Catnip

by J. S. Frankel

  Jason passed a large plastic bag to her, just in case. Fortunately, they encountered no further checks from the police and no projectile vomiting on Anastasia’s part, and arrived at the venue around five-fifteen. Jason pulled into a parking lot around the corner and as they exited the car, he hauled out a bag with Harry’s computer, disc, and flash drive in it, along with a modem and a blank disc.

  Harry took the bag, thanked him, and after seeing his reflection in a department store window, remarked, “I still look like an idiot. Everyone will know it’s a costume.”

  Anastasia had walked around to stretch out and sniff the air, and stifled a laugh as she took in the entirety of his outfit. “Gee, I wonder why.” Then she did start giggling and covered up her mouth.

  He certainly looked…different. Due to his black eye, Jason had used his sister’s mascara to draw another black circle around the other undamaged one. He’d used a base of light gray, glued some white whiskers on, and after Harry donned his suit—gray and striped—he sat back and nodded his head with satisfaction. “You look great, man. I should have been a makeup artist.”

  Jason had told him the suit would make him look like a raccoon. He did look like a raccoon—a very skinny one. “This is never gonna work,” Harry lamented.

  “It’s going to work if you believe you’re who I designed you to be,” Jason said. “I got this at a cosplay convention a few years ago. You’re Ricky Raccoon, got it?”

  “Halloween isn’t for another four months.”

  “Come on…”

  Jason grabbed his arm and hauled him along the sidewalk. As they made their way along, they saw a number of other colorfully dressed people wandering around, some of them taking pictures and laughing out loud at jokes or maybe the situation itself, and their costumes didn’t look any better than Harry’s did.

  However, when the three of them strolled down the street, they got a number of stares from the startled onlookers as they neared the New York Hilton Midtown Hotel. “They’re for me,” Anastasia said and her voice suddenly got dark.

  Harry, sensing her self-consciousness, tried to head off a potential breakdown. “That’s because you’re pretty,” he told her.

  She responded by kissing him and Jason shook his head in mock exasperation. “You guys should get a room, you know that?”

  It was a pretty good idea, but right now he and Anastasia had to hide out, and hiding out in plain sight seemed to be the way to do it. Over top of the front doors he saw a large banner that read Annual Cosplay and Furry Friends Forever Convention. He wondered what his parents would think if they saw him dressed up like this and then decided not to. It wasn’t worth it.

  “This is the biggest event of the year,” Jason told them. He sounded disappointed. “Everyone who’s anyone in the anime world is gonna be here. Too bad I can’t go in with you.” He shook his head as if he’d been dealt the biggest injustice of all.

  “You can if you want to,” Anastasia said.

  Jason shook his head. “Nah, this is for you, and besides, just in case you need to contact someone, I’d better stay home.” He pivoted to face Harry. “Text if you need me, okay?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, they did the bro-hug thing again. “See ya,” Jason said, and backed off. “Go up to the third floor. It’s the Grand Ballroom Suite. Just pay the entrance fee and you’re in.” He waved goodbye and ran around the corner.

  “You first, Ricky,” Anastasia snickered and gestured at the door.

  Harry grimaced at the nickname. He shuffled forward and stalled out…his courage was failing. Anastasia took his hand and said firmly, “We’re here and we’re going in.”

  She led him inside, where they took the escalator up and stood in line behind a number of people wearing equally colorful costumes and makeup, and Harry felt more out of place than ever. “It’ll be okay,” Anastasia whispered. “We’re together, right?”

  He gained a measure of confidence in her presence and the line eventually moved along. While waiting, Anastasia asked him what the plan was. He scanned the immediate area and quickly laid it out for her. Stay for at least thirty minutes. Leave and then walk over to FBI headquarters. Make a call from a payphone and say that the fugitives had been spotted in Central Park.

  As he spoke, her eyes got wider and wider. “You realize that’s about the dumbest plan in existence,” she said.

