by Joe Augustyn
She paused a video on a close-up of a so-called reptilian face. That has to be Photoshopped. Of course it’s Photoshop.
You can’t be taking this seriously, Felicia. If you are then you are really sincerely nutzoid. But something in her wanted to believe. She found herself checking the projected time of that evening’s sunset. A little after seven. Hmm…
That forced her hand a little. If sunset was due any earlier that evening she’d have a valid excuse to ignore Granny Dola’s instructions. She’d be stuck at the dinner table with her parents when the sun went down. But now she had no excuse not to. Dinner would be over well before sundown. She’d have plenty of time to finish eating with her folks, get up to her room and paint her face like a cat.
Like a cat. A frigging cat.
Jesus, am I really seriously considering this? She knew she was. If she didn’t try it tonight, it would be tomorrow. Or the next day. It was just a matter of when she’d give in to temptation.
How can I not at least give it a try?
Oh well. If I’m about to make a fool of myself by attempting to shapeshift into an animal, at least nobody will know about it, except me. Even if my folks barge in while I’m wearing the stupid make-up, I could claim I was preparing to audition for a role in “Cats.”
81
The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller
11
“Felicia, you’re eating like a bird.”
“I’m on a diet.”
“Diet?” her father exclaimed, “You’ve got to be kidding.” Her parents exchanged concerned glances.
“You can’t be serious,” her mother said. “You’re already skinny as a rail.”
“Do we need to be concerned, Felicia?” her father added. “You’re not anorexic, are you? You don’t want to be anorexic, trust me. Anorexics grow hair on their backs, did you know that? You want to get all hairy like a monkey?”
“I’m not anorexic. I’m just exploring healthier options.”
“Healthier options?” her mother responded, more than a little defensive. “We eat perfectly balanced meals in this house. You couldn’t get better nutrition.”
“That’s right,” her father added. “You should be thankful. Your mother’s an excellent cook.”
“I know. Stop freaking out. I just want to try something a little different, at least temporarily.”
“Different?” her mother asked. “How different?”
“I don’t know. I’m just saying. I may not want to partake of these big family dinners. Not every night, anyway.”
“Big family dinners?” Her mother sighed. Her father stared at her quizzically.
Felicia remained silent. All she was trying to do was plant a foundation in case as the days ran shorter and sundown came earlier she needed to blow off a dinner or two. Of course it’s not really ever going to come to that. Because shapeshifting doesn’t exist. I’ll bet the old lady has a trained bear squirreled away somewhere on her property. Dola. That sounds kind of Russian. Like her accent. And Russians are big on bear training, everybody knows that.
“Can I be excused? I have plenty of studying to do.”
“No dessert?”
“I finished my dinner. Isn’t that enough?”
“Don’t be rude, Felicia. This isn’t exactly Alcatraz.”
“I’m sorry. But I wasn’t being rude. Don’t get so touchy. I have a really big test in French this week so I’d like to go up and put on my headphones and immerse myself en langue française.”
“Go.”
Felicia made a point of kissing her father on his forehead before racing upstairs to her room where she locked herself in.
She slid her bedroom window open—just in case—then dumped a bagful of theatrical make-up on her vanity. Setting up her Macbook, she googled “pictures of cats” looking for a suitable model.
She considered a fancy calico or striped tabby but decided to keep simple. Don’t make a big thing of it. It’s a silly waste of time as it is. You really should be studying.
She settled on a Maine Coon. It was a very pretty cat with patches of gray and white on its face and gorgeous details around its eyes and snout. Carefully she painted stripes and whiskers and a dark red nose on top of hers. She finished up with black lipstick and eyeliner.
Hey, I look pretty cute as a cat. Maybe I should suggest “Cats!” to Mr. Baxter. It’d be fun. Except I’d have to wear a skintight cat suit. Not too keen on that idea. People might make fun of my bony ass.
She realized that she was feeling a little less sorry for herself. If nothing else, Granny’s madness was a happy distraction. And she’d been feeling stronger ever since she put the choker around her neck. The terror of the previous night had faded… only the anger remained.
There were still several minutes to go before sundown. She spent half of them making crazy cat faces at herself in the mirror—and the last few feeling completely foolish.
Okay, Felicia. You’re now certifiable. One fry short of a Happy Meal.
Someone knocked on her bedroom door.
Not now. Please. She tried to ignore it.
“Felicia?” It was her mother’s voice, with the slightly peevish, snoopy tone that warned she wasn’t going away without a hassle. Followed by louder more insistent knocking.
Jesus, what now? Can’t they respect my privacy?
“What is it? I’m studying.”
“You sure you don’t want to come down and have some dessert? Peach pie and ice cream? Vanilla ice cream!” she added with too much excitement in her voice.
“Maybe later, mom. I really need to study now, okay? I’m trying to concentrate.”
“Okay,” her mother’s voice sounded a little guilty. Felicia knew that little quiver was intended to stir her own guilty heartstrings, but instead she felt victorious.
Good. Maybe now they’ll leave me in peace.
