Cattitude (6 page)

“You’re frightening her.” Max held out his
arm to stop Caroline from moving closer to her.

Caroline glared at him over her shoulder.
“Why would I frighten her? I’m a woman. If she’s scared of anyone,
it’s you and Ted.”

“Ya think?” Ted jabbed his thumb at Sorcha.
“Take a good look at her face. You’re scaring the crap out of
her.”

“I don’t believe—”

Max curved his hands over Caroline’s upper
arms and hauled her away from the bed.

“What are you doing?” Caroline’s voice raised
two octaves.

“I’m moving you away from her.” He released
her shoulders and stepped between her and Sorcha. His temporary
guest was slumped back onto the bed, staring at them, and he had
the impression she was waiting to see which way to jump.

Caroline’s lips tightened. “I’m just trying
to help.”

“You can’t force your help on people who
don’t want it.”

She laughed wildly. Without another word, she
spun around and rushed out of the bedroom.

“That was a hell of a show.” Ted grinned. “I
think she’s pissed at you.”

Max turned back to Sorcha, bending over her.
“You okay? If you can’t talk, nod your head for yes or shake it for
no. I won’t leave until I know you’re okay.”

Her lips trembled. Seconds crept by before
she dipped her head up and down.

A blaze of achievement shot through him. “Are
you ready to go to the hospital?”

She shook her head emphatically.

“Are you hungry?”

Another shake.

“Tired?”

A nod.

“We’ll go and let you sleep. You understand
I’ll have to wake you every hour, in case you have a
concussion?”

She frowned, her displeasure evident.

This was becoming one of the easiest
conversations he’d ever had with a woman. Who needed words? Her
expression said it all.

“If you object, I’ll have to take you to the
hospital.”

Her soft lips formed a pout. She lifted one
shoulder in a gesture he took for agreement.

“Want us to call anyone?” Ted asked over his
shoulder.

Max nodded at Ted. Good question. When he
turned back to Sorcha, she was shaking her head.

“We’ll leave you then,” Max said. She seemed
to understand everything he said. A bit of his worry disappeared.
“If you need anything, just call out.”

She relaxed against the pillow, her eyelids
closing. The blanket was still at her waist, and he leaned over her
and pulled it over her shoulders. When he straightened, her
breathing was already even, her lips slightly parted.

“Great sleeper,” Ted murmured. Max shoved Ted
by his shoulders, pushing him out of the bedroom. As they reached
the hall, Ted’s voice grew louder. “That reminds me. Where’s Belle?
She usually greets you like a dog.”

Max glanced around. Where was Belle?

“Maybe she saw you carrying Sorcha and was
jealous.” Ted chuckled. “Caroline sure the hell was. Did you see
her face when you kicked her out of the bedroom? She looked like
she wanted to bite you.”

“She was scaring Sorcha.” Max glanced behind
him, one last look to make sure she was all right. In her sleep,
Sorcha’s lips curved up. “I couldn’t let her do that.”

“Listen to yourself.” Ted cuffed his
shoulder. “You just met her and you’ve got it bad.”

“I’m making sure she’s okay.” Max cuffed
Ted’s shoulder back, fulfilling the Eleventh Commandment in the
Brannigan family: Thou shalt not hit your brother unless thou shalt
want to be hit back.

“Yeah, sure.” Ted rubbed his shoulder.

Max’s hand twitched, but he refused to rub
the sting of Ted’s fist and let Ted know it hurt. “She hasn’t said
one word to me.”

“To do what a man and a woman do best, who
needs words?”

“You’re bad, brother. Bad to the core.”

“Yeah.” Ted poked his elbow into Max’s ribs.
“And you know why I’m bad? ‘Cause the girls love it.” Grinning, Ted
strutted into his bedroom before Max could jab his ribs. “When you
check on Sorcha, don’t wake me. I need my beauty sleep.”

“Waking you is the last thing I plan on
doing.” Max scowled. Maybe Sorcha was one of those women who liked
bad boys. What she did out of his house was her own business, but
in it she was under his protection, and he was making damn sure no
one was going to hurt her.

