Cattitude (8 page)

School was okay. She thought of herself like
wallpaper, the kind that blended in and wasn’t noticed. If no one
noticed her, they wouldn’t know she was a freak.

But the tingle remained with her. When Brandy
Newhauser, the most popular girl in school, sat next to her at
library, Gwen had held her breath. Maybe Brandy was going to talk
to her. The thought had made her heart thump inside her chest and
her breaths catch in her throat. If Brandy talked to her, what
would Gwen say back?

Turning her back to Gwen, Brandy spoke to the
girl on her other side who said something back that made them both
giggle. Gwen had felt let down and relieved at the same time. Even
though she was smart in school, the only time she said anything
that made people laugh was when they were laughing at her.

When she reached home, Katie had made turkey
sandwiches and steamed broccoli and carrots. Eeww! “Another
diet?”

Katie put her hands on her wide hips. “Are
you saying I’m fat?”

“I don’t think you’re fat,” Gwen said and
grabbed the sandwich. Katie’s laptop, books and papers were spread
over the table, so maybe she wasn’t dieting but just making
something easy. “Is it okay if I eat outside?”

“It’s cold.” Katie sat again, sliding a book
closer. “I don’t want you to catch anything. Your parents will
blame me.”

“People don’t catch colds from cold air but
from germs on doorknobs and stuff.”

“I know that. I’m in college.” Katie gave her
a don’t-be-a-smartass scowl. “What about your vegetables?”

Gwen gave the brocs and carrots a glance.
“When I get back I can eat them.”

“You better.” Katie nodded toward the door.
“You can go, but stay near the house. It’ll be dark in a little
while. I don’t want to chase you down like last time.”

Gwen nodded and hurried away before Katie
could change her mind. As she left the house, the tingle grew
stronger. Almost like a tickle in her tummy.

Something good was going to happen. She knew
it.

Then she found the cat. It ate her food. Now
she’d get it water.

As she barreled back into the kitchen, Katie
glanced up from her book. “Eat your vegetables,” she said. “No
vegetables, no dessert.”

“Okay.” Gwen snagged a bowl from the
cupboard. When she spooned veggies into it, Katie’s eyebrows rose
at her choice of container but she didn’t say anything.

Gwen sat at the table and scarfed down her
veggies. Katie looked at her once.

“Your face is flushed.”

Gwen’s nerves buzzed a warning. “I’m
okay.”

“Are you feeling all right?” Katie reached
out and put her hand on Gwen’s forehead. “You feel cool.”

“I’m okay.” She chewed faster. The quicker
she swallowed, the less she tasted the broccoli.

“Don’t eat too fast,” Katie said, but she was
frowning at her notebook computer, her hands already on the
keyboard.

Gwen watched the clock on the microwave. It
took her three whole minutes to finish the vegetables. “Okay, I’m
done.” She jumped off the chair, planning her next moves.

“Rinse off the bowl and put it in the
dishwasher.”

“Okay.” Gwen yanked the faucet on and rinsed
off the scummy broccoli pieces. She slammed the faucet off, then
opened the dishwasher just behind Katie.

“You’re being helpful tonight. Thank
you.”

Gwen jumped. Katie was turned around in her
chair, looking straight at her. She even smiled, something she
hardly ever did. Fear paralyzed Gwen’s vocal chords. She put the
bowl in the dishwasher and slid it closed.

“Have two cookies,” Katie said.

“Can I eat them outside?”

“No, it’s cold out there and your color’s too
high. I’m not taking any chances.” Her mouth thinned and she turned
back to her book.

Gwen wanted to scream. Instead she grabbed
two cookies from the jar. “I’ll take them into my room.”

Katie nodded. “Don’t make a mess for
Bonnie.”

“I won’t.” Gwen liked Bonnie. Too bad Bonnie
wasn’t her nanny and Katie her cleaning lady. Then she’d make a big
mess for Katie.

Gwen stomped up the front stairway to her
room. She tossed the cookies in her desk drawer then tiptoed to the
back stairway. With every footstep, the boards under the carpet
creaked, making Gwen wince. She reached the first floor and
scuttled past the library, the study and the dining room that no
one used.

