All material on this site, except where otherwise explicitly stated, is copyright of the author known as Ann Somerville. All art, except where otherwise explicitly stated, is copyright of the artist known as Kiriko Moth

  I was an alien cat toy

Copyright © 2007 Ann Somerville

  Chapter 1

A sudden pitch by the podpod to the left and the instantaneous alarm response from the console snapped Temin to attention, his stomach almost turning inside out from the shock. He grabbed for the controls and fought to quell the prickle-sick of adrenaline, even as instinct guided his fingers and his responses, letting him rapidly assess the warning lights and system messages flying across the heads-up display.

“What the shefting crack was that?” he muttered, before realising just how bad the problem really was. Frantically he switched to manual to try and boost power, but it was hopeless. The FTL drive was dying–no, dead–and the sudden clarity of stars in front of his small observation window was like a slap in the face, the silence of dead engines loud as a drum as he stared into the endless night. “And where the hell am I?”

The HUD gave him the answer. Pexis system–a good forty light years from his home on Venshu. What the sheft was wrong with the FTL drive? He’d never heard of one of them failing before. He ran through the diagnostics, but communications with the FTL were down so he was getting no usable data. The sublight engines were...sheft it! He was losing power to virtually all the systems...but where...? He sent a chasing programme down the lines as he frantically shut everything but bare life support down. Artificial gravity was failing, and crap, even the CO2 scrubbers were struggling. He had to get into a breathable atmosphere and repair this or he was one dead spacer.

The alarms were more insistent now, and as the artificial gravity failed completely and his stomach lurched in response, he rapidly scanned the HUD, willing his heart to slow down so he could shefting think. Planet U67809 was reachable if his life support could hold on for another twenty hours, by no means assured, but it was the only possible option. With relief he felt the sublights kick in–he had to hand it to the engineers who demanded that the FTL and sublight systems were isolated. Unfortunately, they were the same engineers who insisted there was no point ensuring podpods were capable of atmospheric re-entry, so his gratitude wasn’t exactly unlimited.

Once the auto guidance programme took over, he could stop and analyse the results of his tracing prog. It looked like a whole bank of controls had failed, which just should not happen–unless he was hit by debris or something, but his shields had been good, and even now they were still operational. He couldn’t think what single unit could fail so catastrophically and take out so many essential systems, but that was why he had to land. Which was his next urgent problem. The artificial gravity failing had stopped the power leak almost entirely. Shutting down the rest of the inessentials had slowed the drain even more. He still needed to secure that because if he didn’t have enough power for the shields, the question of whether the sublights would slow his landing wouldn’t come into play. He’d just be a bright light in a sky and a few mysterious bits of litter on the ground.

He didn’t bother with the distress beacon–there were no sublight capable craft in this sector, and no civilisations capable of building any either. The data on the planet indicated the upper atmosphere was heavily ionised, so a signal might or might not get through. If he survived the landing, he could think about it then. If he couldn’t repair the FTL, he might not be able to achieve escape velocity with the sublights, but marooned and alive was still alive and he forced himself to focus on the achievable. Spending the next twenty hours thinking up worst case scenarios would do nothing for his chances, and right now, he need to garner all the good luck that positive thinking could possibly get him, because there wasn’t a shefting lot else going for him.

His first thought was ‘ouch’ quickly followed by ‘huh, not dead’. He spent the next few minutes assessing how much of him had survived the crash (apparently all, with no obvious breakages, so chalk one up to those whacky engineers again) and how much of the podpod had survived as well. The capsule had protected him just as designed, but the deceleration from the sublights hadn’t been quite enough to ensure a smooth landing, and he’d blacked out from the g-forces. The forward shields had held, he was sure. That didn’t mean he had a podpod that could take off again.

He snapped the harness catches and then opened the capsule. The viewscreen was intact and the structure wasn’t obviously damaged. Now to see if the same could be said of him...ouch. He winced as he climbed out, and his hips twisted. Despite the capsule padding, he’d been thrown around pretty thoroughly, and he was lucky only to be bruised. He took a few seconds to make sure he wasn’t overlooking an injury in the post-adrenalin come down, and then began checking his systems. The news was pretty bad–power levels nil, the console was dead, no HUD. As things stood, he had no hope of getting shields back up, unless he could find out what had caused the cascading power failure.

As he cracked the rear hatch, a blast of freezing air hit him in the face, so he hastily closed it again. Shefting shit, it was cold out there, and he’d never seen so much snow. His flight suit was well insulated, intended to give a vital few seconds’ survival in the vacuum of space, but he needed his gloves, and some kind of head covering, since he could hardly work in his EVA suit. He removed the microfibre lining of the EVA helmet and it made a cosy, if ungainly fit. Time to tackle the freezer again.

He was in a world of white and grey, with needles in every breath. Snow blasted into his eyes if he even turned slightly into the knife-like wind, almost penetrating the suit, and threatening to freeze-dry the little skin he’d left exposed. He really wished the pathetic survival kit on board had included things like gloves he could actually work in, and goggles, and, oh, he didn’t know, maybe enough food to last more than three days. But it didn’t, so all he could do was squint against the wind, and start clearing away the snow from the engine side. It was going to take a while. He only had his hands and an empty storage container to use as a shovel and the podpod’s rough landing had compacted the head-high snow into stone-hard ice.

When he thought he couldn’t dig another second, he was so shefting cold, he realised he could finally reach the panel covering the FTL controls. He did a little jig to try and get his blood circulating again in his feet and legs, scrubbed his ice-encrusted face clear of snow, then he popped the panel lock. With any luck he could....

Sheft it.

Temin stared in disbelief at the blackened mess that used to be quite a sophisticated and robust mechanism for travelling around the galaxy, and was now about as good for that as the snowflakes settling on the charred remains. A fire? In here? There was nothing that could...but then he reached in and pulled out a half-melted control box and realised this had been no accident, no quirk of fate or failure of engineering. Someone had put a bomb on his craft. Why? If they wanted to kill him, why do it this way?

He tossed the remains of the device back into the guts of the drive and slammed the panel cover down. So that meant no getting home the conventional way, and since the sublights would take over a hundred years to get him even close to Venshu, they weren’t much use either. He could set the beacon, sure–the solars in the roof of the podpod would power it until long after he was dead–but the chances of the signal escaping the atmosphere, and then someone actually picking it up, were so slight as to be non-existent. Effectively he was marooned for life on a planet with no other human inhabitants.

He allowed himself a moment’s panic, another moment to feel sorry for himself, and then he kicked himself in the pants. He was alive, uninjured, had shelter, some food, water, and weapons. If he could get the trickle charger working from the solars, in a day he would have access to limited scans, and the entire database of knowledge held in the main Venshu depository. That would give him maps, advice, and data on the planet. On his descent, he’d read U67809 had been a seed settlement but the colony had never been established. No one knew why, but just because a bunch of colonists five hundred years ago disappeared without trace, didn’t mean he couldn’t survive here. And he would.

He locked himself back inside the podpod, glad to get away from the wind and the featureless snowy landscape. He could live in the podpod for a while, though he couldn’t cook inside it and the bathroom facilities were definitely not going to see him through. The survival kit, which wasn’t really designed for terrestrial activities, didn’t contain anything as useful as a tent, or even an axe, though he had a full toolkit and a wicked-looking knife that Jeng had given him last year. He’d done an inventory during the descent and there had been nothing of any use to him in the anonymous boxes of chemicals he’d been carrying back from Nixal–they were still in their restraints, for all the good it did him, them and DCIR, the drug manufacturer who’d paid for the shipment. All he had apart from the kit was the remains of the food he’d bought on Nixal–just snacks, really–and a couple of shirts he’d bought in the markets. If he’d known he was going to be marooned, he’d have bought something more useful, but that line of thinking wasn’t going to help him either.

He set up the beacon and the trickle charger, then he could only wait until he could connect his handheld and download from the database. He settled into the passenger’s chair and stared gloomily out into the slowly darkening landscape–by his reckoning, the sun would set in about half a standard hour. He’d landed on the hemisphere just entering its cold season, which wouldn’t have been his choice but it was just how it worked out. This planet had a twenty-six standard hour revolution, years of five hundred standard days, ninety-two percent standard gravity. There were several large land masses but it was largely oceanic–in theory, it was so similar to the ancestral Terra, it should have made an ideal colony. But like three other groups, the initial colonisers had simply disappeared, and the policy was not to return to an unsuccessful seeding site. There was no need, not with dozens of habitable worlds, and FTL technology making the distances between them trivial. It had all seemed sensible to Temin when he was studying colonial history at school. Now, looking at a world and a future devoid of human company, he kind of wished the early governments had been a bit more persistent.

He was quite warm in the suit and the podpod, but he shivered as he looked at the snow covering the viewscreen. Could he do this? Survive? He’d done a little camping, knew the basics of fire starting and shelter building, but this world, this frigid territory, was nothing like he’d ever encountered before. If the person who’d planted the bomb had intended him to die, it was likely they’d succeeded. But he couldn’t think of a single person who even disliked him much, let alone wanted him dead.

