“What about food,” Helen asked.
“Mice and rabbits we shall eat, or whatever we can kill.”
“Ewww,” Scarlett said. “No way am I eating a mouse. Even though we’re cats, I still crave human food.”
An owl’s hoot caused the cats to close their circle tighter.
“This is really bad,” Isabella said. “I spy an owl perched in that tree over yonder. And it’s not just an ordinary owl. It’s a great horned owl. He looks really hungry.”
“Time to check my powers,” Esther said. “Fear not. Go ahead, plant a thought in that stupid bird’s head to come after us. I’ll take care of this threat.”
Madelyn cocked her head to the side and scrunched her eyebrows. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Isabella stepped forward. “Too late. The deed is done.”
The owl left its perch and glided down. The flight was graceful and silent, almost hypnotic. The cats clustered closer. The night predator’s feet came forward. Talons separated. He was almost on top of them when the raptor exploded into a hundred pieces of red gore and feathers.
“That was amazing,” Isabella said as a shower of blasted feathers descended, slow, like a torn apart down pillow. “How do you do that?”
“To be truthful, I’m not sure. It’s a gift I was born with. Gave my family fits when I was a child.”
The howl of a nearby wolf followed.
“Now I’m really scared,” Chloe said. “Forget about owls. Foxes and wolves and all sorts of predators prowl these woods.”
“Fear not,” Rebecca said. “I’ll roast alive any wild animal we come across.”
“Speaking of fire,” Annie said. “Can you start a small one to keep us warm?”
Annie pushed dry branches, twigs, and leaves in a pile. Rebecca circled the kindling and timber and a small fire started. The cats closed in.
Emily liked Rebecca’s courage and the way the others respected her. If something untoward were to happen to me, she thought, Rebecca is the obvious choice for a successor.
“Rebecca, my second in command, you surely are. And a leader of three. Your sister Annie and Jacqueline shall be in your group.”
Emily looked at her best friend, Rebecca. They had grown up together. She knew Rebecca could be wild and unpredictable, but she was popular and the others looked up to her. This was an easy choice.
Rebecca bowed. “Thank you. I humbly accept.”
The rest of the cats nodded in agreement.
Emily continued. “Let’s see. Chloe, you’re also a leader with Amy and Helen.”
The three cats merged to help keep each other warm.
“Next is Scarlett. You are young and new to our clan. But I sense you are mature beyond your years. You, Angel, and Esther will band together under your leadership.”
Emily moved on to the last three cats. “And finally, Isabella. You will be looking over Rachel and Madelyn.”
Emily presented herself to the twelve huddling close to the fire. “I am at my wits end as to how to do this. This is bizarre, being in a cat’s body. But together, we shall fight and survive. I promise you that.”
“And we have eight more lives ahead of us,” Rebecca said. “I think I shall truly like this.”
Emily smiled. “As do I. This as an opportunity. Just look at us. We’re cats with nine lives, possessing incredible powers. For the life of me I cannot fathom what adventures await. But be sure we are far better off like this than to have villages of drunken fools chasing us with torches and pitchforks.”
Chapter 2 Caledonia Springs
Debbie Stevens stared out her kitchen bay windows as she finished cleaning the cast iron skillets. On the table, scrambled eggs and bacon gave off a soft vapor she was sure gave testament of the loving kindness used to make Bob’s breakfast. She didn’t need to wake him. The smell of her husband’s favorite morning meal combined with the aroma of coffee was his daily alarm clock.
Debbie was happy to perform menial tasks like making Bob his predictable and, in her opinion, mundane breakfast. Day after day. Month after month. For the first three years of their blissful marriage. Robert Jeremy Stevens was a great husband, protector, and provider.
But he was also a calculable creature of habit. This had its good points. Planning meals was a cinch. But the drawback was getting Bob to change—like making the decision to have children.
Debbie sighed as she turned off the water and again directed her attention at the panoramic view. Less than fifty yards behind her two-story, three bedroom brick house with white wooden trim was the neighborhood playground, the centerpiece to their planned community in Caledonia, Michigan. Caledonia Springs was developed to attract young well-to-do families, and life in this residential housing tract revolved around the park.
It was the first weekend of June and barely eight-thirty in the morning, yet dozens of neighborhood kids filled the park’s playgrounds. Winter had been one of the worst in fifty years, spring among the grayest and wettest in recent memory.
The young children, all of whom Debbie knew as the offspring of her tightly knit community, had been anxious for the past seven months to play outdoors. Kids and adults were finally able to enjoy the seventy-five degree weather and clear blue skies that had not been seen together since last October.
Debbie loved Caledonia Springs and the promise it held for young couples. This was a place where new money lived. People could leave college and forthright claim careers that allowed them to buy a nice new house with a big yard next to a golf course. She was living her American dream.
They only drawback was the new money could be a bit, well—snobby. She was raised in an environment of old money, among humble families whose grandparents grew up during the Great Depression and World War II. Decent, hard-working people who knew the value of money and that, at any time, they could lose it all. This is where their meekness came from, a concept many of her young neighbors had yet to develop.
