fortunately, she adapted quickly and the feeling didn’t last. And the change back made up for it. It was like having her consciousness blown away by mind-altering drugs: euphoric, liberating and all-powerful. Unfortunately, she adapted quickly and the feeling didn't last.
Years of practice had refined the process of transformation, allowing her to change almost instantly, but it took a great deal of focus and energy. It wasn’t something she did lightly, though she had to admit today’s change had been driven mostly by curiosity and a sort of twisted masochism, rather than need. She had been following Kate McDermott in her human form for the past three weeks, but had been unable to get anywhere near as close as she d
id this morning; close enough to actually touch her; close enough to observe her with her guard down. It was both sweeter and more painful than she had expected.
The girl checked the lane once more before reaching behind the disused stairs and retrieving a canvas hold-all, from which she removed a neatly folded pile of clothes and a pair of sturdy brown work boots. After dressing quickly, she hooked the empty bag over one arm and began walking again, this time on two feet, following the crooked course of the lane. When she reached the intersecting street at the end, she turned left and strolled fifty metres to a blue Ford Cortina, “borrowed” that morning before the sun had even poked its nose over the horizon.
With hours to spare before her next assignation, the girl decided she might as well take that cat-nap after all. But only after making sure the doors were locked and she had a weapon to hand.
No self-respecting moggy would ever allow herself to be caught off-guard.
The light had all but faded by the time Jason Dean pulled up outside Kate’s house on Pembroke Square with the last load of her belongings. He and his two companions climbed wearily out of the ute and set about their allotted tasks. The men unloaded the last of the boxes, while Jules carried the food and drink inside.
It had been a long day, and Juliet Sant’Angelo’s normally erect shoulders were slumped with fatigue as she climbed the three flights of stairs for the tenth time that day. Her rich, chocolate-brown hair, cut stylishly short, was uncharacteristically disheveled, and her denim overalls were covered with dust, cobwebs and other grunge that didn’t bear thinking about. No matter how fastidious a person was – and Kate and Jack were hardly that – moving was always a messy, dirty business.
Kate’s front door stood wide open and Peter Frampton’s distinctive voice could be heard long before Jules reached the third floor. Turning the volume down as she walked through the living room, she admired the evidence of Kate’s hard work as she went. The flat had been an empty shell just a few short hours ago, now it was a home.
The most striking feature of the airy space was the eye-catching painting of a tropical rainforest that covered most of one wall. Drawing the eye with its vibrant colour, striking realism and abundant energy, it was so life-like it wouldn’t have surprised anyone to see wayward tendrils of green creeper inching their way out of the canvas and wrapping themselves around the leg of an unwary chair.
The canvas had been painted by her mother's best friend, Remy, who died when Kate was only a year old. For some reason, Jane McDermott bequested it specifically to Kate in her will. Oddly, her mother left all her artwork to Kate, to the detriment of her brothers, although the majority of the canvases still adorned the walls of the old house in Fiddlers Creek. As soon as she signed the contract on her flat, she arranged to have this one, her favourite, freighted from Australia. The simple, elegant frame had cost almost a week’s wages, but was worth every penny.
A swinging door on the right led into a modern, timber kitchen where Kate was kneeling in the middle of the kitchen floor surrounded by boxes of saucepans, cooking utensils and non-perishable food items. Oblivious to her friend’s arrival, Kate started with alarm when Jules greeted her, and then laughed at her own discomposure. Belatedly, she noticed the boxes in Jules' arms.
“You brought pizza? Jules, you’re a life-saver; I am starving!” At the mention of food, her stomach emitted a loud, dissatisfied rumble.
“Hard to believe, but we forgot to stop for lunch.”
“I don't think that's ever happened to me before,” remarked Kate.
“But wait...there’s more,” announced Jules cheerfully, removing a bottle of Jack Daniels from a paper bag.
“Oh, well done,” approved Kate. “That officially makes it quittin’ time.” Pushing aside the box she was unpacking, she stood up slowly and stretched, working the kinks out of the stiff muscles in her back and shoulders. Half way through, she tensed and frowned.
“Are you all right, sweets?” asked Jules. When Kate didn't respond, she tried again. “Hey! Kate!”
Kate blinked at the sound of her name and seemed to recollect herself. Still frowning, she touched her forehead uncertainly.
“Headache?”
“Not...exactly,” replied Kate vaguely. “I've been hearing this weird sort of murmuring since last night.” She looked a little abashed. “You're going to think I'm nuts, but it almost sounds like someone's whispering inside my head. I guess I need to get my hearing checked.”
“You're hearing voices?” said Jules, perturbed. “That’s never good.”
“Not voices exactly, but...something. Don't tell Jack,” pleaded Kate.