And that, in a roundabout way, led his thoughts to Jeng. Would Jeng try to find him? Break regs and come searching? Temin hoped not. Jeng could look for fifty years and never find a clue to Temin’s location, and the last thing he wanted was anyone wasting their lives on something like that. Their commander would probably stop Jeng before he did something gallant and pointless that got his lover thrown out of the flight service. Temin hoped he would, anyway. Jeng was a good man, a really great guy. The best pilot on their wing, the best man Temin knew and the love of....

He rubbed his forehead and sighed. Jeng would kick his butt for sitting here and getting all maudlin over him. But it wasn’t just thinking about Jeng that was getting him down. His family wouldn’t know what happened to him, and that bothered him, bothered him more than the prospect of dying on this lonely planet. Tsuji and Liseng, they’d probably cope okay–they had their kids, their partners, jobs. They’d miss him, but they’d move on. But his Mum...if she didn’t find out what happened to him, she’d never have any peace. She didn’t deserve this, not after what happened to his Dad. Maybe he could send a databurst on repeat or something once he had some power. It was possible someone might pick it up eventually. Even if it took ten years or more, it would be something if he could make sure no one else suffered too much over this.

He rubbed his face and sighed. Thinking about all that wouldn’t help right now. He should eat, and get some rest–he’d not slept at all during the planet-wards descent and post-adrenalin fatigue was tugging at his eyelids. Sheft it, he was just too buggered to be bothered with a meal. He’d eat in the morning. In the morning, he could get on with things. He climbed back into the capsule and pulled his sole thermal blanket around him, wishing it was thicker and that he had a few more of them. “Stop it,” he told himself sternly. Wishing for the impossible wasn’t helpful either. That was one thing he’d learned from his father, before the stupid bastard had got himself killed in a speeder. Concentrate on the possible. The impossible makes you weak.

“Should be easy,” he muttered to himself. There wasn’t much that was possible right now.

Waking stiff and achy didn’t make it easy to keep a positive attitude, and surveying his meagre supplies as he selected one of the meals didn’t help either. But the charger had worked, and finally he was getting a response from the console, though the HUD remained offline and he had to use the tiny backup monitor to read data. It confirmed what he already suspected–that the FTL and sublight engines were offline or unresponsive and because of the mechanical damage, he couldn’t reroute power to the sublights from the secondary systems. He was able to boost the signal on the beacon a tad, and he could maintain minimal heating inside the podpod indefinitely.

He downloaded the database into the handheld as a backup should the main console fail again, and looking at the technical specs, he thought he could see a way to bypass the damaged area. It would take a while, but then he had all the time in the world–if he could find food. So that gave him a purpose, and he used that purpose to pull himself out of his growing funk. Find food, fix the podpod, boost the distress beacon signal, maybe even achieve escape velocity, and use the sublights to move within range of FTL capable craft. Simple. If nothing else, he could use the sublights to explore the surface of the planet.

But he only had a vague idea about how to go about getting food, and data on the lifeforms on this planet were sparse. As he slowly ate his breakfast, he read what information was available. He’d landed in the middle of the largest continent, about two thousands klicks from the nearest ocean. There were several large mountain ranges crossing the landmass, but none were within six hundred klicks of him. Mineralogical analysis indicated soil fertility was good and Terra-like, so he had to hope there were some plants he could eat, but he was no botanist, and had rarely given much thought to the raw materials of food beyond what was being served in the canteen–or his mother’s kitchen–on any given day. The reality of his situation began to make him despair again.

“Concentrate on the possible,” he muttered, as he switched on the scanner. The first few sweeps indicated nothing, which didn’t surprise him, but wasn’t exactly heartening, but then...there. Several moving lifeforms, of at least human size, about a klick west of him. Potential prey–and if there was one thing Temin could shefting well do, it was shoot accurately. If he could bring down a decent sized animal–and he’d worry about how to cook it if he did–that would be a shefting good start on his plan to get out of here.

He prepared a light pack with a meal, energy bars, water, medical kit and the knife. He decided he’d take both guns, since he had no idea how hard the animals would be to kill. The small scanner he put in his breast pocket so he could find the podpod again–he didn’t trust that white, unforgiving terrain to offer any clues–and after a little consideration, he put the handheld into the pack as well.

“Right.” He hoisted the gear onto his shoulders. “Pyr Temin, the mighty hunter, goes forth.” He hit the control for the hatch, put the shield cum cloaking device on time delay and prepared himself for the frigid blast.

It had stopped snowing, and the wind had dropped, but according to the scanner, it was still something like twenty below zero. No worse than the vacuum of space, he told himself. He just had to keep moving and check for–what did the database call it? Frostbite. Simple.

Only walking through snow wasn’t easy at all. Every step made him sink down to his knees, and he had to drag not only his boots but several kilos of snow up with them to free his feet and advance. He couldn’t work out how the lifeforms he was reading on the scanner were able to move around so easily and quickly. Were they birds? They weren’t moving fast enough for birds, and besides, they were shefting huge to be flying. He gritted his teeth and trudged on. He had to hope he didn’t have to sneak up on those things to get a bead on one of them.

He was aiming for a stand of extremely tall twisted black trees, and the snow grew less dense the closer he got, which made walking slightly less of a chore. As he approached, he saw movement, and then something large and dark leaping among the branches. That explained the speed–but it didn’t make catching them any easier. He drew closer, using the unizoom to get a better look–hell, they looked like the monkeys he’d seen in history books of old Terra, or some of the primate-like animals that were common on Nixal. Long reddish fur, long fluffy tails, probably not carnivorous but he couldn’t take that for granted. Now he’d stopped and could get his eye in, he spotted one gnawing on some plant material high in the tree a few metres ahead of him. He pulled out the pulse pistol, but before he could take aim, the shefting thing had buggered off. The air was suddenly full of screeching calls and snow clumps knocked from branches–there had to be fifty of the creatures, dancing in outrage and screaming at him. He was supposed to be intimidated, he guessed.

The problem was choosing a target–they were moving around so much, focussing on an individual was impossible. He had no experience of hunting–didn’t hunters drive their prey or something? The screaming, jumping animals seemed to be mocking him for his uselessness–yeah, definitely mocking. Oh, charming. “I’ll piss on you too if I catch you,” he yelled, jumping out of the way of the bright yellow stream, and shaking his fist. If he ever got out of this, he was going to suggest monkey-hunting went to the top of the list for new flight recruit training.

This is hopeless, he thought, scrubbing the piss off his arm with a handful of snow. Maybe if he moved on and ignored them, they’d settle down and he could take one of them by surprise. He vaguely remembered a documentary about some large carnivores on Narn doing that, but it was a long time ago and it had been computer generated, so maybe it wasn’t such a good authority. But it was all he had to go on. He put an harmless grin on his face, holstered the pistol and did his best to saunter casually through the trees, an effect spoiled immediately by his tripping over a tree root. He could swear the hairy bastards were laughing at him.

He straightened up, but as he started to walk on, the monkeys started screaming again, bouncing through the trees, and in seconds were gone as if they had never been. Sheft! What had scared them? Temin could swear it wasn’t him–they hadn’t even been looking at him. Maybe they were just flighty anyway, and a change in the wind had startled them. But now he was without prey–or was he? He pulled out the scanner. The monkeys were moving away from him, but there was still something large to his left. Something large and unmoving. Had to be worth checking out, seeing how he’d trudged all this way. He put the scanner away and drew his pistol again.

It was now very quiet, the monkey screams all but a memory. The air was still among the trees, the light dull and shadowless through branches and scanty leaves so dark green they looked as black as the tree bark from a distance. It was all a bit creepy, and a shiver ran up Temin’s spine that had nothing to do with the bitter cold. For a yien, he’d have turned tail and headed back to the podpod, but he still had to solve his food supply problem, and that wouldn’t happen if he acted like a coward. He scrubbed at his frozen nose and made himself walk confidently.

The animal wasn’t moving–it might be asleep, which would make it easier. Whatever it was, was huge. Might need the stun rifle. He holstered his pistol again, still walking, and reached behind him for the rifle. As his hand touched the butt of the weapon, his foot caught on something–he barely had time to look down and realise it wasn’t a tree root before he found himself being swept up into the air by the ankle, entangled in a thick net of ropes. Every movement he made, every struggle, just enmeshed him more–he couldn’t even get a hand free to find his knife or reach the pistol again.

Shefting crack. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to calm down. He didn’t know what this was, or who’d set it, but first he had to get out of it. He waited until he stopped swinging, and worked out he was about three metres off the ground–a far from impossible drop onto snow if he could just cut the shefting ropes.

He inched his fingers along to his utility belt to his knife. He could see now that the ‘ropes’ were actually leather, braided tight–did that mean there were humans on this planet after all? Maybe this was actually good news for him.

The thought cheered him up no end, until he heard a low growl, and twisted towards the noise.

It was kind of ironic, he thought, swallowing hard against a suddenly dry throat as an enormous paw, scythe-like claws extended, came sweeping towards his face–of all the ways he thought he was going to be killed on this planet, death by giant cat wasn’t even on the shefting list.

“Uncle Gredar! You’re back! How did the gathering go?”