Debbie dried the cast iron skillets and set them on the stove, returning her gaze on the kids playing outside her back door. She stepped out the double slider onto the patio and stared out across the ninth fairway to the playground. The landscape was now a lush green as opposed to sweeping snowdrifts that had melted into large pools of muddy slushy water.
On the west end of the park, junior high aged boys and girls started a game of baseball. Straight ahead, a soccer game made up of kids from various ages played out. To the east end, the smaller children played on monkey bars and swings. Young women, all of whom she knew, talked to each other or chatted on their cell phones while their kids frolicked about with every ounce of energy stored up over the winter.
The scene was bittersweet. The sound of laughter tugged on her heart. She let out a combined laugh and a cry as she wiped a single tear from her right eye.
Debbie Elaine Stevens desperately wanted children. Who stood in her way? Her husband Bob and his obsession with numbers. Bob wanted kids. They both agreed on four. The more the merrier. But the financials needed to make sense.
Debbie was twenty-six. Bob was twenty-seven. Thirty was right around the corner. She needed to do something drastic yet calculated to accelerate the process. Bob would understand the calculated part. Debbie, a free spirited risk taker, would handle the drastic part.
“Debbie, sweetie, where are you?”
Debbie broke her gaze and shook her head, clearing the thoughts of another barren living room at the year-end holidays. Back to reality. Bob. She had to take care of her hubby.
But she also knew she needed to take matters in her own hands if they were to have kids soon, and today was the big day. Debbie was ready to implement what she called ‘The Fantastic Plan Gone Drastic’.
“Your eggs and toast are on the table, honey,” she said as she entered the kitchen and closed the sliders.
Bob sat at the table and she watched his predictable early day routine. He held a fork and ate with one hand while going over the budget, bills, and savings w
ith the other.
And, as usual, he systematically ate a bite of eggs, then a bite of bacon, followed by a chew of toast, then a sip of coffee. This process repeated in that same order until it came down to the last spoonful, his calculated system rationing the portions so that the eggs were the final mouthful.
“Bob, dear,” she said as he looked up from reading their most recent bank statement. “Don’t talk. Just eat and listen to me.”
Debbie undid the top button of her blouse, sat at the table, and leaned in showing plenty of cleavage and flirted with her blinking eyes in an exaggerated manner. Bob rolled his eyes. He knows what’s coming, she knew.
“Darling, we can do this. We can budget the house, student loans, and bills. And have kids.”
Bob set a bank statement on a neat stack of utility bills. “Baby dolls, I love you,” he said, returning his eyes to the pile of monthly bills and punching numbers into a calculator. “But the numbers, they simply don’t make sense.”
Debbie spread her arms wide. “As usual, you’re right,” she said with overdone glee. “They don’t. That’s why we need financial independence.”
“I still can’t fathom you’re quitting your job.”
Debbie stood and rounded the table. She rubbed Bob’s shoulders and pressed her breasts against his back. “The timing is perfect. With your new promotion, I can start my business venture with my friends. This will bring in so much money. The bank has the loan ready for us. You can clearly see this is a great opportunity for me. For us.”
Debbie paused for a moment, waiting for Bob to say something. But he took another sip of coffee and continued keying numbers into the calculator.
“Okay. I also hate working as a supervisor at The Apple Dumpling Company. And I despise my boss, Bernie Butthead.”
Bob gave Debbie a wary look.
“He’s so mean to everyone. And he’s such a manipulative control freak. I swear, if he says anything cross to me—one more time—I’ll drop kick the little creep.”
Bob stood, loosening Debbie’s massaging yet manipulative grip on his shoulders. “Okay. Just stop. Your company is American Credit Services. And your manager’s last name is Mortensen. That’s Mr. Mortensen to you. He’s still your boss and you should treat him with respect.”
Debbie fought the urge to vomit.
“Anyway,” Bob said, now massaging Debbie’s shoulders. “You have to look at this through my eyes. Even with your job we’re barely covering the mortgage and the bills. Now you’re giving your two week notice. Without the additional income, we’ll have to make serious adjustments until you start to see a profit.”
“Bob, dear. Listen to me. You’re twenty-seven. I’m twenty-six. How much longer do you want to wait? When is anyone ever ready to have a baby? All of our friends have kids. The McDowells have two and one in the oven. I want our children to grow up and go to school with our friends’ kids. I have to do this. And you need to support me.”
Bob stepped back, took a last sip of coffee, and arranged the bills in a nice neat pile, then placed them into the credenza. “Last chance. Are you sure you want to do this?”
Debbie poured her husband a thermos container of coffee for his drive to work. “I have to, sweetie. I really think it’s time to start this new business.”
Bob gave Debbie a look. “Old Country Tuscany Olive Oil? Here? In Grand Rapids, Michigan?”
Debbie placed her hands on her hips. “You’re mocking me, right?”
“No. Not at all. It’s just that the timing isn’t right.”
Debbie needed to melt the layer of icy resistance Bob could be so adept at constructing. She took a moment to look into a small oval mirror on the wall. Time to let off a little steam.
Leaning her weight to one side of her hips, she ran her fingers through her shoulder length blond hair, puckered her lips and put on a quick layer of lipstick. Debbie knew she had hubby’s attention. She looked at Bob in the reflection and caught him stealing a glance.