Guessing she’d run an eighth of a mile,
Sorcha stopped to lap water from the ditch. It tasted like mud, but
she was thirsty. And hungry. The cat’s stomach was emptier than her
and Fletcher’s joint bank account. She wondered when the cat last
ate.

A bird landed on the ground nearby. Sorcha
froze, watching it. A robin. Never before had she noticed how big
robins were. How the meat packed tightly against their bones.

Her claws extended and she gazed at them with
horror. What was she thinking? She was a vegetarian, for God’s
sake. She couldn’t eat a bird.

The robin saw her. Its wings flapped and it
flew away. Sorcha watched it disappear into the trees.
You don’t
have to be afraid. Even if I could catch you, I wouldn’t eat
you.

A voice in her head mocked her.
Oh yeah?
Cats are carnivores, you know. You’re a cat now. You can’t fight
your nature.

The voice sounded like Fletcher. He’d
disparaged her vegetarian diet often, eating Big Macs in front of
her and ordering steak when they ate out.

A car cruised along the road, the hum of its
engine growing louder. With these cat eyes, she saw colors hazily,
as if looking through a cloud. But gray was still gray—unless it
was silver, like the car Deavers was driving.

She darted into the ditch. Deavers must still
be looking for her. A ragged meow tore out of her throat and she
shivered.

The car rolled toward her about ten miles an
hour. She imagined Deavers peering at the sides of the road,
searching for her. If he saw a small, gray cat, it wouldn’t mean
anything to him. Still, she stayed in the ditch until the car
snaked around another curve.

A mewl came out of her throat, and the sound
made her jump. She mewled again. This time she didn’t jump. Her
whole world was upside-down. She was a cat, for God’s sake.

Raising her head to the sky, she yowled.
She’d asked to die instead of the cat. She hadn’t asked to
be
the cat.

Turning tail, she dashed through the thicket
of trees alongside the road. She felt sorry for the cat in her
body. Did it know its life was in danger? As was hers, she reminded
herself. Someone had tried to kill the cat and might try again. She
needed to suspect every person she ran into.

Despair filled her. She was trapped in the
body of a small cat but inside her was enough unhappiness to fill
the Grand Canyon. When she’d moved into the duplex with Fletcher,
he’d promised her she’d never be alone again.

As usual, he lied.

***

Belle opened her eyes, stretched, yawned and
frowned. Her head rested on Max’s pillow. She felt the familiar
softness and smelled his scent, but why had the pillow shrunk? Why
were the colors brighter and the scents duller? Why didn’t she feel
her tail? Or her whiskers brushing against the pillow?

A torrent of answers poured into her mind.
She was human! It wasn’t an awful dream. She touched her nose and
felt a bony protrusion. Horrible, horrible, horrible. With a bad
feeling in her human stomach, she lifted both hands in front of her
eyes.

Even more horrible than the nose. No lovely
paws with the strong claws she extended and retracted at will. What
good were these thin, breakable things on the ends of human
fingers? And her lovely, lovely fur, protecting her from heat and
cold. Helping water slide off her body. These tiny hairs on her
arms spaced so far apart provided no protection at all.

Her full bladder informed her of a familiar
need. She tossed aside the covers and sat up. Her legs, covered in
dark pants, slithered over the side of the bed. Her feet, encased
in white socks, reached the floor. She wiggled her toes, testing
her range of motion, to see how they worked. Earlier, in the flare
of danger, she’d walked on these two feet instead of four. Humans
did it all the time.

Holding her breath, she pushed off the bed.
If humans could do it, so could she.

For a second, she swayed. Then her balance
steadied. She started to walk out of the bedroom to go to her
litter box in the basement, but the sight of the woman in the
mirror above the dresser stopped her.

Her hand reached toward the smooth surface,
and the hand of the other woman reached too. Their fingers touched,
but Belle only felt cool glass. She cocked her head, frowning. The
other woman cocked her head, frowning. Belle leaned closer. The
other woman leaned closer.

Belle’s hands curled into fists on the
dresser top, too low to show in the mirror, but Belle spotted the
flexing arm muscle flexing in the mirror.

It was the woman from the car. The woman
who’d reached out and touched her. The woman who’d traded bodies
with her.

She’d known this before, but now she saw it.
Now she believed.

The woman in the mirror was...her.