Gredar chuckled as Buhi bounded across the well-swept courtyard and rubbed his head enthusiastically against Gredar’s jaw, while Greder ran his clawed hand carefully through Buhi’s luscious fur. “Fine, fine. You’ve been behaving yourself, I hope.”

Buhi’s tail twitched in annoyance. “Grandmother’s had me working like a keriv since you left. I haven’t had time to misbehave.”

Gredar chuckled again, knowing that his wise mother had most likely planned it that way. “Poor Buhi,” he said, rubbing his face affectionately against his nephew’s. “I’m back now, so you can play.”

“Play with you?” Buhi asked slyly, twining their tails suggestively.

Gredar pushed him off. “Go find a grooming mate your own age, kit. I’m too old for you.”

“Not what I heard. Filwui’s been telling us....”

“What’s not fit for youngsters’ ears, no doubt,” Gredar said, cuffing the younger daiyne’s shoulder. “Now, off with you, or you’ll be wishing your grandmother was still keeping you busy.”

Buhi gave him a cheeky chirrup and loped off, clearly glad to be let off his duty. Gredar shook his head ruefully and shouldered his pack again. Gone a moonsweep and the place went to rack and ruin.

The courtyard of his mother’s house was busy, as always, with daiynes of both sexes entering and leaving, some with kits at their side, others bearing goods for the household. He was greeted cheerfully by many of the visitors, several coming over to rub jaws or touch noses, and even whispering invitations to come visit more privately later. Gredar groomed and greeted and was a little surprised, as he usually was, that a daiyne of his age should still be a desirable mate, even for fun. Not that he minded rising to the challenge, not at all. But Filwui was usually as much as he could handle, and his younger clan mate took a lot of handling.

He found his mother in one of the sunwarmed front workrooms, a favourite retreat from the bustle of the rest of the house, where he and Jilen had played many a time in their younger days.

“Gredar! I was hoping you’d be home soon.” She extended a hand to him, and he knelt, allowing her to scritch his head as he rubbed extravagantly against her shoulder, inhaling her familiar, comforting scent.

She was minding two kitlings, Jilen’s new offspring, barely a moonsweep old when he’d left for the clan gathering, and a handful and a half for a much younger female than his mother. She was struggling now to control them as they tried to crawl over her legs while she was greeting him. “Weikil, Shiri, now now,” she said, hauling them back, but they squirmed and started to complain. She sighed in a put-upon way. “Four strikes they’ve been awake, and not still the whole time. If Jilen wasn’t so busy with her patients, I’d take them down to her.”

Gredar thought he might be able to help. He picked the youngsters up by their scruffs and brought them close to his face so they could smell his breath and his scent. “Settle down, kitlings,” he said in a low, even voice, and then licked them both on the tummy until they were limp and purring. He settled them on his lap and began to comb their fur with his half-extended claws, using his strength and size to comfort and control. He’d seen so many kits in thirty cycles. His mother’s clan was large and fecund, and he was always in demand as a guardian. Yet he still found the youngsters such a joy–especially when they could be persuaded to calm down and fall asleep with a bit of careful handling.

“Oh, thank you, dear. They’re being so boisterous today, and I’ve got so many things to attend to. Have you been to your workroom yet?”

“Not yet,” he said as she stood and stretched, clearly trapped for too long in the one position by her little charges. She was getting a bit too old for this, though she did adore her grandchildren and even great-grandchildren. “But I’m yours to command, Mother, as always.”

She lightly gripped his neck in affection. “You were missed, my son. Buhi tries, but he’s got none of your patience and the kits do misbehave around him.”

“He’s still a kit himself...what’s that?” He squinted over to the far corner of the room, where a strange hairless creature was huddling.

“Oh! My new pet, though I think I might have taken on more than I can handle.”

Gredar frowned. His mother hadn’t kept a jopa in years, always saying that she had more than enough pets with all the kitlings in the household. She walked over to the animal and unwound a rope from a hook in the wall, then tugged it to its feet. With some reluctance, it let her pull it over to Gredar, where she made it sit close by him. “What is it? A jopa?” Instinctively he raised his hands to guard his precious charges–no harm had ever come to a kit in his care, and he wasn’t going to allow it now, though the animal wasn’t acting in any way threatening.

“We think so,” she said, giving the thing a slightly puzzled glance. It was like no jopa he’d ever seen. Apart from a long mane of black hair which someone had taken the trouble to braid, and a tuft of the same colour between its legs, it was completely naked of any fur. It also had no tail, which looked very peculiar on its bare rump, but for all that, it was elsart–well-proportioned, and the bare skin was an attractive colour, a light even brown, like dried clay of fine quality. “I took it to Martek. He couldn’t find a record of a similar creature in any of the histories. His best guess is that it’s merely an aberrant form.”

Gredar reached and touched the animal’s shoulder–it flinched away from his hand. “Nervous, isn’t it? Where did you get it? It’s a male–are you going to cut it?”

She sighed, rubbing her clan medallion absently. “Truly, I considered it, it was such a nuisance in the beginning. Karwa caught it on a hunting trip–he was going to butcher it but then he thought I might find it elsart. Which I did, but it’s been no end of trouble–it has a dreadfully finicky stomach, can’t eat meat unless it’s cooked, and you daren’t let it off the chain or it tries to run off. It gets into everything if it’s left alone in the kitchen or my workroom. I suspect its former owner wasn’t sorry to lose it.” Gredar cocked his head at his mother quizzically. “Karwa’s sure it’s an escaped pet. It was wearing some odd ornaments, and its hair was braided. But no one’s trained it, that’s for sure.”

“It’s behaving now.” Gredar shifted the kitlings carefully so he could lean forward and take a closer look at the oddity. Its eyes were dark brown like other jopas, but rather larger and the wrong shape, and no jopa had this long tail of hair on its head, nor fur this deep, pure black. “Does it make any noise?”

“When Karwa first brought it, it never shut up. It’s settled down now, but don’t let it fool you–it’s a little terror.”

The jopa stared up at Gredar, nostrils flared. Gredar wondered how clever it was–some jopas were very cunning, in an animal way, which made them amusing but also something of a nuisance. He could understand why Karwa thought it might be a suitable gift for his grandmother, but she had more than enough to deal with. “Perhaps you should cut it after all.”

“I would, but Martek thought it might be possible to breed from it. I’m not interested for myself, but you know what he’s like, always trying new things and investigating. I told him he should take it as a pet but he said he was worried what it would do to his books.”

Gredar chuckled–after the loyalty to the clan and Kadit herself, nothing was as important to their historian than his books. “Gredar, dear, you don’t want it, do you? You’re so good with the young ones–maybe you could train it properly.”

“Me? But I’m due to travel again in half a moonsweep.”

“Well, you could take it for that long.”

His mother looked harassed, and though he doubted it was because of this animal, Gredar hated to have her upset for such a trivial cause. He rubbed his head against her hand. “Yes, of course I can. Now, do you want to take these two mischiefs back or should I see if their older brother can handle two soundly sleeping kitlings?”

“Oh, Buhi will rouse them up again. Let me take them, but if you could let Jilen know they’ll need feeding in a half-strike, I’d be grateful.”

“Certainly.” He passed the two kitlings carefully to her–they didn’t stir and looked as peaceful as he was sure they were not when awake–then picked up the jopa’s leash. “Did you name him?”

“Yes–I thought ‘Kirin’ suited him.”

Gredar laughed. “That’s mean, mother.” ‘Bald one’–accurate but hardly flattering.

“It’s not like it has feelings to be offended,” she said, with a whimsical flick of her ear. “The only good thing about it is that it doesn’t bite. It did try to use its fists and feet but after a few smacks, it stopped. It’s easy to get it under control that way–it’s not even as strong as a young jopa–but it’s not how a pet should be trained.”

Gredar had to agree. “Perhaps breeding from it would be a bad idea. Up you get, Kirin.” He tugged the leash and noted with amusement that it put its hands over its rather obvious genitals. No jopa he’d seen had exposed its kala in this fashion when not in use. Most likely it had been driven out of its troop for its strangeness–such was the way of jopas, who were quite vicious towards their own kind.

“Oh, and you can’t let it go outside. It nearly froze to death one night when Buhi put it out for being a nuisance. Jilen had to work quite hard to save its life.”

“It has no fur–couldn’t Buhi work that out for himself?” Gredar growled a little in irritation. Buhi could be a bit of a fool sometimes. “I’ll take it upstairs. Buhi can make himself useful and bring its bedding.”

“Thank you, dear.” He bent forward and accepted an affectionate nuzzle, raked his unclawed fingers very gently down the tummies of the sleeping kits, then tugged his new pet to follow him. “Come on, Kirin. Let’s see if you like your new quarters.”

Temin didn’t even think of resisting the enormous male who now seemed to be in charge of him. Not only could the youngest of these towering cat people outrun him with ease and knock him down with the slightest force from their powerful paws, he had nowhere to run to. It was still winter, he didn’t know how far he’d been taken from the podpod, he had no clothes or weapons or transport to help him get back there, and after six weeks of lousy food and worse sleep, of sitting on stone floors and being yanked around by his neck and occasionally his hair, he was exhausted and sick. It was just easier to let this big cat-man pull him along and hope the shefting bugger wouldn’t knock him around too much.

