Catnip

by J. S. Frankel

  Farrell stopped talking long enough to scratch at the sores on his face. “As for this place, you came here when the owners were on vacation. One of them drove back here the night you arrived, informed the local police, they contacted us, and we decided to let things play out, hoping you’d turn yourself in.”

  Harry stared at him. “So…are you here to arrest me?”

  The older man’s lips tightened and then he shook his head. “No, that’s not what I’m here for. We could, but your research has been deemed of prime importance to this country, and we don’t want anyone else getting their hands on you.”

  Harry leaned back and allowed a small but triumphant smile to emerge. Then he cut the smile. It hurt too much. Still, there would be no more jail time, no more worries about someone trying to assassinate him, and no more hassles…or was he being too hasty? “So what do you want in return?”

  Farrell said nothing for a moment. Instead of answering the question, he looked around the cabin once more. “It’s a pretty simple life up here, isn’t it?”

  Harry nodded. Farrell would eventually tell him what he wanted to know. “I’ve got enough. The fridge was fully stocked when I came here. This place has electricity and there were a few blankets in the bedroom closet. What more could I want?”

  Then he cut his explanation short. He knew that the FBI agent didn’t believe him. Stalling for time, he asked, “Would you like something to drink? I don’t have much, just fresh spring water, orange juice and…”

  “Have you got any milk?” Farrell interrupted with a slight smile on his weathered features.

  Harry chuckled, even though the movement set off a wave of pain. He knew what the agent was alluding to. “You don’t miss much. Is this the part where you threaten me with jail time again, or do we spar a little more verbally?”

  Farrell got to his feet and brushed off some hair. Short and gray, it clung to his suit, and he picked it off strand by strand. Job done, he walked over to the bedroom door, but didn’t open it. Instead, he turned around to gaze at the young researcher who waited on the couch. “Look, what I said before stands. I’m not here to arrest you. In fact, I’m here to thank you. We just want to make sure what happened to Anastasia won’t be used against anyone else.”

  Harry got up and made his way over to the door. “You’ve got my word I won’t be working for anyone else. I can’t. All of my research was destroyed, and so was Nurmelev’s. There’s no way we can reconstitute anything. And besides, you’re still watching me.”

  The agent favored him with a practiced smile, the smile of a person who was used to dealing in subterfuge, dealing with civilians who knew they’d be subjected to subterfuge, and dealing with people who had secrets. “Yeah, we are.”

  Harry caught the other man looking at the computer. He cursed himself for not having saved the information. At the very least, he should have closed the lid. Farrell’s smile continued for a few seconds, and then he cleared his throat. “We are going to watch you, Harry, and we intend to keep on watching you. And I’ve been given orders to tell you you’re welcome to work for us, in our labs, but under guard of course.”

  Well, this was something to think about and he considered the agent’s offer. “Can I think about it?”

  “I don’t see the need to think so long, but take your time. You’ve got two minutes.”

  Ever the hardass, Harry thought. Well, nothing much ever changed. What else was there to do? “So I get to do whatever I want?” he asked.

  He remained skeptical, but if there was one thing he’d learned, it was trust. He did trust Farrell—up to a point—but also knew he had to be careful from now on and the agent’s next words underscored his sense of self-preservation.

  “Within reason,” the agent nodded. “As I said, we’ll have you under surveillance, which is standard for anyone we employ, but your research is of prime importance to the United States and all our allies. We don’t expect you to duplicate your previous successes, but we ask that you try.”

  Harry quickly calculated all the odds for and against, and in the end he gave the agent the answer he’d been hoping for. “All right, I’ll work for you on one condition.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I want her with me. She doesn’t come, I don’t either. You can stick me in jail and I’ll take my chances there, but you’ll get nothing.”

  The FBI agent sighed. “Let me see her.”

  Harry pointed at the bedroom door, and Farrell pushed it open. Inside, Anastasia sat on the bed, curled up, and her tail swished gently. “That’s a cat,” he said.

  Indeed it was. She’d reverted to her true animal form, a cat with short gray hair, black spots, and a cute face with high pointed ears. The agent went to side of the bed and tentatively put out his hand. She responded by gently nuzzling his fingers in order to get his scent, and purred as he stroked her back. “This is her?” Farrell asked.

  Harry gave him an offhand shrug. “She was badly hurt during the explosion. I did what I could, but overnight she devolved into what she is now. She’s of the Ussuri breed. Pretty, isn’t she?”

  He said it with a straight face and hoped the agent would believe him. Farrell simply grunted. “Yeah, she’s nice looking enough. I still prefer dogs, though.” A sigh escaped his lips. “Well, that’s another lead shot to hell. I was hoping she’d be able to brief us on some other top-secret Russian research.”

