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What happens after that is a blur of white fur and black feathers that propels me stupidly into the conflict. Wings flutter. Archie cries out. A claw slashes my neck, and then a talon swipes at my arm. The bird shrieks a long, shrill war song, but finally uses her wings to sail away.

At the end of it all, I’m peering up at where she’s perched in the rafters above, Archie’s claw mark slashed into my neck, and panting like I’ve just done eight rounds with Payne in the ring.

The cat skitters away, a gleam of purpose in his eyes.

“Honestly?” I growl, ripping a paper towel from the roll beside the sink. “I’d rather have fought a fucking Royal.”

Above me, Effie emits a trilled, “Suck my balls,” and for a moment, I get this notion that I justhavefought a Royal.

“Bring that back!”

An hour later, I’m shouting up into the eaves like a fucking maniac. I really try to sell it, though. I give the menacing finger wag and everything.

On the wooden crossbeam above me, Effie parades her spoils, head held high as she zips across.

With the cap to my marker.

It’s the fourth one she’s taken.

“All my markers are going to dry out!” I whine. I’m in the middle of a piece I’m thinking of inking on Nick, and this bitch is really putting a damper on my plans. “Where are you even putting them all?”

Undeterred, she struts toward the clock face, howling, “Meow!”

Yeah, that’s going to be hard to explain.

Balancing precariously on the railing around the loft, Archie gives a long, plaintive howl. The bird has somehow absorbed it as her own, just meowing back at him. I can’t explain why, it just feels incredibly fucking emasculating. For him, I mean.

Well, also maybe a little for me.

Growling in frustration, I snatch a green marker from the pile and turn back to my canvas, trying to get back in the zone.

“Meow!” Effie howls. “Dumbass!”

By three in the afternoon, I feel like every last nerve has been wrung dry.

“Suck my balls!”

I mostly try to ignore her, scowling down at my sketch pad as she flutters from one end of the tower to the other. The weirdthing about her is that she never goes far from me or Archie. It’s almost like she’s enjoying annoying the shit out of us.

“Meowww!” she mocks.

Archie curls at my feet, already bored with the whole damn thing.

I reach down to give his head a little scritch. “You and me both, buddy.”

“Come on,”I coax, watching her hop from beam to beam, those beady eyes fixed on the little tray of birdseed. “I know you’re hungry, pretty girl.”

She looks very skeptical. “Pretty bird?”

I perk up, agreeing, “Yeah, you’re a pretty bird. Don’t you want some yummies?”

She kinda looks like she wants to stab my eyes out still.

But she’s hungry, too.

So she falls for the bait.

A couple more hops and a startling flap of her wings bring her back to the kitchen counter, scurrying toward the little feeding tray.