by Donna Lamb
11. Sitting Down
“Is that a cat?” asked Tim, his voice still thick with sleep. I looked back over my shoulder. At least he hadn’t asked if that was a pussy, because I’m sure I would have collapsed laughing. Instead I just waggled my butt at him.
“It’s a kitten,” I said. “Say hello to Tim, Muffins.” I sat up and held the tiny calico cat up toward him.
“My name is Ogen,” said the cat. “And the giant can’t hear me, you stupid, ignorant body thief.” But she didn’t stop purring. Of course, she didn’t need to move her mouth to talk, though sometimes she did. I just heard the voice in my head, I assumed. Yeesh, don’t think about that being crazy. Though it did sound a lot like the tall actress with the deep voice who had that show with the four old ladies living Florida.
Damn. Why couldn’t I remember names from my past without a lot of effort?
Tim distracted me by kneeling next to the hassock. I sat up, putting my eyes at about the level of his navel.
He had pulled on a pair of shorts so there were no tempting cat toys in sight. “Kitten huh? Where’d you get him?” He stuck out a huge finger and rubbed that spot on the top of a cat’s head that acts like a purr volume knob, turning the kitten up to eleven.
“Whatever you do, don’t tell him the truth!” the cat warned me. I almost couldn’t hear her possibly imaginary voice over the loudness of her actual purring. I think the little puffball had a Marshall mini-stack under the fur.
I considered Tim’s question and Muffin’s warning. I hadn’t told Tim that I was originally a boy, or at least thought I was, and he hadn’t told me that he’d found out my name, or the name of my body, right away – so why break such a tradition?
“It’s a little baby girl cat,” I said. “And I found her on the balcony.” I had to giggle because of keeping a secret. Well, would he believe me if I told him that the cat talked but only I could hear her?
“I’m allergic to cats,” said Tim. He pulled back his hand and looked at the end of his finger as if expecting it to have broken out in purple land mines.
“Oh, good! But that’s another thing,” said Muffins. “Last night I was a tomcat but...”
“You too?” I said.
“Yeah, but not kittens for some reason,” said Tim reaching out his bratwurst-sized finger again to tickle the kitten under the chin.
“Hell’s Pilot Light! Nothing ever goes right for me,” complained the kitty.
“Are you allergic to cats too?” asked Tim.
“Oh, no,” I said. “I don’t think so, but someone I know is. At least, I think they are, if it’s who I think it is and maybe if it isn’t. And if I could remember who it is, or isn’t, it might be important but since I can’t, I don’t suppose it is, huh?”
Tim and Muffins looked at each other. Tim said to the cat, “She talks like that all the time, doesn’t she?”
“I know,” said Muffins. “Drives me crazy. Wait.... What’s going on?” She looked sideways at Tim then at me and made an actual cat noise, a confused sounding, “Ma-a-ao?”
“Were you talking to the cat?” I asked Tim, wondering if he actually could hear the cartoony deep voice the cat spoke in.
“Sure,” said Tim. “He looks like an intelligent beast. Do you think he’s hungry? I’ve got some roast beef he might like.”
“She,” I reminded him. “You hungry?” I asked the kitten.
“I suppose so,” said Ogen. “And rub it in, why don’t you?”
I grinned. “I think she is hungry, she’s giving me that sad, little kitten face.”
“That’s not why!” protested the cat. “I’m just pissed off. Hell’s Deodorant Urinal Cakes, you’d be pissed, too, if you had any sense left.”
“Are you sure it’s a girl cat? It can be hard to tell with kittens, sometimes,” said Tim, using his magic muscles to stand up and tower over us.
“It’s a calico,” I said. “Calicos are always females.”
Tim stuck a big paw down to help me up. “Always female?”
“Uh huh, it’s a law of nature or something.” I wrapped my free hand around his thumb and he lifted us up to stand beside him. At that moment, I realized again that I had no clothes on. And my feet hurt. And my back.
I danced around a bit, trying to stretch out my calf and foot muscles. “I’ve got to get some clothes to wear, and shoes,” I said, looking down and noting, not for the first time that I could only see my feet by looking around my boobs. No wonder my back hurt.
“You’re not even wearing jewelry,” said the cat. “You realize that with no protection, when you fucked the giant anyone with nine senses could see you – all over the city? That’s how I found you here, since you didn’t have sense enough to be at home.”
Wow, I thought. I gave a show to the whole city? How many people had nine senses? And what were numbers six through eight if nine was the ability to see people fucking miles away through walls and hills and everything?
I wanted to ask questions but with Tim there I would look like more of an idiot than usual – like an idiot talking to a cat. Especially if I asked some of the hard ones I wanted to ask. So I took my frustration out on the cat. “Is my little fuzzy Muffins hungry?” I cooed. “We’ve got some nice beefies for the kitty-kitty puss-puss.”
“Knock it off!” said the cat. She struggled, trying to get away but it took no effort at all to hold her safely without hurting her. In fact, I used my thumb to rub her tummy and she got overcome by a fit of purring again.
“Hell’s Diaper Pail,” she muttered.
Tim lead the way to the kitchen. From the back, he looked like a pair of legs carrying a pyramid upside down. Wow. Double wow.
“Loud purr for a little cat,” he commented.
“Oh, yes, Muffins is a little purr box, isn’t her?” I cooed, remembering to torture the cat.
“Send me back to Tartaros, I’m too old for this kitten stuff!” said the cat. “And my name is Ogen!”
“Now don’t you worry, little baby pussycat. Old Tim is gonna fix you some nice num-nums.” Okay, I’m terrible.
“Knock it off, Catewood,” warned the kitten. “The Compact keeps me from hurting you even if I want to, but I can always piss in your lingerie and crap in your hair while you’re asleep!”
“Okay, okay,” I said. I wondered what sort of lingerie I owned. Knowing me for only part of a morning, already I suspected that I had a lot of the naughty kind–probably received as gifts. “Just having a little fun.” I grinned at Muffins and chucked her under the chin. She hissed at me. Sheesh, what a grouch.
“What?” said Tim.
“I don’t think the kitty likes babytalk, she wants down.” I bent forward to put the cat down but forgot about my boobs. When they swung forward, they not only changed my balance, they startled me by appearing in my vision like twin submarines surfacing to throw out depth charges and I sat down on my keister in the middle of the kitchen floor.
A leg cramp right then didn’t help either. Two cramps, one in each, causing me to point my toes like a ballerina.
“Snerk, snerk, snerk,” said the kitten, landing on her feet.
“Are you okay?” asked Tim again.
“Uh huh, I’m just not used to not wearing shoes, I guess.” Heels, I needed some shoes with heels. Well, I’m short so I probably wear them all the time. “I need a bra, too.”
“No comment on that,” said Tim, grinning. He helped me up again and I leaned on him while we tore off pieces of roast beef to put in a bowl for Muffins. Somehow this ended up with lots of touching and stroking and eventually kissing. Between Tim and I, not the cat.
Muffins ate her beefies then sat on the floor and nearly washed herself bald. She kept an eye on us as we progressed from kissing to groping. “Hell’s Prophylactic Ointment for the Prevention of Genital Chafing,” she commented.
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