  The last part—the part about Anastasia devolving—wasn’t exactly true, although the Fed didn’t have to know it. Yes, he had told the truth about her being injured, but left out the fact that Anastasia happened to heal at least three times as fast as an ordinary human. She’d taken the bandages off by herself the next morning and lay on the bed as he checked her wounds. “They’re not infected,” he’d said, with no small amount of satisfaction.

  She sniffed the air. “It smells clean here. Are we still in the mountains?”

  He nodded. “We’re still here. We’re in a small cabin in the woods just a few miles from Nurmelev’s place. No one’s around for at least five miles in every direction.”

  She got up and stretched. She started to lick her body in order to clean it, and then sniffed her fur. “It doesn’t smell. Did you wash me?”

  He felt the heat rush to his face. “You, uh, you had a lot of blood in your, uh, fur, and I just, sort of…sponged it off.”

  She gave him a crooked smile and walked over to his side. “Thank you,” she said, and her voice sounded like a cross between a purr and a whisper. She started to nuzzle his face, but when she got to his wounds he put his hand up to stop her and she pulled back. “What’s wrong?”

  “It still hurts.”

  With gentle fingers, she caressed the wound. “Your poor face,” she whispered.

  “It’ll heal.”

  She moved her head around to the undamaged side and started to work her lips gently in and around his neck, and he ducked his head down. “What’s wrong this time?” she asked.

  “It tickles.”

  Anastasia then giggled and started to tickle him, first on his ribs and then across his chest. “Let’s see if you’re ticklish all over.”

  He tried to fend her off—no, on second thought, forget about it—caught her face in his hands, kissed her on the lips, her claws sliced through his clothes and then…oh holy damn…

  As the last of his clothing fell to the floor, she pulled him onto the bed. “We don’t have much time, so let’s remember this—now—before it’s too late.”

  Harry nodded and his lips met hers in a rush of love and affection and everything in between. First time fumblings or not, eventually they found a rhythm and after it was all over, they lay together, her arms around him, and she purred, yes, purred contentedly.

  He stroked the side of her body and reflected on where his journey had taken him. His rite of passage had finally come and he didn’t think it unusual or strange or anything else. Fur or not, Anastasia was still a woman, and he cared for her
. She suddenly wiped her eyes and turned her head away. “What is it?” he wanted to know.

  “I’m changing,” she said softly and her voice had a catch in it. “I’m devolving. I can feel it.”

  He’d known this moment would come and felt as if his heart would break. Cliché or not, he wished they had more time! “Anastasia, I’ll do what I can for you, I promise, but I need the equipment and that…”

  His words stopped when she rolled over to him and gently placed her hand on his lips. The hand had already started to morph into a cat’s paw, and he mentally calculated it would only be a matter of days—perhaps hours—until the transition was complete. “I’ll wait,” she said. “I trust you.”

  “Thank you,” he answered and kissed her back. “Is it okay to say I love you?”

  He’d said it before and now he meant it in the worst way. He’d never been in love before, but now he felt justified in telling her. Who cared what she looked like? To him, she was a woman and yes, he was totally into her. That’s what love meant.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered.

  And so, after asking Jason to send Nurmelev’s files back to him, for the next two days he worked day and night on his calculations, made notes, ran scenarios…and fifty hours after their first and only encounter she told him that the change would happen any minute. “So soon?” he asked and cursed the inevitable.

  “Hold me,” Anastasia begged, and he hugged her while she slowly but steadily devolved. He heard her bones cracking and reforming, but she didn’t cry out, although she writhed and struggled as if to stop the transformation. She steadily shrank in size and an hour after the process had begun, it was over. In his arms lay a sleeping cat. He put her down on the bed and for the first time in a long time, he sat there and cried.

  He cried for all the people lost. Doug, Callaghan, the unknown experiments in the mad Russian’s lab, and yes, Anastasia, he cried for her most of all. They’d had their lives taken away and been given no choice, and they’d ended their days in misery and death. He resolved there would be no more experiments done…except one.

  Now he stood in the doorway and watched as Farrell rubbed the cat’s back and she purred, tilted over to lie on her side and gently batted his fingers with a closed paw. She seemed to take great delight in playing with the agent’s hand as he dangled it over top of her and gave a growl of mock frustration.

  Then, like all cats were wont to do, she abruptly stopped her play and curled up, closed her eyes, and soon fell asleep, her breathing rhythmic and quiet. Farrell watched her for a few moments and then got up from the bed.

  Harry noticed that his minder’s face looked disappointed, but also observed that the agent masked his emotions well. Yes, he’d have to be careful from now on.

  “So she’s just a simple housecat now?” the agent asked.

  “Yeah, that’s all.”

  Farrell brushed a few strands of hair off his pants and jacket. A ghost of a smile escaped his lips. “Just a simple housecat,” he murmured. “All right, you’ll have a briefing in two days. I’ll be around in the morning on Thursday to pick you up. We’ll set up an apartment for you in Manhattan, and whatever you need we’ll give you, within reason.”

