by Stec, Susan
"You don't have a collar, puss," she says.
Did she say collar? I press my ears back and softly coo a warning. If this woman thinks I'm going to wear a collar, she's in for some shit. That should be fun. A soft purr rises in my throat.
The woman's breasts heave as she stands and surveys the area around us. "I can't see any open car windows close by, either, so I don't think you escaped and are waiting for your master to come back."
Master, I mentally harrumph. I am my own master.
She looks down. I blink unenergetically and go for a single eyebrow raise. I have jet fur and gold eyes. I'm sure the expression is stunning. Even for a cat.
"Will you bite me if I pick you up?" she asks, tossing her plastic bags into the back seat of the Jeep.
Man, I need a cigarette.
I want to hiss and show her my feline fangs. Instead, I take in a long breath of discursion and wonder if I should entertain an annoying flicker of hope. As I look over the Jeep, I flick my tail in annoyance, snort through my cute little feline nostrils, and wonder how much mischief I can get into with this human. I'm slowly losing the high from my last attempt to find a mortal familiar.
The brunette puts both fists on what is probably her waist and looks down at me contemplating an idea I am not privy to. Inwardly I'm so terribly amused. Outwardly, I look from woman to Jeep and try to apply a longing stare at both. If I can't use my magic to get this chick to take me where I need to be, I can sure as hell kick up some feline trouble to take the edge off my morose ambivalence.
I guess my eyes give her what she needs. "Then it's settled," she says matter-of-factly. "You're coming home with me." She tucks her hands under my body and lifts.
I'll be damned if I'm gonna make it easy on her. I grow limp, drape her hands like a furry neck collar, and pray she drops me. I love a good heart-wrenching howl and an insulted hiss before and after I land flawlessly on all fours.
Maybe we'll get her a collar.
Fifteen minutes later, as I just barely tolerate the country twang blaring between the closed windows of the Jeep, I pray this country bumpkin is an understanding pagan instead of a God-fearing woman in her twenties.
I'll be a good little puss, bide my time, and keep my human voice quiet. I'll make this chick love me first, and then make her a believer. I need a familiar; one I can trust to protect me and help resurrect my witchy form. She may be the one.
I'm gonna have to work on her makeup, wardrobe, and choice of music, though.
Big farm houses whiz by, cows dot open fields, and long stretches of woods make me sleepy before the woman behind the wheel slows the Jeep down and flips on a turn signal.
I moan as we pull into a dirt driveway beside a lesser two-story farmhouse that needs a good coat of paint. A small section of metal fencing squares off the front yard. The grass is knee-deep behind the fence. Not my knees, hers.
No problem, I can scale that baby in two seconds. But it will be a long trip back to civilization. I'm going to turn Bek into a mole.
As we drive by the house and circle a beautiful hedge of pampas grass, a metal shed comes into view. The back of the property is not at all like the front of the house. Wild and overgrown, the area is full of wildflowers; black walnut and apple trees flutter in the distance. More country music blares from the building.
I'm a witch in a cat's body about to enter a new dimension, not only of sight and sound but of mind. Crap, I need a smoke.
The woman turns off the car and opens the driver's door before giving me a quick glance and shutting it again.
"Well, it's about damn time, Stella," a masculine voice yells from inside the building.
"Hush your hole. I found us a pet."
Holy shit, pump the brakes! A new and improved Marlboro man steps out of the building. He's rugged, tan, muscular, gruff, and has an ass to die for. I am in lust.
"Better not eat more than you," he says with a baritone chuckle.
"Luke!" Stella says. Luke, his name is Luke. Could this get any better? "You better hush. Mama isn't around to save your butt from a good swift kick like when you were a tadpole with dirty knees."
Sister and brother; it just got better. I scratch at the driver's window like mad.
Luke laughs as he struts over and yanks open the Jeep door. He picks me up by the scruff of my neck and lays me against a brick-hard chest. I purr like mad, front claws kneading flannel.
"Ouch," big, strong, and sexy says, holding my squirming body at arm's length and looking me up and down. "You found us a feisty puss," he tells Stella.
If you only knew.
Luke warns, "Put those claws back, missy. You be a nice kitty and I'll take you inside and give you..."
Yeah, yeah?
"...a bowl of warm milk."
Fuck me! For a minute, I forget I'm a damn cat.
Luke tucks me under his arm and heads for the building.
"Luke," Stella yells, "you are not making her... Hey, how'd you know the cat is a she?"
"I looked," Luke holds me out again as he answers. This time he faces me toward Stella.
"You're not making her a barn cat," Stella frowns. "And stop swinging her around. She doesn't like it."
I open my mouth. I want to scream a few obscenities, but just spit, hiss, and trill a bit.
"See," Stella said.
Luke curls me in his arm. "She'd make a good barn cat. She's a feisty one."
"You already said that."
Why do I feel like I'm in a Stephen King movie?
Luke stops in the middle of a wide open door and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his flannel pocket.
My heart stops beating.
He lights up. I stretch my nose to his chin. He blows smoke circles above my head. I paw the air, and sniff like mad.
"Looky there, she loves the smoke," Luke says and blows a puff in my face. "That's a barn cat if ever I saw one."
I inhale, shiver and come damn close to an orgasm.
*
Okay, so I'm not a barn cat. I hate it out here. Things scurry around. I miss heaters, store-bought food, and the smell of hairspray, soft comforters, indoor bathrooms, lamp light, and a warm body to snuggle. I slip through a small hole in the barn wall and find my way to the back door of the house. The place is lit up like Bek's Wiccan shop store front. I rake my claws down a sliding glass door.
Nothing.
I thump my tail against the door and meow loudly.
Nothing.
I screech and scratch, throw my body against the door, trill, howl, and scratch some more.
Stella lets me in, carries me into the living room, and laughs at Luke.
"Told you so," Stella said. "She may be feisty, but the girl is a house cat."
I purr. I don't want to, but an open beer can and Luke's pack of cigs beckon me from a table next to Luke's camouflage lounge chair. I am on a mission.
I squirm out of Stella's grasp, jump down, and pounce onto the arm of Luke's chair. He ruffles the fur on my head and attempts a sip of his beer. I see a small window of opportunity and lurch for the can. It spills down his chin, chest, and under his tee shirt. I lap up as much as I can before he pulls me away, laughing so hard he starts coughing.
"We got us a wanton hussy in a cat suit," he says in between laughs. "If only I could find me a real woman like her."
I so want to use my human voice. I have to nuzzle his bristly chin to keep my maw shut.
"I hate that she likes you better." Stella pouts.
I purr and burrow deeper into the man smell of Luke.
"I thought I could take her back to CMU when I head back to college in fall," Stella says.
I sit up so fast, so straight and stiff, I freak them both out. Central Michigan University is in Lansing. Lansing is where my apartment is, my spell books, scribing mirror, candles, wand, crystals, gemstones, oils, my big comfy bed, skinny jeans, sunglasses, sexy undies, blowdryer, hairspray, and my damn cigarettes. It's also where Bek lives.
Stec, Susan, Coffin Fit (The Grateful Undead series Book 4)