  “If you’ve got a better idea, let me know,” he responded and continued to outline the steps. “After I make the call, you’ll slip inside the FBI building, search for the equipment, and steal it.”

  By now she had the look on her face of a person who’d just listened to what amounted to a suicide mission. “And you expect me to creep in there and steal what you need?” she asked.

  “Well, yeah.”

  Anastasia shook her head. “I like you a lot, but this calls for some mental health work,” she stated.

  The comment embarrassed him, and after thinking about it, yes, it was a dumb plan, but he reasoned the men in black wouldn’t expect Anastasia to return. Therefore, it had to work.

  A nudge from her brought him back to reality. She pointed straight ahead and they entered the hall. A young woman wearing an obviously handmade bear costume—it sagged and had been patched in many places—sat at a long table with a cashbox next to her and greeted them with a friendly wave. “Hi, welcome to the convention. Are you with the Furry Crew or the Cosplay Crew? We have to know for our records,” she apologized.

  Harry glanced at his date. “Uh, the Furry Crew,” he mumbled.

  The woman nodded and checked something off on a piece of paper. “Can I have your names, please, your names and your genotype?”

  “Uh, my name’s Harry and this is Anastasia,” he answered and cursed himself for not giving a false name. Then again, he was in costume, had a lot of makeup on his face, and figured no one would know him. “She’s a cat and I’m Ricky Raccoon.”

  The woman didn’t seem to sense anything wrong. She simply scribbled their names on badges and handed them over.

  “Here you are,” she said and pointed inside. “We have a liquor bar going. That’s extra and its cash only. We also have soft drinks and the food is buffet style. Oh, and that’ll be a hundred dollars per person,” she added.

  It cost that much? He sighed softly, dug the money out of his pocket, and handed it over to the woman. She tucked it into the cashbox and nodded at Anastasia. “I love your costume.”

  “Thanks,” she said in a voice which meant say nothing else and I might let you live.

  Harry gently put his hands on his girlfriend’s shoulders and steered her away before she decided to rip the other woman a new one. They joined the crowd and Harry murmured, “Oh, yeah, you’ll fit right in here.” He stifled a cry of pain when his date extended her claws and ever so slightly pricked his skin. It was meant as a warning…he hoped. “Sorry.”

  “Yeah…fine,” she muttered.

  The ballroom-sized place was packed. There had to be over three thousand people here. Wall-to-wall costume party time, and with the furry crowd, everyone wore suits, mostly homemade ones, masks, limp tails, and more, but they seemed to be having a good time, laughing and talking animatedly. The anime women dressed in short skirts and cutesy, frilly outfits while the guys favored either Spandex and masks or Japanese-style dress with short happi coats and faux swords or knives.

  A few booths in the far corner sold various costume paraphernalia, and the guests took pictures of their friends and loved ones, throwing up peace signs as they did so. A live band in the opposite corner was rocking out some pretty decent music and doing it in ultra-loud fashion, and a few couples started dancing. The voices all came at once and they disoriented him, so he concentrated on the girl by his side. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I could eat something.”

  They made their way to the buffet and stood arm to arm with a man masquerading as a superhero on one side and a robot on the other. “Cool uniform t
he lady has,” opined the robot as he filled his plate. “That’s the realest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  If you only knew, Harry thought, nodded politely, and moved off. Anastasia had already gone down the line, wedging herself in at the hamburger section and filling her plate alongside a woman dressed like a princess.

  The whole experience felt like he’d just entered some kind of computer simulation…just like in the movies…and then he decided that doing his experiments was pretty much the same thing. He couldn’t judge and had no right to, so he kept his mouth shut and listened to the flow of conversation around him.

  “You’re not eating?” Anastasia had returned and her plate was filled with hamburgers. No buns or condiments, just meat, and she nibbled on them in a most ladylike fashion.

  “I’m not that hungry,” he answered and observed the sea of humanity that flowed around them. Everyone seemed to be having a good time—everyone but him.

