Page 3 of His Infernal Purr
Almost unconsciously, I bump my head against his hand. His lips curve into a tired smile as he strokes my back.
“Thanks for the support, buddy. You know, for a cat with scary eyes and demon accessories, you’re pretty good company.”
The genuine warmth in his voice creates an unfamiliar sensation in my chest. It’s probably indigestion from the premium cat food he insists on buying me.
Later, I’m subjected to the ultimate indignity: bath time. After an unfortunate incident involving a curious exploration of an open can of pink wound ointment, Finn decides I need cleaning.
“Hold still, you little demon,” he laughs, trying to keep me in the bathroom sink as I fight for my dignity. “It’s just water!”
Water is for lesser beings! I bathe in the tears of my enemies!
But his hands are gentle as they work the soap through my fur, carefully avoiding my eyes and being especially tender around my wing nubs. The sensation is… not entirely unpleasant. His fingers massage my scalp, working behind my ears in a way that makes my back leg thump involuntarily.
This is humiliating. I am NOT enjoying this. I am NOT purring.
“There we go,” he murmurs, wrapping me in a fluffy towel. “Was that so terrible?”
Yes. Absolutely terrible. Do it again immediately.
After drying me, he settles on the couch with a medical journal. I contemplate sleeping in my designated cat bed (purely to maintain appearances), but instead find myself jumping onto his lap. For strategic reasons. Obviously.
His hand automatically begins stroking my back, and that rumbling sound emerges from my chest again. It’s NOT purring. It’s a fearsome growl of… contentment.
This is merely reconnaissance. Know thy enemy and all that.
“You know,” Finn says softly, scratching under my chin in that way that makes my eyes close involuntarily, “I’ve been alone for a while now. It’s nice having someone to come home to, even if you are the weirdest cat I’ve ever seen.”
Something in his voice—a note of genuine loneliness—catches my attention. I look up to find him staring off into nothing, a melancholy expression on his usually cheerful face.
He’s just a human. His feelings are irrelevant to me.
But as he continues to pet me absently, his heartbeat steady beneath my paws, I find myself thinking that perhaps—PERHAPS—not all humans are completely worthless.
This one might be marginally acceptable.
For a mortal.
Chapter 2
Two weeks into my feline imprisonment, and I’ve developed a routine. Wake up on Finn’s pillow (optimal sleeping location), demand breakfast with imperious meows, observe the clinic operations, terrorize the occasional small dog (for dignity maintenance purposes only), and end the day allowing Finn to pet me while he watches those ridiculous baking competition shows.
This is merely tactical patience while I await the opportunity to break my curse.
I’ve been analyzing the parameters of Valefar’s spell. “An act of genuine, selfless mortal kindness” could mean anything, and Finn performs dozens of such acts daily. Why hasn’t the curse broken? Perhaps because they’re part of his job? Or because they’re directed at animals, not at me specifically?
These thoughts occupy my mind as I lounge in the windowsill of the clinic reception area, observing the rain-slicked street outside. Finn is with a patient in exam room two, and his assistant Josie is fielding phone calls.
That’s when I see them—three hulking figures across the street, watching the clinic with unmistakable interest. Even in my diminished state, I can sense the demonic energy emanating from them.
Valefar’s minions. They’ve come to ensure I remain trapped.
My fur bristles as they start crossing the street toward the clinic. Even in my limited form, I know trouble when I see it. I leap down from the windowsill, racing toward exam room two.
The door is ajar, and I slip inside to find Finn gently bandaging the paw of a whimpering golden retriever. The dog gives me a pathetic look that I ignore completely.
Finn needs to leave. Now.
I yowl with all the urgency I can muster, leaping onto the exam table and deliberately knocking over a tray of instruments.