There was equally no point in trying to make himself understood. He’d yelled himself hoarse in those first few days after he was captured, but that only seemed to amuse or annoy his new owners. Their own speech sounded nothing more than growls and purrs and chirps to his ears, yet they were clearly having proper conversations–he could only assume he sounded just as incomprehensible to them.

They were going to the kitchen. Temin didn’t mind that. It was warm there, and after nearly dying a month ago because no one had realised their pathetic human pet couldn’t survive the outdoor temperatures here without the cat people’s beautiful, thick pelts, warmth wasn’t something he took for granted. The house temperature was well above freezing thanks to the kitchen’s huge oven and closed heaters powered by wood in some of the rooms, but the stone floors were cold, and it didn’t occur to anyone that he might find them chilly. He was left most days to sit in corners or at the feet of the female who seemed to own the house, his arse turning to ice and his back knotting up in tension. He’d thought himself relatively hardy and fit before all this–now he felt three times his age, and wondered if his joints would ever recover.

The kitchen ran day and night, feeding the dozens of occupants, visitors, and other pets–some birds in cages, and at least six of the monkey things, leashed and collared as he was. Temin had learned to keep well clear of them–they bit and saw him as an enemy. He looked around warily now, but there were none to be seen, just a busy, well-equipped kitchen preparing the evening meal. A carcass big as a man was being roasted on a spit on the far side, and he could smell bread being baked. It made him hungry, but he knew better than to expect the food to actually taste as good as it smelled.

There were twenty or so of the cat people working or idling in the kitchen, and they greeted Temin’s keeper enthusiastically. Most of the workers came over to lick or pat him, running their claws down his arms and back in a way that looked terrifying but which was obviously some kind of friendly gesture. Once everyone had said hello, he spoke to one of the females apparently about Temin’s bed, and the hated litter tray, pointing and gesturing that made it clear he was asking for something to be done with them as she nodded. So things were going to change for him–Temin didn’t know if that was good or bad yet. He wondered why the head female had given him away now. Maybe they just did that kind of thing.

He would never find out, most likely. Some nights, the idea that not only was he going to spend the rest of his life without human company but it was going to be spent in confusion and ignorance too, forced tears from him that even missing Jeng could not. Sometimes it made him scream at the cat people in raw frustration at their inability to understand him even a little bit. All it ever earned him was a pat, the gentleness of which depended on how irritated he’d made the nearest cat-person. He didn’t do that so much now.

The big male was talking to another male. It had taken him a while to tell individuals apart. He could just about distinguish some of the females by their fur markings, and many of them wore elaborate pendants and bangles which he was starting to recognise, but the males came and went so often, he had yet to work out how many there were, and who was who. But this big green-eyed fellow, the one with the firm hand on his leash and a pendant like a golden starburst around his neck–Temin was sure he’d never seen him before. It was eery how much they resembled Terran felines–not the domestic cats, but the great, now extinct wild cats. He’d once seen photos of cheetahs, and these animals reminded him strongly of them, only without the spots. He couldn’t get used to the fact they were bipedal–he kept expecting them to drop oto all fours, but he’d never seen any of them do that except to pick something up or play with a youngster.

Now the shefting leash was tugged again, the male having finished his conversation. He picked up a bowl of food and rubbed his face against the female who gave it to him–they did that a lot, rubbing their heads against each other. That and casual fucking. Hardly a day went past that he didn’t see one or other of the adults bent over a table in the kitchen or the storeroom, being enthusiastically taken, before getting up and going on with their routine. It seemed to mean about as much to them as a kiss. Very strange, and a little disturbing too.

He was led through the house again, and to his surprise, found he was being taken up to the next floor. The stairs weren’t human scale, and seeing the way Temin struggled with the outsize treads, the male just picked Temin up, cupped a hand under his butt, and carried him, while Temin’s skin flushed hot in embarrassment. This was worse than the shefting litter tray!

Utterly unaware of his feelings, the male carried him as if he weighed nothing, as if Temin was a tenth his size and not nearly half. But he was also careful with him as some of the others had not. Temin didn’t feel he had to worry about being dropped and having his backside bruised for a week or more as had happened twice now. This one seemed to be used to carrying things with care–he’d handled those two kittens downstairs like he did it all the time. Maybe he was the tribe’s babysitter or something.

The male continued to carry him even once they’d climbed the stairs, Temin on one arm, the bowl of food held in the crook of the other. Temin thought about struggling to be put down, but the creature’s thick, tawny fur was warm and soft against his bare skin, and all he was likely to do was earn himself a cuff to the head, so he behaved himself. He’d not been taken to the upper floors yet–to him, this house was enormous, but then everything was, built to the scale of residents whose adults were four metres high and where even the children overtopped him. Only the fact that they didn’t seem to use chairs of any kind meant Temin could see over the tops of tables and desks here.

Up to now, he’d been forced to sleep either in the kitchen or in a store room next to it, on an admittedly luxurious fur covered cushion, but he’d still been far from warm or comfortable. He’d never seen any of the private quarters, so despite his general depression at his situation, he was curious to see something new. It turned out to be a spacious, airy room, the walls, like all those on the lower floor, intricately and brightly decorated with images of the cat people and their world. Filtered light came through long banks of glass bricks in the ceiling–ventilation, as downstairs, was through slits in the wall, and here, in the roof, though the vents seemed to be closed for the moment. To one side stood a polished reddish wood desk with the usual cushion in front of it, and a low bed that looked nearly the size of a podpod, covered with furs, with a carved headboard that looked very old. There were a couple of furry bolsters, but no pillows, sheets or blankets–Temin hadn’t seen cloth of any kind the whole time he’d been captive, but since the cat people didn’t wear clothes, maybe that wasn’t surprising. They used soft leather for towels and wiping things down, which meant there was very little Temin could steal and use as a replacement for his missing clothing.

He might find something in this male’s quarters, though. Maybe if he acted like a perfectly well-behaved pet, this one might trust him enough to let him off the leash. The feel of it around his throat had made him want to vomit from fear and disgust at first, and though he was getting used to it, he still hated it.

He was set down once the door was closed, though the male kept a firm paw on Temin’s leash, talking to Temin the whole time, or at least, vocalising, much as Temin would do himself to a pet cat. The irony that he was supposed to be reassured that the giant predator with the knife-like claws wouldn’t hurt him, didn’t escape him. But the male wasn’t threatening him, was in fact paying him a lot of apparently well-meant attention.

There was a low table at the far end of the room where the male set the bowl of food, and now he tugged Temin over to sit, apparently expecting him to wait with him while he ate. Temin’s leash was tied securely around one of the short legs but with enough play for him to move around if he needed to. Temin reluctantly sat on the cold floor, which meant the top of his head was about level with the table. The male stared at him for a moment or so, then made an odd noise and stood up to fetch the cushion from in front of the desk. Temin, shocked by this sudden consideration, was urged to stand and the cushion placed where he could sit on it.

The relief from the stone floor was immediate–and now he was high enough to at least see what was on the table instead of just its edge. Temin stared at the male who was vocalising at him again–maybe asking if he liked it. Temin smiled and patted the cushion, hoping that conveyed some of his gratitude. At least it seemed to satisfy the male who sat down on his own cushion, his long, thick-furred tail coiled neatly around him.

A plate and knife was retrieved from a drawer under the table–a real bachelor set up if Temin had ever seen one–and then the cooked food was doled out onto the plate. At least the male wasn’t eating raw meat, which was about half of what the cat people ate from what Temin could tell. They’d tried to make him eat it the first couple of days, but it had made him vomit uncontrollably. The raw vegetables they’d tried next were almost worse, and Temin hadn’t been sure if he would die of food poisoning or starvation first. Finally they’d worked out he could eat cooked meat and vegetables, bread, some of the fruit and a kind of tasteless nut which wasn’t plentiful or appealing, but at least didn’t make him want to throw up. The problem was, they gave him too little of the nutritious stuff he could eat, and the rest was just watery stodge without much protein. He’d lost weight, he knew that–another reason he was in no position to make a run for it.

He suddenly found a manageable piece of cooked, pale green vegetable shoved in front of his face, held on the knife the male was using for his own meal. Temin blinked up at his owner–was he supposed to eat it off the knife? The male was waiting patiently, no sign that he was irritated by Temin’s hesitation. Temin decided he didn’t quite have enough courage to put anything sensitive near the wicked looking blade, so he pulled the vegetable off the knife and held it in his hands. The male made a little chirrup when he did that–he didn’t sound annoyed–and placed a small dish in front of Temin to catch any falling food. Protecting the lovingly polished wood of this handsome inlaid table was the most human thing Temin had seen any of them doing, and it made his throat close up a little in homesickness.

Observing him falter in his eating, the male cocked his head as if concerned. Temin smiled and made himself stuff some of the vegetable into his mouth. It was protein-poor, and rather bland, like nearly everything else he’d eaten–they didn’t seem to go in for spices or herbs at all–but he’d eaten it before, so he knew it wouldn’t kill him.