  Suddenly, Anastasia’s ears twitched, she put down her plate and sniffed the air. “What is it?” Harry asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said, her voice uncertain. “I smell someone here, someone…I might have known.”

  “Is it that thing?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’d know if he was here. He’s got a certain scent. This one is…different.”

  Harry wondered what she meant by different, but his attention got taken away by a party crasher. “Hey, you mind if I talk to your date?”

  The voice came from behind him. He spun around and saw a tall man dressed like a cross between a samurai and an elf with false and very pointy ears along with a full mask. The smell of beer cut through his uniform. He was obviously drunk and swayed unsteadily on his feet. I just hope this moron doesn’t set Anastasia off, he thought.

  Unfortunately, the moron did. “Hey kitty-cat,” he slurred out. “You got a name, or do I have to guess?”

  Harry tried to intercede. “She’s with me. Maybe you can find someone else to talk to, okay?”

  The samurai-elf dude loomed in front of him, and Harry got the distinct impression that a moth against an elephant would stand a better chance. Standing tall against the other guy didn’t work as he was giving up six inches in height and a lot of weight.

  The guy tore his mask off. In his early twenties, he had a tough pug’s face, heavily marked with acne and more than a few battle scars. “Pal, you’re a little runt, you know that? I’m talking to the lady. She can decide for herself.”

  Harry momentarily felt a pang of fear, but fought it down. They couldn’t afford to draw attention to themselves. Still, this guy didn’t know when to stop. Anastasia, however, decided to take matters into her own hands. “Harry,” she said and injected a seductive purr to her voice, “let me handle this.”

  She turned to the large man, her features a stone mask. “You wanted to play with the kitty?”

  He took a step toward her, lust in his eyes and started to stroke her cheek. “You know it, babe.”

  His smile partially disappeared when he realized he was touching real fur and disappeared altogether when she grabbed his hand. It was covered by a thick glove, but her claws, fully extended, sank right through the material and into the meaty flesh of his palm. Blood soaked through and the man screamed, but the band was so loud Harry doubted anyone could have heard him. Anastasia’s eyes turned a brilliant yellow, and in spite of the difference in height and weight, she pulled the punk over to her effortlessly. “Listen, samurai jerk, rule number one. Don’t touch me—ever. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” he managed to get out and his legs started to buckle.

  She twisted her wrist, shoved the claws in deeper, and this time he did go down on both knees. He didn’t look so tough anymore.

  Anastasia’s voice came out low, and as cold and hard as steel. “Now listen up for rule number two and listen carefully. I’m not a kitty cat and my name is not Miss Kitty just in case you’re thinking it. Are you?”

  “No.” The voice came out barely above a whisper and a few people looked on with amusement.

  She continued her lecture, and by now a small crowd had formed. “Three, and this is the prime directive, I’m here with my boyfriend.” She motioned to Harry. “With him, do you understand me now?”

  “I…I’m sorry,” the man said, his face contorted in agony. “I just came here to pick up some chicks, y’know?”

  “Pick up and leave.”

  She withdrew her claws and the punk painfully staggered to his feet and unsteadily ran out of the room. She turned to Harry and shook her head in disgust. “I’ve gotta go and wash up. His smell made me sick.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  Anastasia effortlessly moved through the crowd in search of the ladies room. The onlookers let out a cheer, slapped Harry on the back, and after the congratulations had been given they moved off. He could only mumble his thanks, and while shifting his feet nervously, he heard a gruff voice say from behind him, “Hey, some moves your girlfriend’s got.”

  What? He spun around, looked in the direction of the voice, and saw a short, chunky man roughly three feet in height dressed in a dog suit with a pair of dark brown pants on. The suit looked very professional. The man resembled a cross between a bulldog and a bull terrier, with the latter’s pig-like eyes, stocky and muscular body, and white fur with brown patches. He had a rather long snout yet had a human mouth. Terrific makeup job, Harry decided. The guy had a sign on his chest which read Beware of Doug. Oh, and the compliment…what to say?

