Page 43 of Purrfectly Outfoxed

Bea beams. “You two are wonderful. Thank you for humoring an old lady.”

She gets misty again, and Tabitha looks away, jaw clenching like she’s fighting not to let the emotions boil over. I get it. Both of us are built for survival, and no amount of therapy or midnight sex is going to unspool a lifetime of never expecting to belong anywhere. But here we are, about to dress up like a couple of idiots, ready to hand out candy to children, and feeling for the first time like we’re the luckiest bastards in the entire world.

I grab the bow tie first, because I figure dignity is for people who live in condos and drive sedans, then I set it down and shift down to my fox shape. Tabitha snickers as I emerge from the neck of my new t-shirt, then she tugs the elastic bow tie around my neck. I resist the urge to snap at her fingers—she’d just take it as an invitation, anyway. When she steps back and looks at me, her whole face lights up in this rare, unguarded way, and it makes every humiliation worth it.

“You look incredibly stupid,” she announces. “Like a fox with a side hustle as a wedding officiant.”

I just give a dramatic little fox bow, because if I’m going down, I’m going down with style. Bea cackles with delight.

Tabitha shifts next, and Bea nearly weeps from joy. The witch dress fits adorably, and the little pointy hat with the misaligned brim is so perfectly ridiculous that I’m honestly a little offended at how cute she looks. She turns three times in place, tail flicking in agitation, and Bea coos at her like she’s a baby. Which, for the record, she is not. She’s pure predator, though tonight you’d never know it.

The parade starts at sunset and the entire street is out in force. Bea puts us on leashes—because it’s the law. Then she hooks the witch’s broom to Tabitha, and we’re off, walking down the sidewalk in full regalia.

Children shriek with delight, and grown-ups pull out their phones to take pictures. I see at least a dozen people whispering about the ‘well-trained fox and cat’ and one woman is so struck by Tabitha’s costume that she asks if she can take her home. Tabitha hisses at her, but in a way that’s somehow both elegant and endearing.

An hour later, we’re back home and waiting for the first wave of trick-or-treaters to arrive—a group of kids dressed as superheroes and princesses, their parents trailing behind with cameras.

“Oh, my goodness!” one little girl squeals. “Look at the fox! And the kitty!”

Bea beams. “These are my pets, Sox and Whiskers. Would you like to say hello?”

The kids swarm us, and I do my best to sit still while they pet me and exclaim over our costumes. It’s actually kind of adorable. One kid—dressed as Spider-Man—keeps trying to adjust my bow tie because it’s ‘crooked.’

‘This is not how I expected to spend Halloween,’ I think at Tabitha.

‘I know. But look how happy Bea is.’

I glance over and see Bea chatting with the parents, her face bright with joy. She looks younger somehow. Happier.

‘Yeah,’ I admit. ‘It’s pretty sweet. She’s a great person. I can see why you stayed so long.’

As the evening progresses, more and more kids come by. They all want to meet us. Bea tells everyone how smart we are, how well-behaved, how lucky she was to have us.

One kid asks if he can teach me to shake hands. I do it perfectly, of course.

The kid loses his mind. “MOM! THE FOX KNOWS TRICKS!”

‘Show-off,’Tabitha thinks at me.

‘Jealous?’

‘You literally just shook a six-year-old’s hand. That’s not impressive.’

‘The six-year-old disagrees.’

A neighbor—Mrs. Patterson from two houses down—stops to chat with Bea. “These animals are remarkable! How did you train them so well?”

Bea just smiles. “Oh, they’re very smart. Practically human, really.”

I nearly choke on my own tongue.

‘Did she just—’Tabitha starts.

‘She did.’

‘She has jokes now.’

‘Apparently.’