As soon as he finished the vegetable, he found a large piece of meat shoved in front of him. He took it, but then was at a loss to know what to do with it–it was easily a kilo or more in weight, and he had nothing to cut it with. He put it on the plate, thinking he would have to gnaw at it in some way, but then he heard a low growl. His guts turned to ice as he slowly looked up, expecting a blow at the very least, and he flinched as the huge knife descended. But all that happened was that the meat was speared and removed, taken back to the male’s plate, and returned in smaller pieces Temin could easily manage. He was so dumbstruck, he could only stare in surprise–the male stared back, apparently waiting for his response. Temin reached out and took a bit of the meat, and smiled. “Good!” he said cheerfully, and mimed eating heartily. The male chirped and then touched Temin’s arm gently with one huge paw–a paw that could easily kill him but which now, with claws sheathed, felt like being caressed by a furry cushion. Then Temin was left to eat his meat in peace.

The male was watching him again as he finished what he could–they always gave him too much, but it was better than too little, he supposed, and the meat was welcome. Temin decided a little physical display of gratitude would probably work better than smiles, since he doubted his expressions meant much to these creatures. He reached over and put his hand on the male’s thickly-furred arm, digging his fingers in carefully–he jumped as the male lifted his other hand, but it was only so he could pet Temin, just as carefully. A low purr came from that massive throat, loud as a drill.

And it was then he realised, he’d been going about this all wrong. He’d been acting like he was a slave or a prisoner, the helpless pawn of these huge bastards, and he’d missed the really important thing–he was a pet. And pets got their owners to do all kinds of things for them without any need for language. He’d seen for himself how cats had normally intelligent and independent humans running to their beck and call with a few well-placed yowls and carefully doled out acts of apparent affection. Shefting shit, he’d even learned about it in school–why the human colonists had brought some animals with them which had no economic or nutritional importance. Humans needed the emotional rewards of grooming, of caring, and while children and friends could fulfil that to a certain extent, pets offered so much in that way to their human carers that it overrode their relative uselessness as food animals. These cat people must have the same basic urges–and if Temin wanted to make his lot more comfortable, he would have to ‘train’ his owner just as cats and dogs had done Terrans for thousands of years.

So he’d just discovered that touch was appreciated–maybe he could try that head rubbing thing that the cat people went in for. Tentatively he bent and rubbed his forehead along the furred arm, and the purr got a little louder, the petting a little more enthusiastic. He started to suppress a grin then wondered why he was bothering–if by some miracle they ever worked out what his facial expressions meant, they still wouldn’t realise he was attempting to manipulate them. He was just a dumb animal to them.

He let the male pet him for a little bit, but then sat up and stretched–no point in letting the guy think that Temin was easy, after all. The male let him go immediately, unusually respectful of his wishes, then got to his feet, removing the food and dishes to a side room Temin couldn’t see into. The male–Temin thought he should really start to name these creatures to keep them straight–returning with a cleaning leather, kneeling and taking Temin’s hands carefully to wipe them, then his face. This, Temin was used to, because these cat people were as fastidious as their little Terran cousins–only they liked water too, unfortunately, and had given him several unwelcome freezing cold baths to satisfy their need for hygiene.

But none of them had been this gentle before, and Temin found it soothing. The male–Temin decided he would call him Xexe, after a large cat his aunt had owned when he was small–wiped his own face and muzzle, then returned the cloth to wherever he’d got it. Temin stretched out on the cushion–leather too, but soft and supple against his skin, such a pleasure after stone floors–and thought that this wasn’t so bad, compared to how it had been and how much worse it could be. Things might be taking a turn for the better, at last.

Gredar chuckled to himself as he cleaned the dishes–his new pet was far better behaved than his mother had led him to believe, and quite a delight. Jopas could be such noisy, unsettled creatures, but this one sat nicely and made small but charming sounds–one could call it well-mannered in fact. He wondered if the trouble his mother had had with it was more than a little down to the carelessness of the younger kits like Buhi, and a simple misunderstanding of how to put the animal at its ease. Kirin’s nakedness was a challenge–the poor thing had to be cold all the time. However could it have survived in the wild? Perhaps it had been taken as a pet as a youngster, and had never lived outdoors for long. He also wondered how old it was–it was likely to be an adult, but it was such an oddity, nothing about it could be taken for granted.

He would have to make some sketches–already he could imagine the decorations on a set of dishes. Perhaps a gift for his mother on her birthday. Yes, that would be the very thing. It was several moonsweeps away, and even with the next gathering not long in coming, he would have time. He might take Kirin with him to the gathering–it would cause a sensation once the other clans got a look at him.

He heard the door opening and then an angry screech from his pet–he hastily went out into the room and found Filwui crouching in front of Kirin while the jopa cringed back against the table leg. “Leave him be, Filwui,” he warned, as his grooming mate reached out a hand to tug at Kirin’s hair.

Filwui gave a little growl of frustration as he stood. “I was only looking. What are you doing with it? I thought it was Kadit’s.”

“She gave it to me, and why are we talking about a jopa when I’ve not seen you in nearly a moonsweep?”

Filwui chirruped and flung himself at Gredar, claws extended and teeth bared in lust. Gredar took him hard and fast over the desk, biting Filwui’s neck with less care than he’d give a more inexperienced lover, and breathing his familiar scent in with joy, reanointing Filwui with his own scent, claiming him. Ah, he’d missed Filwui. Casual couplings were fine, but there was something about having someone hard and warm to curl up against in the evening.

Filwui pulled him onto the bed when they were done, and began to rake his claws down Gredar’s back as Gredar stretched extravagantly on the furs and said, “I hear you’ve been filling Buhi’s head with nonsense about my technique.” He turned and looked over his shoulder–Filwui’s yellow eyes were full of mischief, but this was nothing new.

“The kitling’s a little gullible, is that my fault?”

“If my mother learns what you’re telling her grandson, you’ll have to explain yourself to her. The lad’s more than a handful already–the cheeky brat propositioned me in the street today.” Filwui only laughed at Gredar’s pout. “You’d think these white hairs would earn me some respect, but no....”

Filwui bent and licked at Gredar’s muzzle where those white hairs told the world that Gredar was an old daiyne and deserving of kindness. “I respect you,” Filwui growled, and Gredar felt himself tighten with need again, for all that he’d just spent his lust so forcefully.

He surged and flipped his young mate, pinning him down, biting his neck almost to blood point. Filwui began to purr, his claws retracting and extending in reflex as he rubbed his groin against Gredar. Gredar held him down long enough to exert proper dominance, then moved down and licked his unruly lover to climax while Filwui squirmed and purred and clawed at him.

Gredar loomed over him when he was done. “Respect me always, kitling,” he murmured, rubbing his face against Filwui’s jaw.

“I can’t. I’m dead.”

Gredar chuckled and rolled off him, keeping a proprietary hand on Filwui’s powerful chest. “So, dead one, tell me your news.”

They lay together, tails companionably entwined while Filwui brought him up to date, and Gredar told him all the gossip from the gathering. “And did many females present to you?” Filwui asked, his tail sliding slyly between Gredar’s legs.

“One or two.” More than Gredar could have expected, actually. He could have sworn at least one of them was even in her fertile phase, which seemed a little unwise. Gatherings were notoriously wanton affairs, but he would have thought a fertile female would be looking for a male of proven potency, and not an old daiyne like himself. “I know you’ve been busy–I don’t even need to ask.”

“It’s my duty to the clan, you know that.”

Gredar poked him. “Duty to your balls, you mean,” and Filwui flicked an ear at him. “You should come to the next gathering.”

“Can’t. We’ll be raising the new barn and stables soon and that will take at least a moonsweep to complete. Kadit will eat me if I don’t apply myself.”

“She might well do.”

Filwui nodded absently, his eyes drifting across the room to the jopa. “You still didn’t explain how you ended up with it. Can I have a look? Kadit never let me get close enough–she said it was too bad-tempered.”

“It’s not, actually.” Feeling a little guilty at abandoning his pet just as he was trying to settle it in, Gredar got up and went over to the table under which Kirin was still hiding. “Come on, pretty one–he won’t hurt you.”

Kirin was reluctant but with a couple of gentle tugs on his leash, he was persuaded to leave his refuge. Gredar brought him over to the bed, but before he could place him on it, Filwui lifted his hands in protest. “Careful–they’re dirty things.”

“Kirin’s not, and he’s got lovely manners.”

“That’s not what your mother said.”

“My mother had Buhi looking after him–the idiot doesn’t have the first idea how to care for an animal or a kit, you know that. Look at him–does he seem dirty? The biggest problem is that he’s probably cold all the time. Here–let him onto the bed.”

Kirin sat down in his dainty fashion, hands folded over his groin–of course Filwui would notice that. “Is he hiding something?”

“No, it’s just his way. Shhh, it’s all right, Kirin,” he murmured, tugging his pet’s hands away so Filwui could see his strange hair arrangement.

“‘Kirin’?”

