Free Cattitude by Edie Ramer Page A

the body, not outside.
    Her mouth set. She threw back the covers,
rolled out of bed, marched into the bathroom, knelt by the bathtub
and turned on the faucets the way she’d seen Max do so often.
Anything a human could do, a cat could do—no matter how disgusting
and unnatural.
    But she’d better find Sorcha and get her body
back. Fast.
    How many more indignities could she
stand?
    ***
    “Are you there, kitty?”
    Sorcha woke. In her human body, she would’ve
jumped up screaming. In this cat body, she knew immediately she was
hidden in the bushes, it was morning, and there was no way anyone
could see her unless she allowed it.
    That was not going to happen.
    “Here’s water and food for you.”
    Well, maybe...
    “Please, I’ll scoot back to the tree, like
yesterday. I promise I won’t touch you until you’re ready.”
    Sorcha listened to the girl’s footsteps
recede. She peered through the sharp-needled branches but saw only
bright sunlight. The tiny squeak of athletic shoes sliding against
grass stopped. Something slithered against bark and she guessed the
girl was sitting on the ground.
    The smell of tuna wafted to Sorcha’s
nostrils, like a gift from God. Whisker by whisker, paw by paw, she
crept out. The girl had placed two bowls at the edge of the grass,
a couple inches farther from the bushes than last night’s
leavings.
    Was this on purpose? Was the girl luring her
out a little more each time?
    Sorcha peered across the length of grass so
smooth and green it could have been a carpet. The girl sat in front
of a giant tree, her arms around her knees, watching Sorcha as if
she were something precious and special.
    Sorcha had never felt special and precious in
her life. Not even with Fletcher.
    Pushing that unsettling thought aside, she
lapped up the water. All the while she drank, she watched the girl.
Braces sparkled on too-big teeth, arms and legs as narrow as
sticks, and ears like Disney’s Dumbo.
    Sorcha tensed, waiting for a vision of the
girl’s future.
    Nothing.
    So it wasn’t a fluke, this nothingness. It
was here to stay.
    An unfamiliar emotion filled her, and it took
a few seconds to identify. Happiness. So that’s what it felt like,
as though she swallowed sunshine.
    She took a bite of tuna—yummy!—then did a
little dance, her four legs bending up and down, a humming sound
coming out of her throat.
    The girl jumped up and sprinted toward her.
“Are you having a fit?”
    With a squeal, Sorcha dived back into the
bushes.
    “Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to
scare you. Look, I have to go to school. Come out and eat. You’re a
good kitty. Come.”
    Sorcha stayed where she was. Fletcher was
dead. How could she dance? What was this new body turning her
into?
    Even as she asked, she knew the answer. It
was turning her into a cat.

CHAPTER 9

    Max woke up in the guest room with a stiff
erection, a stiff back from the too soft mattress, and his mind
stiff too, stiff with determination.
    He wasn’t buying Sorcha’s amnesia story. But
something was behind her resolve to stay in a stranger’s house, and
he planned on finding out what it was. Maybe something to do with
the ring on her finger. Maybe an abusive relationship. She didn’t
seem like the kind of woman to let herself be abused, not with her
stubborn refusal to do what she didn’t want to do. But he’d heard
it could happen to anyone.
    He used Ted’s electric razor, which didn’t
give as smooth a shave as his own. Rubbing his jaw, he frowned at
his reflection. Two lines were etched between his brows. Frown
lines, not smile lines. He looked like a man who didn’t enjoy
life.
    That was going to change soon. But not today.
In addition to Sorcha, he had Belle to worry about. He hadn’t seen
her since yesterday morning. Sometimes she disappeared, but she
usually managed to sleep curled against his back.
    Was that Belle yesterday in the trees? If so,
why didn’t she come to him? And how had she stolen out of