Page 71 of Precious Hazard (Perfectly Imperfect #11)

This bonus scene is from Kurt’s point of view.

Kurt

Clink…

I crack open one eye.

The sound is barely distinguishable, but I recognize the turning of a key in a lock.

Are the love birds returning already? That’d be good because I’ve had enough of this uncomfortable recliner.

The Mean One had shut every door to other parts of the penthouse before taking Milene on some fancy date and leaving me trapped in the living room.

I’m certain he did it on purpose. He doesn’t want me in any of the bedrooms. Too greedy to share the fluffy pillows that are piled on top of the soft beds. Rat-bastard.

The front door closes with a muted thud.

Yup, they’re back.

Squeezing my eye shut again, I push the Mean One’s phone charger under my belly so he won’t notice it. The furless meatstick just loves taking away all my toys. But I really like this one. I’ve got it chewed up so nicely. The stringy thingy is now almost flat. Like bacon.

Ahhhh … I love bacon! Nearly as much as I love tuna.

But cuddly Milene put me on a diet last month.

Hiss . It’s because of that vet bitch. She told my human that I was slightly overweight.

Overweight! Me? How dare she insult me! I do not need any changes to my nutritional plan.

Unless it means more tuna and bacon. I am the prime specimen of a male feline.

Strong, and agile, and perfectly groomed!

I lick my balls and asshole daily. Would an overweight cat have the flexibility for that?

Tap. Tap.

I crane my neck, glancing in the direction of the entry hall, listening to the sound of approaching footsteps.

It’s dark in the room, but that makes no difference to me.

My vision is as sharp as my claws, and my hearing is better than that of the subway mouse.

Just the slightest off-squeak is enough for me to determine the source.

And those footfalls are too even. They don’t belong to the Mean One’s gait. And they are too heavy to be Milene’s.

Intruder!

Hairballs! We have a problem!

Alert! Alert! Alert!

I leap onto the back of the recliner, then jump over to the top of the bookshelf.

My movements are swift and graceful—definitely way beyond what a tubby cat could ever pull off.

(You can’t convince me otherwise. I’ve seen the video evidence.

The record of fat cats trapped inside the screen of Milene’s phone.

Some of them were even called… Cheezburger. For shame, I say, for shame!)

But there’s no time now to contemplate the poor choices made by the less-sensible felines in the world. I take up my observation post. Listening. Waiting.

Tap. Tap.

A man, dressed in a strange black outfit, looking like one of the lunatics the Mean One sometimes watches on TV, turns the corner, sneaking inside the room. He halts, looking around in the dark, then removes something from his belt.

A weapon!

Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!

He has a weapon!

By God’s fleas! The stupid Mean One picked today of all days to whisk Milene on a date instead of protecting his lair! Useless! No instinct at all.

Click.

A beam of light extends from the intruder’s hand, sweeping across the room from corner to corner.

Oh. It’s a flashlight.

I flatten myself on top of the bookshelf, keeping utterly still. Not even a whisker twitches on me as I watch this strange interpoler snooping about my territory.

Is he a thief? He’s not opening any drawers, not pulling out anything. An assassin? Sent by a Mean One’s enemy to take out Milene’s mate?

Darn it, I have such horrid luck!

You should have come over an hour ago, you idiot! Before the Mean One left!

I continue observing the intruder as he walks around, checking out every nook and cranny. Under the furniture, behind the curtains, even between the cushions of the couch. Is he searching for something?

Not an assassin, then.

When he’s done with his weird-ass inspection, the snooper takes out his phone and heads to the kitchen.

“Fred,” he says quietly into his device. “Are you sure it’s supposed to be in the living room? Because it’s not here. Should I check the rest of the place?”

The man is too far away for me to hear the answer, but that reply must have been some kind of instruction because the intruder moves toward the cupboard. My cupboard!

He is a thief!

“Alright. I’ll try that.” He nods as he reaches inside. Taking out a can I’m all too familiar with. He sets it on the counter. Opens it.

What the fuck? Did he feel like having a snack in the middle of his dumb robbery or something?

Whatever. No one comes into my den uninvited.

No one steals my food! I shall deal with him immediately and without mercy.

I shall— Fuck! I’m starting to sound just like the Mean One.

That’s terrible. Back to the issue at hand.

I’m judging the distance between my hideout and the hungry burglar. Calculating how many leaps would be needed to land on his back. Plotting the force required to— Oh, what is that wonderful smell?

Yum, yum, yum! The divine scent of tuna fills the air.

Suffering nine live s! Drool spills out of my mouth. I’ve been getting nothing but tasteless kibble shit and zero treats for weeks, and a mere sniff of that mouthwatering aroma makes me want to rev up my purr engine.

“Here, kitty, kitty…”

The intruder lowers the can of tuna to the kitchen floor.

Nope. Ignore him. It’s some kind of a trick.

Everyone knows not to take fish from strangers.

But dog’s balls, it smells so good! Tempting me. Tempting me.

This dumb forced diet has turned my poor tummy into the size of a pea. How much can a starving cat be expected to handle? Mmm… Maybe just a sniff? A quick little bite—to recoup my power—before I turn my focus to disposing of this unwanted visitor.

