Page 19 of Purrfectly Outfoxed

I listen for a moment. Tabitha’s still humming somewhere, but I tune her out, focused on my desire to get back inside—and back into that fridge. I have a turkey leg to finish.

I creep from the laundry room around the back of the house, looking for another way in. Everything seems locked up tighter, but there’s a basement window that’s cracked open slightly—probably for ventilation. It’s small, but I’m a fox. Small is my specialty.

Crouching down, I work the window open wider. It lets out a soft creak, but nothing that would alert anyone inside. I quickly shift, then wriggle my fox body out of my pants and nose them through first—don’t want the princess of the house to scream at me for not wearing clothes again. Then I slide through and drop into what looks like a storage area filled with boxes and old furniture, then I shift back to a human, pull on my jeans and pad up the basement stairs.

The door at the top is unlocked—thank god—and I ease it open and peek out.

The house seems quiet except for?—

Water running.

Shower.

I freeze, every sense suddenly on high alert. The sound is coming from upstairs, and I can smell it now—that floral shampoo smell mixed with steam and underneath it all, her.

Tabitha is in the shower.

Naked.

Wet.

Payback’s a bitch, kitty-cat.

A slow grin spreads across my face as I head for the stairs. My bare feet make no sound on the carpet. Every instinct I have isfiring, telling me to turn around, to not do this, that cornering a cat in a confined space is a terrible idea.

But I’m done playing nice.

She wants to treat me like a wild fox with no manners?

She’s about to discover how wild I am firsthand.

The bathroom door is slightly ajar, steam curling out into the hallway. I can still hear her humming, completely oblivious to my presence.

Perfect.

I reach the door and pause, hand on the frame, giving myself one last chance to back out.

But then I remember the look on Bea’s face when she saw the mess. The disappointment. The way she called me a ‘poor thing’ while thinking I was some destructive wild animal.

And the way Tabitha sat there on that counter, smug as hell, watching me take the fall.

Nope.

She started this war.

I’m just evening the score.

I push the door open wider and step inside, the steam immediately wrapping around me.

The shower curtain is one of those semi-transparent ones, and I can see her silhouette—all those curves I felt pressed against me last night, now on full display. Water cascades over her, and she’s still humming, completely unaware.

I lean against the sink, arms crossed, and clear my throat.

“Having a nice shower?”

The humming stops.

There’s a beat of silence.