“Yes, I know. A torgu name for an elsart creature. I might rename him. Right now, I’m just settling him in.” Filwui reached a hand out to touch Kirin’s braid–the jopa flinched and tried to move away from him. “Don’t tease him–but that reminds me, I was going to tidy this up. Want to help?”

“I’ve never seen such a thing before, on a jopa or anything else.”

“I know. I want to find out more about him–there might be more of his kind and we could breed them. They’d make excellent trade items at gatherings.”

“Hmmm,” Filwui said, beginning to undo Kirin’s braid as Gredar fetched a brush. Kirin clearly didn’t like someone else being in the room, but considering his nervousness, he was behaving beautifully.

Filwui had shifted his exploration from Kirin’s hair to his body–his lower body. As Kirin sat rigid, his paws in tight fists, Filwui stroked his fingers over those peculiar genitals. “Strange, very strange. Look–he’s getting excited.”

“I don’t think he likes you touching him like that,” Gredar protested mildly.

“Nonsense–he’s enjoying it. See? His kala is hard. Maybe we should find him a female to fuck. Poor thing will be lonely if we don’t get him mated.”

Gredar very much doubted Kirin’s welfare was of any real interest to Filwui–his kala was though. It was a strange thing–blunt and rather thick, as thick and nearly as long as an adult daiyne’s even though the jopa’s body was less than half the size of any grown member of their clan. And it was also odd that the kala was hard without there being anything there for Kirin to fuck. Gredar tried to remember what a jopa’s kala normally looked like, but he had to confess he’d paid little attention to the animals before now, and their genitals were hidden in thick fur just as a daiyne’s was. It might be that any jopa would look like this if they were shaved–he’d have to ask Jilen about it.

Filwui suddenly bent and sniffed hard at Kirin’s kala, then licked it, making Gredar’s pet cry out. Gredar touched Filwui’s shoulder. “What are you...?”

“It’s...Gredar, you have to....” Filwui’s voice was rather strangled and harsh–he ran his hand roughly over Kirin’s groin then shoved it into Gredar’s face, against his nose. “Can’t you smell it? Taste it?”

It was...rather musky, salty, and not particularly pleasant. “Filwui, I don’t....”

Suddenly, it hit, like...having claws in his hips and a tongue on his kala...he felt hot and desperate to.... “Paznitl! Filwui, I need....”

“Me too!” Filwui bent over the bed, his swishing tail demanding attention. “Now! Gredar!”

Gredar needed no urging, finding Filwui’s taeng open and ready for him, but even as he fucked Filwui so hard he was sure he had to be causing an injury, he was amazed at his reaction. What was in Kirin’s scent that was so potent?

He spent very quickly, his hips jerking in the aftershocks, and then, exhausted from the sudden passion and lust so rapidly sated, he hung over his lover’s body like a gutted kizaz. His pet, tethered too close to them for comfort, had retreated to the extent of the leash and was watching him warily with wide eyes, his unbound hair all around his body. “Sorry, Kirin,” Gredar murmured, apologising for frightening him.

“Never mind your paznit animal, get off me.”

Gredar growled at the blatant disrespect from his inferior, and dug a reprimanding claw in Filwui’s haunch, making him whine, before climbing off him.

Filwui flopped on the bed. “That was....”

“Most peculiar,” Gredar said, sitting next to him. His kala still twitched as if it would be ready for another round. He didn’t know where the energy for this was coming from at all.

“I was going to say, ‘wonderful’.” Filwui flicked an ear at him. “I have a new appreciation for why you wanted this thing for a pet. Does your mother know about this?”

“No, and you’re not to tell her.”

Filwui sat up on his elbows to look at him. “Why not?”

“Because it’s...torgu.”

Filwui scoffed. “It’s not. It’s just another oddity about your pet. Now if we could put whatever it is he produces into a pot, we could increase the clan wealth a thousand fold overnight! Lend him to me so I can....”

“No. Leave him alone, Filwui. I won’t have him milked. He’s too...rare for that.”

“Exactly. A rarity to exploit.”

Gredar growled in warning, really annoyed. “No. I have spoken, kitling.”

“I’m sorry.” Filwui’s tail coiled around Gredar submissively. “I was just...surprised by all that.”

“Me too.” Gredar moved closer to his pet, and got hold of his leash. “I need to finish settling him in and then I’ve got work to do–I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Filwui cocked his head as if he hadn’t been expecting a dismissal, but Gredar hadn’t been back a sun pass and he’d told the simple truth. He was only waiting for Kirin’s bed and toilet box to be brought up, and then he had to get on.

“Tomorrow then.” Filwui reached over and patted Kirin on the head. “Farewell, baldy.”

“Filwui....”

“Going–see you!”

Gredar flicked his tail in amused irritation as his grooming mate departed. “Isn’t he mean, Kirin?” He stroked his pet’s face. “Now, let me sort out all this elsart hair of yours and you can rest while I work.”

The new male had handled him carelessly and painfully and though ‘Xexe’ seemed less than happy with that, he hadn’t stopped him. That was when Temin realised that his smugness over manipulating his new owner was ridiculous. Had he really thought he could make these beasts do a damn thing they didn’t want? He was just a toy to them. He could still feel the paws–the fingers–of the other male on him, stimulating him against his will, the rough tongue on his dick making him hard even through his terror at what was going to happen to him. And then those huge bodies rutting almost on top of him, coming close to crushing him–he really thought he’d been about to die. He was still shaking.

But now Xexe was trying to soothe him by grooming him, and if Temin was to be a good little pet, he would have to be soothed, even though he couldn’t stop trembling. He desperately wanted to cover himself, win some privacy, but pets didn’t have privacy–who’d think they needed it?

As he brushed and braided Temin’s hair, Xexe made little chirruping noises that sounded enquiring in tone–but Temin didn’t know if his owner was asking him if he was all right, telling him to settle the sheft down, or something else. He clenched his fists and bit back the sudden urge to scream and scream his frustration until his throat broke–it would do no good, and undo the progress he’d made, little as it was.

Xexe’s hands on his hair, so slow and careful for all their enormous size, reminded him of Jeng, and that memory, twisted up though it was with one of unwelcome alien hands on him, made his chest ache and his eyes get itchy. He covered his face with his hands, trying to hide it from his master, trying to keep at least this for himself, but it was in vain. His hands were tugged away, though not with any violence, and a pair of huge green eyes peered at him. Temin could make nothing of the cat’s expression–he knew enough about the domestic ones to know that what owners saw as amusement or hauteur were nothing of the kind.

“Go away,” he said, voice clogged, more for his own benefit than because he expected the creature to understand. “Why don’t you eat me or leave me alone?” He rubbed at his face. Maybe he was finally having the nervous breakdown he was surely owed after all this.

Xexe made a weird little growl, then pushed on Temin’s shoulder, the command to lie down very clear. He had no choice but to obey, but he began to shake again. He really was cracking up–he felt cold, and so very tired, and he half thought of provoking this beast into killing him. One bite from those massive teeth–couldn’t hurt for too long, could it? But he couldn’t make himself move, as Xexe arranged him on the furs of his own bed, and began to stroke him with his fingers, claws carefully retracted, down his arm, his side, his back. It was the same thing he’d done with the kittens downstairs–intended to calm and comfort. So Xexe had at least understood he was upset. That was something.

Temin stared up at his owner, who stared back, furred face inscrutable, his vocalisations silenced for now, the only clue to his mood the twitching tip of his luxurious tail, coiled over his thigh. Temin found himself becoming mesmerised by the slow, continuous stroking, and that tiny tail flick, and his breathing eased, as did his shaking.

“I’m not a pet,” he said to Xexe, who only chirruped back as he kept up his caresses. He reached out a hand and touched the flicking tail–such gorgeous, soft fur they all had, the guard hairs tipped with deepest black, the roots and underfur a pure cream, the overall effect a tawny perfection. There was some variation between individuals, some were a little darker than others, some had spots here and there. Some had the suggestion of faint striping, especially in the females, and Xexe seemed to have more white on his muzzle than the creepy male who’d come calling. Was that one Xexe’s lover? Hard to tell when they all fucked so often and so casually.

The tail tuft felt so soft against his hand, and the bed furs thick and yielding under him. For the first time in...well, since before he’d crashed, he was warm and comfortable. He yawned, startling himself and Xexe who gave a little yowl of surprise. He clamped his mouth shut, afraid what a display of teeth might mean in this culture, but Xexe didn’t seem to be alarmed or annoyed. “I’m tired,” Temin said. “I want to go home and eat food I recognise, and make love to Jeng, and see my mother and my sisters and their kids, and fly a podpod again, and wear clothes. I want a beer. I want my own room. I want to go home.”

Almost as if he was responding, Xexe bent and licked his face, his tongue incredibly rough but not actually unpleasant. Was Temin being tasted? Cleaned? Comforted? He had no idea–pet cats licked humans all the time, but he had no idea about that either. He could only lie there and let it happen.

He still had Xexe’s tail in his hand–why was that being allowed? He tried to make it lie still, just to see if he could–the muscle power was really amazing. The tails were prehensile, not like Terran cats at all, but they seemed to be used socially, not as a fifth limb. Were these creatures related at all to Terran cats? He couldn’t see how they could be.