Intoxicated by the heavenly smell, I dismiss the dude, no longer caring who he is or what he’s after. Following my nose, I jump down off the bookshelf and rush toward the feast.

The initial bite of the perfectly flaked tuna is pure bliss. So good that in my hurry to gulp it down, I nearly choke on it.

Divine. So scrumptious that—

Thick, heavy fabric drops over my head.

MEOOOOW. HISS. GROWL.

“Got you!”

***

“Jesus fuck, Marv! Will you get that thing to calm down? I’m trying to drive here!”

“What the hell do you think I’m doing?” my catnapper shouts back while I thrash inside the trap, hissing and trying to scratch my way out. “This bag won’t hold. We should have brought a fucking cage!”

A cage! How dare he! I let out another furious meow and dig my nails into what I hope is the mutt’s crotch. This stupid canvas bag is no obstacle for my immaculately pointy claws. I didn’t spend the last two days sharpening them on the Mean One’s bedposts for nothing.

“Fuck! The little shit just dug his nails into my balls!”

Bingo!

Changing my position as much as the confined space inside the bag allows me, I puncture the fabric again.

A painful wail echoes through the interior of the vehicle.

“ Shiiiit! ” Marv the interloper groans.

Ha! There you go, you overgrown cockroach! Another exclusive ball-shredding, just for you.

My excitement is short-lived, though, because the asswipe pushes me off his lap and I tumble headfirst onto the floor. Ouch!

Rat tails, I can’t believe I’m being catnapped! Are these scumbags going to ransom me to the Mean One? Is this a ploy to steal me from my humans?

I had a feeling that bozo was bad news soon as I saw and smelled him. He stinks like the sun-baked heap of horse shit I ran past one time at the city park.

“Screw the contract.” Marv again. “Let’s just kill it. I don’t wanna drive out of state with this hellspawn on my lap just to dump it somewhere.”

I freeze. My fur rises instantly.

Kill it?

Me?

“Good thinking, Marv. We’ll just—”

The tires screech, and then the car jolts to a stop. That sends me tumbling inside the bag until I hit something. Never one to waste the opportunity, I toss from side to side, trying to find a way to escape. Nothing. The route to my freedom is rigidly tied.

“What the fuck is wrong with people? This asshole just cut me off! He almost ran us off the fucking road!” Fred yells.

“Shit, man. It’s him.” Marv’s voice sounds slightly hysterical. That stench around him is morphing into something new. “What the fuck is he doing here? Oh, crap, he’s coming this way. Did we fuck up?”

“Ah… Hi. Is there a prob—”

A piercing whoosh splits the air, followed by another right away. I keep very still, very quiet. Listening to hear what’s going on.

The car door creaks as someone opens it, and then the bag I’m in is lifted off the ground. No! What is happening? Am I being catnapped from my catnappers?

Well, I am not going down without a fight!

HISS. GROWL. SNARL. HISS.

I trash around, scratching at the fabric of the bag.

“Stop that!” a low, commanding voice orders. “Damn defective cat.”

The Mean One?

A long, delighted meow leaves me. I am being saved!

I patiently wait as he unties the bag, all while oscillating between relief and irritation. I’m thrilled that soon I’ll be returned to Milene, but the fact that I’m being rescued by my nemesis feels somehow degrading.

Yeah, I know. There were two against one, but I should have been able to best them. My easy life with Milene has made me too soft. Shit, if the word spreads in the streets, about how a human had to save me, that would kill my reputation. I’d be tossed out of the Alley Cat Society.

The sides of the bag are finally loose. I shake, stretching my limbs and pushing my head through the folds. As soon as I pop out, I come face-to-face with the Mean One. The Usurper.

Took you long enough! I meow, swiping my paw at his chin. But the meatstick moves away just in time.

“I should have let them take you.” He slips his hands around my belly, lifting and turning me side to side. “Did they hurt you?”

Yes! They smashed my self-esteem to smithereens, and then you arrived and buried it completely! How dare you help me, human? I would have managed to free myself! Eventually.

“You seem fine. Alright. Let’s go home, little pest.”

Pest? Me? Maybe I should stay with the catnappers. They obviously have a better sense of my worth.

As the Mean One carries me away, I crane my neck and turn my head to see the catnappers, wondering why they aren’t making a fuss about losing me. Both mutts, though, are slumped in their seats, sporting identical red splotches at the center of their foreheads.

Dead?

The Mean One killed them!

For me?

I lift my chin a little higher, assuming a more dignified pose. Of course he killed them. No one fucks with the Ajello family, and I am a valued member of the clowder. Integral. Irreplaceable. Riggs doesn’t count, of course.

That cat is a disgrace. And I’m glad that Milene realized that. She’ll never make the same mistake again. There’s only one top cat in our den, and it’s me!

“You need to start behaving, pest,” the Mean One prattles on as he sets me on the passenger seat after sliding behind the wheel. “No more swiping for shits and giggles. As of tomorrow morning, you’re a big brother to a litter of baby kittens. Milene can hardly contain herself.”

Noooo!