When she reached the open kitchen, she
dropped to her knees and crawled, afraid to look inside, as if her
gaze would draw Katie’s eyes, holding her breath in case Katie
heard her over the music. Finally, she reached the other living
room wall and her breath gushed out.

Scrambling to her feet, she glanced around at
the cream furniture, walls and carpet. Gwen’s mother called it the
“white room.” Gwen told Bonnie the cleaning lady that it was the
“boring room,” and Bonnie had laughed until she wiped tears from
her cheeks.

An empty crystal candy bowl sat on the coffee
table. Perfect. Gwen grabbed the bowl and tiptoed out. Maybe the
cat would come out for water and let her pet it. If she did, it
would be the best thing ever.

Max looked at the woman in his bed. With her
creamy skin and dark hair she reminded him of Sleeping Beauty.
Since he was no prince, he resisted the urge to bend down and kiss
her. He was stepping backward toward the hall when her eyes
opened.

They were the same green as Belle’s. She saw
him, smiled and held out her arms, as if to a lover.

He leaned toward her, drawn as though an
invisible hand pulled him. Her eyes rounded, her pupils expanded.
Her tongue darted out, licking her lip. He pulled himself up and
put his arms behind his back, locking his hands together.

“We’ll be eating in an hour. I came to ask
what you wanted on your pizza.”

She stared at him, a vulnerable look in her
eyes.

He cleared his throat. “You’ve had pizza
before, haven’t you? Everyone’s had pizza.”

Blinking, she shook her head.

“Are you a vegetarian? I can order a
vegetable pizza.”

She slapped her hand over her mouth, muffling
a giggle.

“I guess that means no.”

Her hand dropped but the smile remained. She
shifted, her hair sliding on the pale blue pillowcase.

As if she’d pressed a switch, his genitals
grew heavy. Not good, not good at all. Sorcha had been in a serious
accident this morning. And he didn’t know her. She might be
engaged. She might be insane. She might be confused. Anything to
explain her odd acceptance of her situation.

Nothing confusing or odd about the reactions
of his body. It was responding to an attractive woman in his bed,
but he wasn’t letting it control his mind. He stepped back. “I’ll
order you what I’m having.”

She nodded.

“It would be a lot better if you could talk.”
He turned to leave.

“I talk.” She spoke slowly, her voice
husky.

He snapped around. “Could you talk before
this?”

She shook her head and bit her lip. “I don’t
know.”

“You don’t know? Is it shock? Trauma?” He
waited. She’d tell him the problem, he’d take care of it, send her
on her way, and his life would go back to normal.

***

Belle’s brain ached from talking. Meowing was
so much easier. Humans made everything difficult, even
communication. So few words, so many meanings.

“You want to tell me about yourself?” Max
asked.

She put a hand on the bruise on her forehead,
just like Annette in today’s TV show. “Amnesia.” She’d practiced
saying it while watching the show, the
mmm
sound easier than
the
nnn
. “I have amnesia.”

“Amnesia?” He looked at her with disbelief.
“The only people I’ve heard of with amnesia are actors in bad TV
shows. If you’re afraid of someone, tell me. I’ll protect you.” His
gaze shifted to her ring. “No matter what. You have my
promise.”

She nodded. Of course he’d protect her. She’d
never thought anything different.

“Do you want to tell me?” He moved closer,
bending, the same concentration in his blue eyes as when he was
reading one of his travel books.

“Pretty eyes,” she said.

He snapped back. “You don’t need to flirt
with me. I already told you I’ll protect you.”

“You have pretty eyes,” she repeated. He also
had a pretty face and body, but she decided not to say that.

What had she done wrong? Max told her all the
time how pretty she was.
“Pretty Belle.” “Beautiful Belle.”
“Pretty kitty.”
She always liked it. Didn’t humans like to be
called nice things?

“Well, thanks.” He shoved his hands in his
pockets and backed up. “I’ll order the pizza. You like garlic
bread?”

She shook her head. She liked meat. Lots of
meat.

“We’ll probably eat in about a half hour.”
One corner of his mouth flicked up. “Don’t go anywhere.”

She shook her head. Where would she go? This
was her home.

As soon as he left, she stretched, holding
the position for a long moment. Then she rubbed her cheek against
the pillow. It was soft and smelled of Max. Now her smells mingled
with his, her cat body and her human body.