She staggered back and gulped air. She wanted
to curl up in a corner where no one would find her and think about
this until she was ready to slink out. But the pressure in her
belly worsened, reminding her that human or feline she needed to
pee.

Slowly, she turned to the door on the other
side of the bedroom. Raising her chin, she headed toward it. Humans
didn’t use litter boxes. They used bathrooms. She could do this.
She was a cat, and cats could do anything they decided to do.

Belle had seen Tory use the toilet many times
before she went away last year. It looked easy enough. Two minutes
later, she returned to the bedroom, the toilet flushing in the
other room. She stepped on a pair of Max’s jeans and debated
whether to take another nap. The door opened and a blond head poked
into the room.

“How are you?” Caroline asked.

The hairs on Belle’s arms bristled. She
perched on the edge of the bed but kept her feet on the carpet,
ready to jump up and claw Caroline’s face.

Maybe she shouldn’t wait. Maybe she should
just do it. After all, Caroline had tried to kill her. Because of
Caroline, she was in this clumsy human body.

Caroline stepped inside the room and headed
toward her. As she passed the dresser mirror, she glanced into it,
changing her mouth from a straight line to a smile. The smile
remained when she stopped in front of Belle.

“Now that you’re rested, you must be eager to
go home.”

Belle stared at her. She pictured claw marks
on Caroline’s face and a silent purr rose in her throat.

“Do you understand English?” Caroline’s voice
raised and she curved toward Belle.

Belle’s fingers cramped into the claw
position. If Caroline moved an inch closer, Belle would go straight
for her eyes.

When Caroline straightened, Belle felt
disappointed but kept her fingers curled.

“You can’t expect Max to take care of you
forever.”

Yes, I can.
Belle stared into
Caroline’s eyes. They were dark blue now, but Belle had seen them
change to the color of mud when she took out the round glass
circles.

The blue eyes blinked. The smile disappeared.
“Don’t you have people who are worrying about you? A husband?” She
glanced at Belle’s fingers, and reached for her left hand. “You’re
wearing an engagement ring. There must be someone who— Ow! Why, you
bitch!” Caroline jumped back, holding her bleeding hand to her
mouth.

Belle smiled and put her hand back on her
thigh. Finally she and Caroline were communicating.

“I’m telling Max. Don’t think you can get
away with—”

“What the hell’s going on here?” Max strode
into the room, two lines carved between his eyebrows. The same look
he had when Belle nibbled on leaves of his plants.

Caroline waved her hand in the air. “She
scratched me!”

“Is that right?” Max stood next to Caroline
and frowned at Belle. “Did you scratch her?”

Belle set her mouth. She didn’t like the way
his voice sounded. If he wanted to talk to her, he should do it
nicely or she wouldn’t respond.

“Look,” he said, his tone the same as when he
tried to talk Ted out of being a bartender, “you can’t stay here if
you’re going to scratch people.”

Belle glared at him. This was her home. He
couldn’t make her leave.

“I think she has mental problems.” Caroline
put her hand on his shoulder.

Belle’s fingers curled again. She wished
she’d scratched Caroline harder.

“What did you do that made her scratch
you?”

“Nothing!” Caroline’s lower lip trembled and
she snatched her hand back. “I reached down to look at her
engagement ring and she sprang up and scratched me.”

He rubbed his forehead. “She’s
disoriented.”

“She’s engaged.” Caroline gestured toward
Belle, who thought how easy it would be to move forward two inches
and bite her fingers.

Belle leaned forward...then back. Max
wouldn’t like it if she bit Caroline in front of him.

She’d wait until he was gone.

“Someone should notify her fiancé as soon as
possible,” Caroline continued. “He’s probably worried sick.”

Max took Belle’s left hand and her fingers
uncurled. She’d always liked his hands and fingers. They were warm
and held her firmly. She wanted to lie on her back and let him pet
her chest and stomach, but she didn’t think humans did that.

Humans missed a lot of good stuff.

“Do you have a fiancé?” he asked.

She shook her head.

Caroline made a noise like she was coughing
up a hairball. “She’s wearing a diamond. Of course, she’s engaged.
She’s lying her head off.”

Still holding her hand, Max stared into her
eyes. “You’re not engaged. Is that the truth?”