So busted.
Debbie moved into Bob and gave him a snuggle, then manicured his hair with her fingers. “Actually, my new Vice President of Sales,” she said with much pride for her husband. “The timing couldn’t be better. With the merger of Thorbough and Tomlinson with Nippon International, you have nowhere to go but up.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re right. You always are. I really need to work on my Japanese. I’ll download an app and practice while driving to work this week.”
“And with the promotion you’ve been promised, we’ll be fine. I’ll meet the girls at the bank later this week and sign the loan documents. Hey, I’m splitting the investment and risk with three people. Besides, there’s nothing else like this for hundreds of miles. It’ll be a real winner. Trust me. I have everything under control.”
“I’ve heard that before.” Bob started for the front door, looked in the same mirror Debbie tried and almost succeeded to entice him a few minutes earlier, and straightened his tie with confidence. Business before pleasure. Not that the latter would be neglected.
His lean six feet two inch frame, brown hair slightly receding, and conservative dark blue business suit reflection stared back. Bob gave himself a thumbs up.
“Well, maybe you’re right. We’ll see. Day’s not over yet. This morning, I’ll officially accept my new promotion. And, to add to my most excellent day, I’ll finally beat out Ronnie Taylor for the position.”
Debbie scrunched her face in disgust. “Ugh. I can’t stand that guy. Rotten Ronnie. He’s so arrogant and condescending. What a jackass. Just thinking of him makes me nauseous.”
“And he insulted you at the Christmas party.” Debbie observed Bob’s face reddening. “He said you—”
Debbie waved him off. “Stop. You don’t need to repeat it. Let’s just say he said I wore the pants in our house. And you were jus—”
Bob’s turn to flag a stop. “No need to finish the sentence. Believe me, I haven’t forgotten about that. One of the first things I do this morning will be to fire that jerk.”
Bob gave Debbie a kiss. “We’ll discuss this more tonight over a celebratory dinner. You pick the restaurant. Can’t be late for my promotion.”
Debbie handed Bob his coffee in a traveler mug and snatched her car keys off the kitchen counter. “I’m right behind you. Today, the new Debbie Stevens breaks free. By the time we eat dinner tonight, we’ll both have new lives. I promise.”
Chapter 3 Bernie Mortensen
Debbie braced her cell phone between her neck and shoulder as she pulled into the parking lot at American Credit Services. She looked at the time. Thirteen minutes past nine. No worries about being late. Today she was giving her two weeks’ notice.
“Are you sure you want to do this,” her best friend and soon to be partner Linda Ryan asked. “This is your last chance to back out. Once you quit, you know that runt of a man will never hire you back.”
“I have to admit, I’m a bit nervous.” Debbie shrugged off the doubt. “But I need to do something. I hate my job. I hate my boss. And I know Old Country Tuscany Olive Oil will be a huge success. I can make more money than Bob, even with his new promotion. Then he’ll have to agree we can start having kids.”
Debbie, expecting she’d have to drive to the far end of the lot since she was late, saw the Employee Of The month spot empty. Resistance was futile. She chuckled as she pulled into it.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m taking Bernie’s spot. That contemptible runt refuses to award this coveted prize so he doesn’t have to move those short pork sausage legs of his and walk across the parking lot like the rest of us.”
Debbie imagined his pale rotund face turn beat red with fury when he sees another car in his spot.
“Okay. Thought I’d give you one final gut check. This week we’ll sign the loan docs and then sign the tenant lease, officially opening Old Country Tuscany Olive Oil. The local news channels will do a grand opening piece next month, so that’s going to be huge for o
ur launch.”
“Sounds great. Hey, I have to go. Butthead will be here any minute and I need to be inside before he arrives.”
Debbie could hear Linda laughing as she ended the call. She entered the twenty-two story office building in downtown Grand Rapids. Ecstatic could not begin to explain how she felt. After her two weeks’ notice was up, she swore she’d never again enter the building.
She opened the double doors on the sixteenth floor that gave way to a thirty thousand square foot room. Debbie shuddered at what lay ahead. Her workplace resembled a non-descript warehouse filled with two thousand cubicles laid out in a perfect grid. The customer service center answered calls from dozens of retailers and wholesalers across the country.
The cubicles were lined perfectly in a north-south and east-west layout. For the majority of employees, the place was so quiet the only sound came from their own hushed voices and their fingers clacking away on keyboards. The place was sterile. Boring. Lifeless. Just as if Bernie Butthead designed it to mimic his soul.
She walked down the aisle that led to her cubicle on the far side of the building. For as large as the place was, and for the amount of people working, it was eerie how quiet the place was.
She looked back and forth at the near bare walls of each employee cubicle. Bernie would allow only one family picture per cubicle. He said anything more was a distraction from work.
Debbie was barely a quarter-way across the floor when she heard the shrill of her boss’s voice echo through the vast office.
“Who the hell parked in my parking spot?”
Debbie could see her manager sweating profusely as he had to walk the extra hundred yards across the parking lot to the building. His cheeks were flush. For someone in his early forties, Bernie was really out of shape.
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