A knock rattled the door. A mewl came out of
her mouth, the unfamiliar words forgotten for a second. The door
opened before she remembered how to purse her lips and where to
stick her tongue to tell whoever it was to come in. Unless it was
Caroline. Her she would tell not to come in.

“You’re decent? Too bad.” Ted strolled
inside, clothes draped over his arm. “Max said you’re eating with
us tonight. I thought you’d like a change of clothes.” He tossed
his armload of garments on the foot of the bed. “They’re my
sister’s exercise clothes. They should stretch or shrink to fit
you. Tory won’t mind if you wear them.”

Belle nodded. Tory liked her. Tory had wanted
to take her to New York, but of course Belle couldn’t go. This was
her home. Why would she want to live anywhere else?

“I’ll leave now.” Ted glanced at his watch.
“You have enough time to take a quick bath or a shower and
change.”

Watching him leave, Belle felt sick inside
her stomach.

Bath? Shower?

No, no and no!

She wasn’t going to do it. She refused to do
it.

But if she didn’t, they’d smell her. Cats
groomed themselves all the time, but they didn’t wash away their
scents. Any animal knew scents were good. Water was for drinking.
Inside the body, not outside.

Her mouth set. She threw back the covers,
rolled out of bed, marched into the bathroom, knelt by the bathtub
and turned on the faucets the way she’d seen Max do so often.
Anything a human could do, a cat could do—no matter how disgusting
and unnatural.

But she’d better find Sorcha and get her body
back. Fast.

How many more indignities could she
stand?

***

“Are you there, kitty?”

Sorcha woke. In her human body, she would’ve
jumped up screaming. In this cat body, she knew immediately she was
hidden in the bushes, it was morning, and there was no way anyone
could see her unless she allowed it.

That was not going to happen.

“Here’s water and food for you.”

Well, maybe...

“Please, I’ll scoot back to the tree, like
yesterday. I promise I won’t touch you until you’re ready.”

Sorcha listened to the girl’s footsteps
recede. She peered through the sharp-needled branches but saw only
bright sunlight. The tiny squeak of athletic shoes sliding against
grass stopped. Something slithered against bark and she guessed the
girl was sitting on the ground.

The smell of tuna wafted to Sorcha’s
nostrils, like a gift from God. Whisker by whisker, paw by paw, she
crept out. The girl had placed two bowls at the edge of the grass,
a couple inches farther from the bushes than last night’s
leavings.

Was this on purpose? Was the girl luring her
out a little more each time?

Sorcha peered across the length of grass so
smooth and green it could have been a carpet. The girl sat in front
of a giant tree, her arms around her knees, watching Sorcha as if
she were something precious and special.

Sorcha had never felt special and precious in
her life. Not even with Fletcher.

Pushing that unsettling thought aside, she
lapped up the water. All the while she drank, she watched the girl.
Braces sparkled on too-big teeth, arms and legs as narrow as
sticks, and ears like Disney’s Dumbo.

Sorcha tensed, waiting for a vision of the
girl’s future.

Nothing.

So it wasn’t a fluke, this nothingness. It
was here to stay.

An unfamiliar emotion filled her, and it took
a few seconds to identify. Happiness. So that’s what it felt like,
as though she swallowed sunshine.

She took a bite of tuna—yummy!—then did a
little dance, her four legs bending up and down, a humming sound
coming out of her throat.

The girl jumped up and sprinted toward her.
“Are you having a fit?”

With a squeal, Sorcha dived back into the
bushes.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to
scare you. Look, I have to go to school. Come out and eat. You’re a
good kitty. Come.”

Sorcha stayed where she was. Fletcher was
dead. How could she dance? What was this new body turning her
into?

Even as she asked, she knew the answer. It
was turning her into a cat.

Max woke up in the guest room with a stiff
erection, a stiff back from the too soft mattress, and his mind
stiff too, stiff with determination.

He wasn’t buying Sorcha’s amnesia story. But
something was behind her resolve to stay in a stranger’s house, and
he planned on finding out what it was. Maybe something to do with
the ring on her finger. Maybe an abusive relationship. She didn’t
seem like the kind of woman to let herself be abused, not with her
stubborn refusal to do what she didn’t want to do. But he’d heard
it could happen to anyone.