Page 13 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

Meow!

“What the fuck?” I gasp, eyes flying open.

I jump out of the shower, water streaming down my naked body. My foot slips on the wet tile, and I grab the towel rack to steady myself.

As I fling the door open and take in the scene beyond, a cry of dismay tears from my throat.

The cat gazes at me from her perch atop the sideboard, yellow eyes filled with smug satisfaction. Around her, chaos reigns. Picture frames and knickknacks lie in pieces on the floor. The sofa upholstery gapes in several places, stuffing protruding from the wounds like white intestines. And my grandmother’schina plates? Shattered on the floor, the food smeared across the linoleum.

Fury surges through me. I stride toward the cat, water still dripping from my hair and body.

“You little demon!” I seethe, reaching out to grab her.

Before my fingers can close around her, she bares her fangs in a terrifying grimace, and her paw shoots out with lightning speed. Her claws rip into the tender flesh of my forearm.

“Ow! Shit!” I yelp, yanking back my hand.

Not satisfied with merely drawing first blood, the feline fury hurls herself at me. Hissing and growling, she attaches herself to my leg, digging her claws into my thigh.

I scream, and with desperate hands, I pry the creature off me, collecting several more scratches in the process. Once free of her clutches, I do what any rational person would do in this situation. I run for my life.

Taking refuge in my bedroom, I slam the door shut and turn the lock.

“Fucking hell!” I gasp, pressing a hand to my mouth.

I slide down to the floor with my back against the door. My chest heaves with each breath, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

After drying off with yesterday’s towel, I slip into my pajamas, wincing as the fabric brushes against my various cat-inflicted wounds. I grab a tissue from the box on my nightstand and hold it against my clawed arm to stanch the blood.

Then, defeated, I sink onto my mattress. The springs creak beneath my weight, a familiar sound that offers a small comfort in my life’s chaos.

“Just a nightmare,” I whisper, willing sleep to come.

Oh, Superman, make it not be true. Please, just let this all be some weird dream.

CHAPTER FIVE

Emily

Against all odds, I must have drifted off because the next thing I know, a persistent scratching sound is dragging me back to consciousness.

I feel for my cell phone on the bedside table, but my fingers encounter only dust bunnies and an empty water glass.

“Shit!” I mutter, suddenly more alert. I must have left my phone in the other room last night, and that room is currently under hostile occupation.

The scratching sound continues unabated, a rhythmic scritch-scritch-scritch that sets my teeth on edge. Every few seconds, it’s interrupted by a plaintive meow that somehow sounds both demanding and pathetic.

I pull the pillow over my head and press it down, trying to block out the noise.

The meowing becomes more persistent, rising in both volume and pitch.

With a sound halfway between a groan and a battle cry, I throw off the covers. The architect of my misery awaits beyond the door. I approach it cautiously, aware that one wrong movecould trigger a catastrophe. The knob turns under my hand, and I swing the door open.

“Was destroying my living room not enough for you?” I ask, meeting those unblinking yellow eyes.

She’s sitting on the floor at my feet, looking up at me with the most vulnerable expression I’ve ever seen on a nonhuman face. Her ears are slightly flattened, and her tail is curled around her paws. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear there’s an apology in those creepy eyes.

“You don’t fool me,” I say, hardening my heart against her Oscar-worthy performance. I step over her and head for the kitchen, aware of her following close on my heels.

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