Page 9 of Purrfectly Outfoxed
“I don’t know what got into her,” she murmurs, bending down to check my ear. Her fingers are gentle as she examines the scratch. “She’s normally such a sweet girl. Bringing another animal in must have scared her, poor thing.”
‘Poor thing? POOR THING?! I’ll show you poor thing, you mangy?—’
‘Having trouble in there, princess?’
‘Don’t you DARE?—’
Bea straightens up with a sigh. “Let’s get you settled. You can stay in the laundry room tonight. I’ll get you some blankets and a bowl of water.”
‘Stay? STAY?! Oh, absolutely not. Bea! BEA! He’s conning you! He’s a?—’
‘A what? A shifter? Just like you?’
Silence. Beautiful, blessed silence.
For thirty seconds, anyway.‘I’m nothing like you.’
‘Oh really? A shifter living a comfy life as an old lady’s pet? Yeah… I think we both know how that happens.’
‘You know nothing about me,’ she seethes.
‘Maybe. But I know enough to feel sure you need this roof over your head as much as I do. So maybe we both keep our mouths shut?’
A deep, deliberate silence falls. I can almost hear her gnashing her teeth from two rooms over.
While Bea gathers supplies to set me up in the laundry room, I take the opportunity to explore. The house is even nicer than I thought—hardwood floors, crown molding, comfy furniture that’s well maintained. There are photos everywhere. Bea with a man I assume was her husband. Bea at various ages, always smiling.
No kids in any of the photos, though. Just her and the man, and in the more recent ones, just her.
‘She’s lonely,’ I think, not really meaning to project it.
‘I know,’ Tabitha’s response is quieter. ‘That’s why I stay. And it’s why I won’t let you take advantage of her.’
“Here we go.” Bea appears again. “You’re all set up with food and water. Come on little fox.” She beckons me over, andI hesitate a minute, much preferring the idea of curling up on her comfy couch over a pile of blankets in her laundry basket. But after she coaxes me again, I figure beggars can’t be choosers, then follow her into the laundry.
I hop into the basket, twitching my ear just enough for her to believe I’m still in world-weary fox mode. I play up the angle of a helpless, domesticated wild animal, coming in from the cold to collapse gratefully at her feet. And she melts, just as I expect. Her palm smoothes my head, careful of the scratch, and her voice coos low. “Such a sweet boy. We’ll have to think of a name.”
Oh, shit. Here we go…
“How about Buttons?”
Buttons is awful!
“No. That doesn’t fit.”
You’re right. I’m glad we agree on that.
“Oh, I know! Sox. Because of your cute little feet.”
My what? No! My feet aren’t cute!
“Yes. Sox is perfect. You like that name?”
Not really. But I’ve been called worse, so…
“Oh good. Sox it is.” She pets me again. “Terribly thin, aren’t you? Don’t worry. I’ll fatten you up.”
‘I hope you get tapeworm,’ the cat thinks at me as Bea leaves the room. ‘I hope it gets so big you choke on it.’