“I'm sure it's nothing serious, but you should definitely get your hearing checked,” said Jules. “In the meantime, why don't I make you a nice strong drink? That's bound to fix it, at least temporarily.”
“What an excellent idea,” said Kate agreeably, giving her friend a fond look as she reached into an overhead cupboard for a pair of tumblers.
Jules poured the drinks – sans ice, since Kate forgot to fill the ice trays – and handed one to her friend. “Let me know if I can do anything.”
“Talking seems to help.”
Jules gave a self-deprecating laugh. “That I can do, no problem.”
A few minutes later, they were reclining in the living room with their feet up, a slice of pizza in one hand and a tumbler of Jack and coke in the other. “So how was your nutty professor this week? Is she still driving you crazy with her OCD?” enquired Kate.
“Ha!” laughed Jules. “I’ll admit Professor Bromfield may be a little eccentric, but she's one of the world's leading biochemists, so I can put up with a bit of crazy if it means I get to learn from her.”
“Is she still trying to come with a formula for the elixir of life?” Kate's sardonic tone made it clear what she thought of that particular aspiration.
“Hey, it's not as far-fetched as you think,” said Jules defensively. “We're doing legitimate scientific research and you'll be laughing out of the other side of your face when we finally discover how to slow down the aging process. I'll be young and hot for the rest of my life, while I watch you, sweets, turn into a wrinkled old prune.”
“A prune, is it? You wouldn't really let that happen, would you?” wheedled Kate. “To your best friend in the whole world?”
“That depends on how much fun you make of my boss,” Jules retorted smugly.
“Okay, when you put it like that...” said Kate, laughing. “So how close are you?”
Jules sighed. “Realistically, we're still years away, but as long as the grant money keeps coming in, it's only a matter of time before we make that all important breakthrough. The professor has had some limited success in slowing the breakdown of mitochondrial DNA in mice, but the process needs tweaking. Which is what I'm working on at the moment.” Jules frowned with sudden concern, adding, “You know you can't tell anyone what I just told you, right? I shouldn't really have said anything, even to you.”
“S’okay, Jules, you and the nutty professor can trust me.”
“Stop calling her that!” exclaimed Jules, laughing despite herself. “You know it was an incredible honour to be chosen as one of her research fellows. I know people who would kill to be in my shoes.”
“I know, Jules. I didn’t mean to make light of your achievements, but you're so easy to wind up.”
Jules opened her mouth to retort, but then shook her head and didn't bother. Kate moved the conversation onto safer ground. “So what did you do with the boys? Did they finally annoy you so much you had to push them in front of a lorry to shut them up? You can tell me; I won’t judge. It was clearly self-defense.”
Jules laughed. “It was tempting. But no... I’m not sure where they’ve gotten to, actually; there wasn’t that much left to unload.”
“They're probably chatting up some poor, unsuspecting girl who happened to be passing by.” Kate sighed wearily. “You know, I’m so tired, I could close my eyes right now an
d sleep for 24 hours straight.”
“Yeah, right,” scoffed Jules. “Even if you could – and we both know how likely that is – you can’t! You’ve got a party to go to, remember? You organised it, after all.”
“I’d much rather stay here and go to sleep,” grumbled Kate.
Jules looked at Kate curiously and then inhaled sharply as the truth dawned on her. “Kate McDermott! You big, fat coward! You think if you don’t go to the party and watch Jack say his goodbyes, you can pretend he’s not really leaving!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” scoffed Kate indignantly.
“You’ve been in denial this whole time!” accused Jules. “You thought he’d change his mind at the last minute, and now that he’s actually going, you can’t cope!”
“That’s crazy talk,” insisted Kate, less convincingly.
“You know Jack'd never forgive you if you missed his party. And you’d never forgive yourself,” said Jules sagely. She sipped her drink, watching her friend’s face as the truth of her words began to sink in.
“I hate it when you're right,” sighed Kate. “The thought of him leaving without me scares me to death. He did it once before and it took me years to get over it. Who's going to jolly me out of my dark moods when he’s gone? Who am I going to yell at when I'm cranky and homesick? I've never lived on my own, Jules! What if I turn into one of those crazy cat ladies who never leave the house?”
“You don't even like cats, Kate, so I don't think that’s very likely,” Jules reminded her dryly. “But if you get lonely I'll buy you a goldfish to keep you company, okay?”
“Gee, thanks,” muttered Kate acerbically. But she got the message: Jules was her family now; they were sisters in all ways that mattered. Reassured, she closed her eyes and allowed a companionable silence to envelope them. It was only the sound of male voices coming up the stairs, gradually getting louder, that roused them from their inertia. A moment later, Jack and Jason lumbered into the room, their arms laden with the last of Kate's possessions.