He realised with a jolt that Xexe was encouraging him to play with his tail. Being playful and teasing him with it, pretending that Temin’s human strength could control any part of him in the least. Xexe was trying to cheer him up. Why was this big male able to make some kind of connection with him when none of the others had even tried? Was he someone special among their kind, or just good with animals and children? The need, so powerful, so impossible, to communicate with his captors was like a choking weight. He would have given almost anything to know what was going on in Xexe’s mind, and to have Xexe know his.

He burrowed into the furs, wishing he could hide completely. Xexe took his hands off Temin but only so he could finish Temin’s braid and tie it off. Then the leash was attached to a bed leg and Xexe got up, ‘talking’ to Temin again. Moments later, Temin was covered with a night-black fur that Xexe had fetched from a closet at the other end of the room–finally someone had worked out that he was cold.

“You’re either really smart or your friends are shefting idiots,” Temin said, smiling at the male, snuggling into the fur. He had no idea what animal had died to provide it, but he had a strong impression only his own lack of fur had saved him from a similar fate.

Xexe chirruped and patted him, clearly satisfied. He vocalised some more, and Temin realised he was preparing to go out–he pushed off the fur and sat up. “You can’t leave me here on my own! What if that bastard comes back?”

Xexe crouched and stared into Temin’s eyes for long seconds, then pushed him down with a quiet growl, the command clear–lie down, be quiet. “I’ll bite him, I swear,” Temin warned, as Xexe put the fur over him again. “If I can find his balls I’ll kick him in them, I promise.”

More vocalisation, and then Xexe was leaving. Temin could see no sign of a door lock, so he guessed anyone could and would walk in as they pleased. The best he could hope for was that, hidden under this pelt, no one would even notice he was there.

As a tactic, it worked better than he could have hoped. A little while later, he heard someone coming into the room, so he pulled the fur over his head and lay completely still, and when everything had gone quiet, he poked his head out to find his own bed and the shefting litter tray had been left neatly to one side. He needed a piss so that had been well-timed. He was grateful to have at least one chance to relieve himself without a kitchen full of nosy bastards staring at him and his dick. He yawned again, the light doze he’d fallen into barely enough to take the edge off his tiredness. Was he supposed to get onto his own bed now? But pets didn’t take the initiative and Xexe’s bed was a lot warmer and more comfortable, so he decided he would shamelessly exploit his supposed lack of brains until Xexe told him otherwise.

It was a chance to explore, though he couldn’t undo the leash at either end–the leather ropes made incredibly tough knots–so he could only walk to the end of it which wasn’t very far. He couldn’t reach the side room or closet, or the desk which he felt might have things he could use to escape if and when he could get the rest of it worked out. He could reach the low table that Xexe had used to dine on, and the knife would have been a prize, except Temin couldn’t get the shefting drawer catch undone–something else that needed a cat man’s strength, it seemed. He thumped and pushed, even lying on the ground and using his feet, but the lever mechanism under the drawer wouldn’t budge. So much for that idea.

He sat on the cushion again, finally having the leisure to look at his surroundings, though the light through the high glass panels was failing. He was struck again by the obsession these cat people had with beauty and decoration. The only unpolished wood he’d seen had been used in the kitchen cooking fire–everything else, however mundane, was finished to perfection, and either inlaid or carved. Even the knife Xexe had used at supper had been worked, the metal handle shaped like a leaf. They wouldn’t tolerate dirt indoors either, and whenever he’d been out of the kitchen, there was always someone sweeping, polishing or cleaning the floors, railings, even the lamp covers.

But it was the wall paintings that were truly remarkable. Naturalistic in style, the images seemed nearly to walk off the surface of the walls. Some of the creatures and objects, Temin recognised–the cat people themselves, birds, the monkey creatures, fish in lush pools surrounded by greenery, which told him this world was a very different place when winter was over. There were other things he had never seen the like of, and hoped they were fanciful, because if ten metre long snakes with spikes and wings really did live in the trees around here, taking a walk in the woods could get a bit hairy. The walls seemed to be telling a story, but without a guide, Temin couldn’t really work out what it was.

What was also obvious was that they disliked abstract and asymmetrical forms. Everything was paired, balanced, recognizable. Colours were harmonious to Temin’s human eyes, so he guessed the cat people saw the world much as he did. They liked intense, gem-like colours, deep blues, greens and reds–little black, except for edging, and white and yellow were used for highlighting. The paint was worked into the fabric of the building–into the render. He wondered how old it was. He thought that this wasn’t a race that admired change, and that tradition probably was more important than innovation. But he didn’t know. He knew so little, and he could be completely wrong in his interpretation.

It wasn’t long before he had to stop looking at the pretty pictures, as he could barely see his hand in front of him. Using what was left of the light, he stretched, and did some of the exercises he’d been taught in the academy to counteract bone loss in spacers. He was losing fitness–enforced immobility, the lower grav–but there was nothing he could do about it yet. By his calculation there were about another four standard months before the end of winter, and he had no idea how cold spring was. If he was going to have to make a run for it naked, then he wanted to be sure he could survive the nights. If he could persuade Xexe to let him off the shefting leash, Temin was hoping he could start to collect the necessary equipment he would need to get back to the podpod–if he could ever work out where it was. At the very least, he might be able to find some place to hole up until he could make some clothes and set up a camp. It wouldn’t be much of a life, but at least he’d be free.

It was now so dark that if he didn’t get back to the bed, he’d never find it again, and he was still tired, so it made sense to get some decent rest while he had the chance. He wondered if Xexe would let him keep this loose fur which made all the difference to his comfort. He seemed pretty intuitive–Temin should be able to ‘talk’ him into it.

He woke startled and heart thudding with terror as something large moved near him–but as a huge but gentle paw settled on his head and the wavering candle light made the shadows resolve into Xexe’s form, he relaxed a little. He expected to be turned out of the bed and onto his own, but Xexe just blew out the candle, soft click of pottery against wood telling Temin he’d set the lamp on the table, a clink of metal and chain on the same side table which was probably the elegant pendant, and then Xexe lay down next to him, his thick, warm fur delicious against Temin’s back. He smelled faintly...of earth? Clay? Something foreign, but not unpleasant. Temin wondered what his owner did for a living, because he very much doubted he spent his days dandling kittens and playing with pets.

He lay still, not wanting to be put out as a pest, but Xexe seemed to like him being there, petting him slowly, a low rumbling purr building up in his massive chest and vibrating through Temin’s own. Despite the leash, despite the fact of his captivity, it was impossible not to enjoy the sensuality of touch and warmth, the cushioning of his tired body on layers and layers of fur so dense, he felt a little like he was floating. “It’s nice, Xexe. Thank you.”

The purr got a little louder, and Xexe traced a finger down Temin’s spine. He liked being talked to. He liked being touched. There–that was two things they had in common.

For all it had been the impulse of someone who was frazzled and wanting to rid herself of something tiresome, Gredar was very grateful to his mother for his new pet. Certainly he had not a single complaint to make about Kirin’s manners or behaviour. He’d even taken him down to the pottery, and Kirin had sat on a cushion, the fur that Gredar had given him firmly clutched around his shoulders, and watched Gredar and his people work without causing any fuss or getting in their way. The secret was surely that he’d been cold and miserable since he’d been caught, and that had made him fractious, as it would any creature. Gredar had done what he could to remedy that and been rewarded with delightful affection. Kirin had such clever fingers, and Gredar had become very fond of his delicate grooming–it was most soothing.

The jopa remained wary of Filwui, but Filwui had learned some manners too, and while Kirin was clearly not inclined to spread his affections around, he was well-mannered and quiet when Filwui visited, to the point where Filwui complained he was a rather boring pet, for all he was elsart. Gredar had only grinned at his lover and given him something else to amuse him.

When Filwui left, Kirin would curl up against him and make those delightful noises, his small fingers stroking and playing in Gredar’s fur until one or both of them fell asleep. On the nights Filwui wasn’t there, Kirin always slept in Gredar’s bed–warmer for the animal, and Gredar liked his company. And he wasn’t the least bit dirty either–he was as fastidious as any daiyne, and after feeding or toileting, always wanted to be clean. Gredar had put out two dishes of water for him, and the jopa, unlike any other of his kind that Gredar had ever heard of, always meticulously reserved one dish for washing, the other for drinking. Gredar was going to put the word out at the next gathering to find out if any other of Kirin’s kind was known, because he’d love to breed more of these pretty creatures. He’d decided, reluctantly, not to take Kirin himself though–the poor thing simply could not bear the cold, and there was always a risk he might be molested or hurt in the rather lively gathering atmosphere. Gredar was most anxious to keep his treasure safe.

And now he wanted to surprise his mother, who was in her main workroom with Jilen, discussing the health of the clan, and what herbs and medicines Gredar would need to buy when he travelled to the gathering. The pungent, multilayered smells from the stores wafted over him as he walked in.

His mother rose to greet him. “Gredar, darling, how...?” Then she spotted Kirin. “What are you doing, letting that thing off the leash in here! Get it out–shoo!”

