The fetor faded as Cassie pulled herself up the stairs to the sixth floor, where she was to meet her friends for lunch. She pawed at Abigail’s door and meowed, sending a mental command for the human to open up. The woman came quickly, as she usually did, and Cassie accepted a generous amount of petting. She then slipped through the woman’s apricot-lotion-scented hands and into the kitchen, where Cassie knew the queens were chatting and snacking on what smelled like fresh salmon.
Abigail greeted her first. The fluffy white Persian’s face fell when she saw Cassie’s bedraggled fur. “What’s wrong?” Abigail’s large yellow-gold eyes filled with worry.
Cassie hung her head and sagged in front of her three best friends, showing them her snow-colored tummy.
Maureen-an orange tabby with a constantly twitching tail-came over and touched Cassie’s nose. The smell of a caramel latte flavored with a little espresso was thick on Maureen’s breath. “You okay?”
Cameron-a slinky Siamese with a sapphire-studded collar that matched her eyes-stopped eating the salmon and sat back on her perfectly sculpted haunches.
The delectable fish scent did not even tempt Cassie. She closed her eyes and put a paw over her delicate pink nose. “Big-Paws broke up with me.”
“No!” Abigail’s fluffy fur seemed to flatten a bit. “Cassie, I’m so sorry.” The Persian came over and licked her friend’s face. Abigail always resorted to grooming when there was trouble.
Maureen got that scary look, so common among female orange tabbies. Every orange tabby Cassie had ever known seemed to be have a flaw in their genes that predisposed them to bouts of insanity. “I have an associate in the D.A.’s office who knows a human sergeant in Animal Control. If you want him gone, I’ll take care of it.”
“No thanks, Maureen,” Cassie said after considering the offer for one tail flick. “I guess we just weren’t right together.”
“Honey, how do you know that?” Cameron asked with her annoying up-city accent, which reminded Cassie of the way humans with old money spoke to everyone else. “Did you finally see if he had it where it counts?”
“Cam!” Cassie bared her teeth a little. “I’m not that kind of kitty.”
“You might regret it someday.” Cameron raised her hindquarters suggestively. “I keep telling you to enjoy it while you’re young and fabulous.”
Cassie batted a paw at Cam, wondering if her friend were really a tom trapped in a queen’s body.
“Have some fresh salmon.” Abigail licked her own lips, trying to divert the conversation. “It was flown in today, and it’ll make you feel better.”
“I’m not in the mood for fish.” Cassie’s tail lay still and her friends stared at each other in horror.
Moments later a delicious-smelling leather shoe with a shiny four inch heel-one of Luciana’s approved designs-a cloth sparrow flavored with intoxicating catnip, and the current issue of
Feline Fashion lay beside Cassie’s paws. Her friends rallied around her, their whiskered faces concerned.
“I’ll be fine,” Cassie said, glancing at the much too thin Abyssinian model on the cover of the magazine. “I just thought he was the one.”
Abigail let out a shuddering sigh. “I thought Wainwright was the one, but we still haven’t had a single litter. We don’t talk about it, but I know he’s fathered kittens before we settled down.” Abigail sank down beside Cassie. “I think it’s me.”
“You’ll just have to keep trying,” Cam suggested. “Practice, practice, practice. That’s my motto.”
“We know.” Abigail shook her whiskers at the sable-pointed vixen who would raise her tail for practically any tom… anytime.
“You just never know when it’ll happen,” Maureen said, then averted her eyes.
They all looked at Maureen.
“Do you have something to tell us?” Cameron asked, staring at the orange tabby, whose tail went still.
“Well…” Maureen kept a low profile. “I’m pretty sure… that I’m with kittens.”
Abigail’s eyes sparkled.
“I thought your urine smelled different.”
“Who are the fathers?” Cameron asked.
Maureen shot her a fang-filled frown. “I’m not that kind of kitty either.”
“Suit yourself,” Cam said, “I wouldn’t be content if all of my kittens came out looking identical. As they say, variety is the catnip of life.”
“No one says that.” Abigail pulled her head back.
Cameron ignored her. “I’ve had at least four different fathers with every litter and I’m pretty pleased about it.”
“That kind of mating is too rough,” Maureen said.
“Too rough?” Cam was astounded and pawed at the scars on her neck left from passionate tomcat bites. “Pardon me, honey, but is there any other kind?”
“Of course there is,” Abigail shot her a disgusted look.
“But who’s the tom, Maureen?” Cam asked, “Do tell.”
“Graeme,” Maureen said, still looking away.
“The bar cat?” Abigail’s stubby nose wrinkled. “You can do much better than him. He comes from a litter of alley cats.”
“Don’t judge, miss prissy puss,” Cameron said, “those working toms have a rugged charm that these penthouse cats can only dream of.”
“I guess you’d know.” Abigail pressed her lips together.
After an uncomfortable silence Cassie realized she needed to get her tail out of there. She wanted to be alone, and the tension among her friends was not helping. “Well, congratulations, Maureen.” Cassie nuzzled her friend as she turned to leave. “I know you’ll have beautiful kittens.”
“Thanks, Cass.” Maureen nuzzled back.
“Well, I better get going.” Cassie headed for the door.
Abigail’s human opened the door for Cassie. Before she slipped into the hallway, the woman petted her very softly, as if she knew Cassie was sad and needed some cheering up. Cassie rubbed against her ankles before dragging herself home.
Over a week later, Cassie roused herself from an incredibly long nap. She had been sleeping almost nonstop, preferring to spend her time dreaming of better days, rather than dwelling on the fact that Mr. Big-Paws had cut her loose like last month’s collar.
Cassie glanced at the clock and realized it was time for her weekly lunch date with the queens. She laid her head back down, not wanting to face her friends today. Oh, well, they would understand. She wanted to mope a little longer and think about the cat that got away.
The clock seemed to be glaring at her. Both hands pointed upward and told her to get off her lazy haunches and do something. She did need to get out and stretch her legs. Lying in the garden on the roof sounded pleasant. Moments later she was sitting under a wooden bench beside the little pond that should really have had some koi in it when an unfamiliar voice sounded.
“Hello, beautiful.”
A cat with light green eyes and slate gray fur sashayed toward her. His ancestry was obviously Russian Blue, and he was definitely new to the building.
Cassie demurred, keeping her body neutral and her tail still. His fine breeding was obvious from his perfect features and shiny thick coat. He moved with a casual fluid grace that imlied a great lineage. She smelled his maleness and fought the instant attraction.
“I am Stefan. I am most pleased to meet you.”
“I’m Cassie, nice to meet you too.” She took in his foreign accent. His captivating scent was so exotic and musky. It tickled her nose and made her warm in all the right places. He was much smaller than Mr. Big-Paws, but he had an old-world charm so different from the common cats in the city who had only one thing on their minds. “Where are you from, Stefan?”