  He walked to the entrance and paused to turn around. This time, he wore a genuine smile. “Oh, and you can bring the cat, too.”

  After Farrell drove off, Harry waited until the sound of the car’s engine faded. The quiet of the area calmed him down. A smell of fresh pine hit his nostrils, and then the sounds of the summer insects waking up to begin a new day came through to his ears. Ahead of him lay only the forest and he heard the sound of the occasional traveler motoring through, but no one stopped and he saw nothing suspicious.

  He sighed and wondered how things would go from here on in. The KGB offshoots and their secret labs were probably still working on transgenic experiments, but after he gave the FBI his evidence—and in turn, after the FBI had informed Interpol—Harry had the feeling that some heads would roll, and they’d all be speaking Russian.

  He also figured more than a few people at his father’s old place of work would be getting a visit from the local authorities. This thought made him smile. Justice would be done.

  A noise from the bedroom, a cross between a meow and a wail startled him and he hurriedly closed the door and locked it, just in case. In the bedroom, Anastasia had woken up and sat on her haunches. She looked at him, her yellow eyes deep and mournful. “Don’t worry,” he said. “He’s gone.”

  She meowed softly and jumped on the pillow. Her head swiveled as she searched for something, and after a quick search, she found a science magazine on an overhead shelf and pulled it down with her teeth and onto the center of the bed. With a practiced paw, she flipped open the pages until she came the passage she wanted. Another meow, this time more urgent, came from her pink lips. Harry sat on the bed and picked her up. “What is it?”

  She moved her paw and a single claw came out and pointed at the proper words in rapid succession. Can you duplicate your results?

  It should have surprised him, her being able to do this, but really, nothing surprised him anymore. “Yes,” he answered, and stroked her back gently. His smile of appreciation and wonder faded as reality hit. “But I don’t know if I can return you to being human. You might end up like you were before. I’m sorry, Anastasia.”

  She meowed and once more nuzzled his face, her whiskers tickling the undamaged spots. With a quick move, she twisted her head back to the magazine and the search with her paw began once more. I don’t mind.

  “It’s going to hurt,” he reminded her. “You know that, right?”

  A pause, and then, I’m ready. If I can stay with you, it’s enough.

  He was gratified by her trust. He knew exactly what to do now. As much as he’d loathed the Russian scientist, he had to thank the man for writing down a key equation which, when fed into his own set of equations, produced the possibility of transforming his girlfriend back to her former state.

  Or so he hoped. Everything in life was a gamble. So many things could go wrong, but he owed it to his girlfriend to do what he could to help her. He loved her, and since he’d officially become part of something much larger than himself, a scientific world of theory made reality he knew he could never go back to the way things were before. In fact, he didn’t want to.

  Abruptly, Anastasia pushed the magazine away with her paw and jumped off the bed. Curious, Harry followed her into the main room and saw her sitting at his chair and staring at the screen. The computer had stopped running the program and the screen showed a number of DNA helixes all with the appropriate chemical equations necessary for the transgenic shift. “You don’t have to type in anything,” he said softly. “I’m pretty sure this is it.”

  Meow went his lady love. He gently shooed her off the chair and she took her place at the side of the computer while he stiffly eased himself into position and started typing. “Let’s see what turns up.”

  He went through each scenario and nodded as the results turned out positive each time. “Well, this looks okay,” he said in a hopeful voice and leaned over to nuzzle his girlfriend, nose to nose.

  She batted at him with a closed paw like any cat would. It was a friendly warning and he took it as such. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll get to work on it on Friday and we’ll be together. I promise.”

  The cat ran back to the bedroom and returned with the magazine in her mouth. After jumping up on the table again, she dropped it, flipped it open and searched for the correct words, and laid out her terms. I can’t wait.

  She jumped into his arms. A loud purr came from deep within her chest and filled the room. The sound, along with the feel of her body, soft and supple and warm, calmed him down and gave him the necessary inspiration to carry on. With a quick and very human gesture, she put her paws around his neck. A small but urgent voice whispered, “Please hurry.”

  She still had the power of speech—but no one had to know. It shoul
dn’t have been possible. A cat’s jaw and a human’s jaw worked differently when shaping and creating words and sounds. While he should have been surprised, he wasn’t.

  He’d entered into a world where the formerly impossible had indeed, become possible. Nurmelev had told him it could be done, and his creation had proved it. Anastasia had fooled him again just like she’d fooled everyone else, and he shook his head in mixture of wonder and affection and yes, love. Above all else, there was love.

  “I will. Just don’t scratch.”

  About the Author

  J.S. Frankel was born in Toronto, Canada, a certain number of years ago. After receiving his degree in English Literature from the University of Toronto, he worked in his hometown for three years and then came to Japan in order to teach English conversation to anyone who would listen to him. In 1997, he married Akiko Koike and their union produced two sons, Kai and Ray. Frankel lives with his family in Osaka where he teaches English by day and writes at night until the wee hours of the morning.