  “Uh, yeah, thanks,” he said, embarrassed yet pleased. “She’s, uh, she’s pretty cool to be around.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  The man’s tone sounded on the edge of being sarcastic—almost, not quite—and Harry wondered if this guy was just being a jerk or trying to tell him something. The man held a bottle of beer in his left hand, took a long drink, and then nodded and stuck out his right hand. “I’m Doug, like the sign says. You know, Doug equals dog and all that. You think it’s catchy?”

  “Uh, yeah,” he managed to say. “I’m Harry.”

  They shook, and Harry marveled at the texture of the other man’s hand. It actually felt like a dog’s paw even though the fingers were human. Fine hair coated the other guy’s knuckles. “Is this your first convention?” he asked.

  Doug shook his head, finished off his beer, and belched loudly. “Nah, I’ve been to a lot of these parties before. You meet all kinds—furries, cosplay artists, wannabe actors—I’ve seen it all.”

  He looked around the room with a series of sharp head movements and seemed to spot someone he knew. His nose twitched, the nostrils rapidly opening and closing, and he sniffed the air much like Anastasia always did. “Hey, it was nice meeting you. I gotta get something to eat. See you around.”

  Before Harry could say another word, the man nodded at him and trotted off, his feet moving in quick, sure steps. He disappeared into the crowd and blended in so well he seemed to act just like a…

  “Harry?”

  He jumped and whirled around. His girlfriend stood there, a look of disappointment on her face. “What is it this time?” he asked.

  “Someone in the washroom commented on how lifelike my costume looked and asked me who the makeup artist was.” She shook her head and whispered, “If anyone here knew that I really look this way all the time, would they be so friendly?”

  He shrugged. “Do you really care what they think?”

  She turned her gaze to the floor. “No…and yes,” she finally replied. “It’s just that…”

  “We’re friends, aren’t we?” he interrupted, trying to head off an imminent bout of depression on her part.

  Anastasia picked her head up and she leaned her body in closer to his. She whispered into his ear, “I think we’re more than that.”

  Her whiskers tickled his flesh and he wanted to answer her, but then the band started to play a slow ballad. The couples on the floor held onto their partners, their bodies moving awkwardly due
to the bulk of their costumes. Anastasia had no external covering save her fur and her clothes, and she started swaying to the beat, a slow grinding of her hips with her hands above her head.

  While the other participants looked on in wonder, he stood there, totally stunned. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other men staring at her, their mouths half open, mesmerized. Perhaps she was aware of the way she moved and perhaps not, but to him, the way her hips rotated, a graceful and slight yet obvious and sensual gyration, her eyes half-closed, the smell of her…something only he knew…

  Anastasia suddenly clung to him. Clumsy though he was, he let her guide him and soon their bodies became as one, totally in synch with the music. He felt the heat rising all over his body and he knew that she knew she was having some effect on him. It had to be pheromones, nature’s catnip, and right then and there, science aberration notwithstanding he blessed Mother Nature for being so kind.

  “You’re nice to hold,” she whispered in his ear. “I…I didn’t think anyone would ever accept me this way.”

  He pulled back just a bit and gazed into her eyes. Once again, they caught his and he felt totally enraptured by the woman in his arms. “I don’t care. I’m sorry…whoever did this to you made you this way…but it’s okay with me.”

  A slight frown crossed her face which soon got replaced by a tiny smile. She purred and leaned into him again. “Thanks. You’re different. That’s what makes you special.”

  He held her narrow waist and her tail twitched upward to tickle his nose playfully. Regrettably, the music ended and they broke their clinch, although they still held hands. A few people came over and complimented Anastasia on her costume, and this time she bobbed her head and smiled.

  Harry stood awkwardly by her side and then she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek while a few of the participants let out whoops of joy. “Hey, some effect,” a man dressed like a purple polka-dot said to her, a grin on his face. “What do you use to make your tail move? You got wires inside or something?”