She breathed a sigh of relief as she heard her mother pad away down the hall, followed a moment later by a hushed conversation with her father. She didn’t have to hear their words; the tone of their voices spoke volumes. Concern… disappointment… and finally resignation.
Satisfied that she wouldn’t be bothered again, Felicia turned toward the window and gazed at the evening sky.
The sun was a hazy white ball against a backdrop of deepening color. As it touched the horizon the sky flared bright with a final burst of orange, then quickly went dark as if a slate-colored curtain had suddenly dropped down from heaven.
Felicia’s heartbeat thickened as the last fading rays of the sun died away, and the gray sky turned purple-black, speckled with a thousand tiny stars.
She drew an anxious breath and turned to look at herself in the mirror… but felt nothing. Nothing at all, other than an empty feeling of disappointment.
Maybe I didn’t do it right.
She looked at her unchanged human hands and chided herself for being so gullible. Suddenly feeling like a total fool. With her face painted up to prove it.
Jesus what was I thinking? I better get to the bathroom and wash my face before one of the parental units comes up and sees me.
She started to stand but froze as a sharp spasm tugged at her belly, as if her stomach muscles were contracting all at once. It wasn’t exactly painful, but it also wasn’t a pleasant sensation.
She forced herself to take another step, still thinking she was headed for the bathroom to wash the silly paint off. But her leg muscles turned to jelly and she stumbled and teetered off-balance. She braced herself on her vanity, balanced on rubbery legs.
The contractions continued, tightening then relaxing then tightening again. Terrified of falling, which would no doubt bring her parents running upstairs to investigate, she steered her drunken legs toward her bed and flopped uncertainly against the top edge of the mattress.
Her head was spinning and she felt herself sliding to the floor. In a moment of panic she tried to brace herself with her legs on the floor but her feet kept sliding forward. She just couldn
’t get any traction.
Great! Now they’ll hear me fall and come running and find me in this stupid make-up.
To her surprise the fall never came. Instead she found herself standing. Suddenly upright and steady.
Standing on four legs. Small furry legs.
She stood silently for a moment, scanning the room from her new perspective—just a foot higher than the floor— then let out an involuntary “meow” of surprise.
Ohmigod it worked! It’s true! I’m a cat! And I can still think like a human!
She realized she was tangled in her clothing. Slipping free she leaped up onto her vanity and stared at herself in the mirror.
A gorgeous fluffy Maine Coon stared back at her.
For the first time in her life Felicia felt truly liberated.
Nothing is impossible. If I can do this, I can do anything. Magic is real. And thanks to Granny Dola I have power. Real power. I can do anything. Anything I want!
Right now she had plenty to do. She needed to explore her new condition. To define her limitations, and understand the advantages it offered. Despite her feline appearance and strangely enhanced senses she was able to reason like a human being.
She scurried across the room and hopped up onto the windowsill. She poked her head out into the cool night air. It didn’t feel nearly as cold as it should have on a crisp October evening. The fur on her face was a very effective insulator.
She bent forward, claws planted precariously on the edge of the glossy windowsill. The ground seemed a million miles below. But her new feline instincts told her that was no problem.
She looked over at the oak tree in the yard outside her window. Its branches shivered in the night breeze, beckoning her. But the nearest one was six feet away, and looked too thin to hold even her little bitty cat weight.
A thrill of anxiety and excitement ran through her. Her tail twitched nervously.
The human reason in her brain told her not to dare risk it. But a new part of her spirit urged her to throw caution to the wind. Don’t be such a fraidy cat. It’s a piece of cake.
Don’t worry about falling. Cats always land on their feet. Besides, you have nine lives now, right?
Well? Are you a cat? Or just a pussy?
Felicia hunkered down on her haunches and before she could think twice she sprang forward, launching herself through the cold night air.
For a fleeting moment she was surprised at the power of her leap… then she felt sheer exhilaration as she soared like a comet through empty space with the wind rushing through her fur.
Suddenly the skinny whip of a tree branch was there and with lightning reflexes her claws shot forward tearing into its leathery bark. She twisted her body, spinning and tumbling like a gymnast, then retracted her claws and landed securely on a thicker branch below.
She crouched there, heart racing, claws clinging tightly to her lofty perch. For a long delirious moment she wallowed in the lingering thrill of her feline acrobatics.
Then she sprang from that branch down to the next… and the next… until her feet padded down on a mushy carpet of bugleweed and she was racing across the front yard, headed for her first great adventure.
81
The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller
12
The shots stung like bee stings. Felicia yowled in pain and ran off into the woods, shedding drops of color from the flurry of stinging paintballs.
The boys’ laughter mocked her as she scrambled away in a panic, humiliated by the utter failure of her first attempt to deal with Wally and his gang in her new feline form.
The first step of her revenge plan had simply been to find out the identities of all the boys involved in her assault. She’d planned to spy on them, and had stealthily approached the Sutter house to snoop around and eavesdrop. But the tables were turned when the gang surprised her as they returned from a paintball battle in the woods.
Retreating to the safety of the forest, Felicia paused beneath a shrub to lick her wounds. Thankfully they were more emotional than physical. But the pain of the encounter was real, and disheartening. Once again the evil boys had gotten the best of her.
She decided to call it a night. When her blood pressure finally calmed, and her racing pulse subsided, she headed home to the safety and comfort of her room.
This is going to require a bit more planning than I thought. But those boys will be sorry.
I will make them pay for what they did.
81
The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller
13
“Granny, I need to ask you something and I want a straight answer. Can I only turn into a housecat? Or can I turn into any cat I want?”
The old woman smiled knowingly. “A cat is a cat is a cat, my dear.”
Felicia smiled back. Imagining herself tearing Wally to shreds with the massive claws of a puma.
“But…” the old woman continued, “You will have to grow into your power, one step at a time. You didn’t get to high school without passing through kindergarten first, did you?”
Great. It figures there’d be a catch. “How do I do that?”
“Practice makes perfect. When you’ve grown comfortable in the skin of a pussycat, and mastered the sights and smells and instincts of a feline, you’ll find it easy to move up… to a bobcat… then a lynx… maybe even a lion someday.”
Felicia’s eyes went wide. “And a Siberian tiger?”
The old woman laughed. Her eyes sparkled with delight. “First learn to be a pussycat.” She stroked Felicia’s hair tenderly. “My little wild kotka.”
81
The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller
14
Wally shoved the hapless freshman against his locker, pinching the smaller boy’s nipples until he yelped. “What’s for lunch today, Sammy?”
The freshman offered his brown paper lunch bag, too scared to speak. Just wanting the pain in his nipples to go away.
Wally shook the bag open with one hand and gazed at its contents with disgust. “Jesus, dude. Your mom can’t cook for shit. Tomorrow I want a fiver so I can get whatever I want in the lunchroom. No more of these goddamned liverwurst sandwiches.”
He loudly hocked a lugie and spit it into the bag, then handed it back to the boy and slammed him into the lockers again, harder this time for good measure.
As the boy rebounded off the cold steel and ran away, Wally turned and found himself face to face with Ruta. She had a strangely smug look on her face.
“What the fuck do you want, freak-o?” he snarled.
“I just want to warn you. You better be prepared.”
“Prepared for what?” Wally tried to act cool but inside he was starting to sweat a little. It wasn’t Ruta’s words so much as her attitude. Nobody ever dared act this cocky towards him. Especially not some bitch he’d already humbled in a major way.
Ruta smiled cryptically and walked away.
What the fuck? Wally thought about chasing her to demand an explanation. But he watched her duck into the girls’ room and knew it would be pointless to wait for her to come out. If she had anything more to say she would have said it. She’s probably bluffing anyway. Silly cunt. Trying to fuck with my head. But as unperturbed as he pretended to be, the seed was planted and Wally’s concern was sprouting.
In the girls’ room, Ruta slapped ten with Felicia, who stood grinning like the cat that ate the canary. “The ball’s in your court now,” Ruta said. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”
***
“What the hell did she mean?” Sparrow asked nervously. “Prepare for what?”
“How the fuck do I know?” Wally said gruffly.
“You think Felicia’s gonna squeal about what we done? Oogie said he saw the two of them talking the other day.”
“She won’t squeal if she values her miserable life. Just be at my house tonight after dinner. And tell all the other guys to be there. No exceptions. We have to get our stories straight. Just in case.”
“In cas
e o’ what?”
Wally scowled and swatted his pencil-necked pal on the side of his head. “Stop asking stupid questions. Just spread the word them I want them there. That’s all they need to know.”
81
The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller
15
Sheriff Owen Sutter steered his massive SUV around the final curve of the forest road that led to his rustic homestead. As was his nightly habit he flipped on the side-mounted spotlights to sweep the dense walls of pine that lined either side of the road. The brilliant white glare washed out the autumn hues of the foliage, giving the woods a pale ghostly appearance.
Scanning the woods was a habit Owen picked up five years earlier, following a major prison break a few counties north of Greenville. One of the escaped cons had been a worthless piece of trash named Tracy Lee Johnson, the first man Sutter had ever sent away on a life sentence.
A bi-polar maniac, Johnson’s paranoid delusions and ultra-violent tendencies were controlled in prison with a daily dose of anti-psychotics. But during his trial he’d vowed out loud to wreak vengeance on the lawman he claimed had built a bogus case against him. And now he was out. Out and about. Without his medication.
The escaped con never did return to Greenville to exact his revenge. But he was never captured either. He was still out there somewhere, and Owen lived with the possibility of him popping up when it was least expected. Revenge served cold, as the saying goes.
Owen slowed his vehicle as his spotlights caught something flitting through the woods.
It vanished for a moment… then he saw it again. A fleeting glimpse of something small and furry running just inside the edge of the woods.
Nothing to get worked up about. Probably a fox.
For a moment he considered pulling over to shoot it with the rifle he kept in his vehicle. It would be easy to speed past it and pull over to set up a shot. Take it by surprise from the comfort of his SUV. But the 220 grain bullets in his 300 Winchester would obliterate such a small animal’s pelt. A senseless waste of time and ammunition.