Kirin cringed behind him, and Gredar put a protective arm between his pet and his irritated mother, whose flattened ears and bared teeth boded ill for both of them if he didn’t quickly explain. “Mother, it’s all right–just watch. Kirin, come out–that’s it, pretty one.” Kirin slowly emerged, and Gredar patted his head in encouragement. “He won’t cause any trouble, I promise you.”

His mother growled a little, her erect-furred tail shivering angrily. “Gredar, I remember just how much trouble he caused when he got here....”

“Yes, I’m sure, but I’ve found how to handle him, and I promise, he’s completely safe and quiet now. Sit down, Kirin.” He pointed at a spare cushion and his pet folded himself gracefully, looking up at him expectantly. Gredar stroked under his chin. “Good pet.”

His mother’s angry demeanour eased, and her ears returned to a more friendly position. “Well now, kit, you’ve made some changes.” She sat down, though she still eyed Kirin rather warily. “Have you had to discipline him to get him to this state?”

“Not at all. In fact, all I had to do was make sure he was warm enough, and find food that suited his stomach a little better, and he’s been no trouble at all. I never need the leash now, and he obeys everything I tell him to do.”

His sister came out from behind the desk and peered at Kirin. “Brother, I have to admit it looks well. You changed the diet, you said?”

“Yes–fewer vegetables, more fruit and meat and he likes a little more bread than he was getting.” He had to be careful not to be seen to be criticising the household, because that reflected on his mother’s dignity. “It takes some time to get these things right.”

“And who has time for a dumb animal anyway?” She was being sarcastic–Jilen disliked animals being wilfully mistreated because it was wasteful and torgu and made work for her when she was already so very busy. “He’s the most curious creature I ever saw.” Kirin spoke at her, and she smiled. “That’s a nicer sound than all that screeching and carrying on in those first few days....”

“He was just frightened,” Gredar said, stroking his pet again, and smiling at the way Kirin rubbed against his hand. “We’re so much bigger than him, and we don’t know what goes on in their tiny brains, do we?”

“Not much, I suspect.” His mother looked away from the jopa, dismissing it, and turned her attention to Gredar. “It’s lovely you’ve done such good work with him, dear, but we have work here too. I hope you’ve come to do some.”

“Yes, Mother.”

They spent nearly two hours going over lists and quantities and trade values until Gredar’s head was spinning. Through it all, Kirin sat, then lay on the cushion without making a sound, just playing idly with Gredar’s tail or rubbing against Gredar’s hand if he happened to pat him. Jilen watched them together from time to time, clearly curious, and as she shut her accounts book, she sat back on her haunches. “Will you take it with you to the gathering?”

“No, it think it’s best this time not to. I wanted to ask you if you would keep an eye on him for me.”

“Me? Brother, when would I have the time? Ask Buhi.”

Gredar’s mother snorted as Gredar gave his twin a look of disbelief. “Sister, would you leave your babies with your oldest? Because I wouldn’t. He nearly killed Kirin, have you forgotten?”

“Ah, yes. I had,” she said, looking thoughtful. “But I really don’t have time. What about Filwui?”

“He’s not very good with Kirin, actually.”

His mother shook her head. “We can’t waste people’s time running after your animal, Gredar. Lock him in your room, I’ll have Buhi feed him and change the litter tray. Leave instructions, I’ll make sure they’re carried out. But you must keep it on the leash while you’re gone–I won’t have it escaping or causing a nuisance. I have spoken.”

Gredar would have argued back but for those three words, which made it a crime even for him to disobey or question. He could only bow his head submissively. “Yes, Mother.”

“Don’t give me that look, kitling. You’ll be gone but half a moonsweep and you can play with it when you return. It’ll be quite safe in your room–just put the breakables away, leave it some toys or something.”

“Yes, Mother.” He strove to sound agreeable and pleasant because it was his habit and his mother was merely being sensible and he, rather foolish, he had to admit. But he couldn’t help but be disappointed that his family weren’t going to take this chance to benefit from Kirin’s wonderful company. He was also worried that being left on his own for so long would unsettle his pet. “Will you allow one or two of my workers to drop in to amuse him?”

“If they can do that and still do their work, yes. I’m not trying to be cruel, dear–I just have a house and a clan to run, and it is just an animal.”

“Yes, I understand.”

Jilen rose as he did. “Come see my kitlings, Gredar. You can tell me more about what your pet needs and I’ll make sure Buhi does it right this time.”

He rubbed his head against his mother’s shoulder and accepted a caress, then he and his sister walked out together, Kirin close at his side. “He doesn’t like to be far from you, does he?” she observed.

“It’s Filwui’s fault, I think–he got rather rough with him when I first took him to my room, and now Kirin’s rather suspicious of any one of us he doesn’t know.”

“Most unlike a jopa. They’re usually too brainless to tell the difference between their owner or anyone else, and I’ve never seen one sit still for so long. When it dies, I want to do an autopsy–there’s something odd about the way it walks, and I’m sure his skeleton would be interesting.”

Gredar was grateful then that Kirin couldn’t possibly understand the conversation. “Less talk of my pet dying, Jilen. I don’t know how long his kind lives, but I’m too fond of him to want him to die soon. You don’t have any idea how old he is?”

“He’s got adult teeth so far as I can tell,” she said with a shrug. “Other than that, no idea. I can’t imagine it’s very old, judging by the lack of wear on its teeth. Maybe five, six cycles? It can’t have lived very long without fur.”

“I want to trade for another, if I can–breed him, if he’s really old enough.”

“Mother won’t like that.”

Gredar grinned at her. “I’ll win her over, me and Kirin. Jilen, the main thing is he has to be kept warm–and he mustn’t be teased or shouted at. That clod of a kit you call a son isn’t at all gentle.”

“Yes, I know and I have no idea why,” she said, sighing. “I got done up by the wrong male, probably. My other kits aren’t like that. His twin died too young for me to know if she’d be the same.”

Gredar stroked his sister’s arm, the loss, even so long ago, of one of her first birthing, painful still. “Buhi is a strong, healthy kit–just not...naturally gifted with weak things. He’s becoming an excellent carpenter, Filwui tells me.”

“He’s lazy,” she said, dismissing the praise, though her tail twitched with pleasure. “Now, brother, come and amuse my little ones for a bit while I work. They always behave best for you.”

“No!” Temin put his hands around his neck, trying to thwart his owner’s determined efforts to put that shefting thing on him again. Why? For weeks he’d walked around untethered–what had changed? “No! Leave me alone!”

But of course he had no real chance of making Xexe stop, however much of a tantrum he threw–and to the cat man, that was all it would look like. He glared furiously up at Xexe’s inscrutable face as the collar was refastened and the leash tied firmly to the leg of the bed. “I hate your shefting guts, you thug. I should pull your whiskers out.”

Xexe crouched and patted him, making the little yowling chirruping noises that Temin had come to understand were intended to calm and comfort–not that they did anything of the sort. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded, however futile it was–it made him feel a little better to vent, at least.

Xexe patted him again, stood and then fetched something down from a high shelf. He placed the object in Temin’s hands–to Temin’s horror, he realised he was looking at a toy. A carved wooden ball with smaller objects inside it–for children to test their dexterity by putting them in the right hole and extracting them.

He flung it from him as far as he could, hitting the wall opposite with a tremendous crash, before it rolled under the desk with a forlorn little rattle. “You must be shefting joking!” he yelled, humiliated and insulted and not caring if Xexe got angry with him. “I’m not a kid!”

Xexe made a sorrowful growl and fetched the ball again, placing it on the bed next to Temin, his paw firmly on it as if to say, ‘don’t throw it again.’ He stroked Temin’s face and back, lingering regretfully, then straightened up as the door opened and another cat man came in. Temin bared his teeth in anger, recognising him by a white blaze down his nose as the stupid bastard who’d tossed him out in the snow all those weeks ago. Xexe understood bared teeth were a sign of displeasure and Temin was shefting displeased right now. What was that oaf doing in here?

To his dismay, after another gentle pat and encouraging chirrup, Xexe left the room, but DopeyBoy stayed. Temin crawled back on Xexe’s bed and swore he’d bite the little shit if he tried to touch him.

But DopeyBoy didn’t–all he did was check the leash was tied tight, toss the toy at Temin and then he left.

It was only after several incredibly dull hours–he’d got so spoiled by being taken out every day to Xexe’s workshop and being allowed to watch the fascinating process of pot making–that Temin realised that Xexe wasn’t coming back that day, most likely. Which meant DopeyBoy was his sitter, and for however long it would take for Xexe to come back, the bed, this room and that stupid, offensive toy were his only entertainment. Bugger. It wasn’t as if his days were exactly packed with excitement at the best of times, but Xexe was doing his best, and Temin had become used to being treated well and allowed liberties that he knew perfectly well the monkey creature pets would not be. Temin had decided a while back to treat this enforced period of inactivity as he waited for spring, as a vacation–not something he had much experience of, actually–but a vacation with some change of pace in a day was at least bearable. This–this was like being in prison. A luxurious prison, for sure, but even on Nixal they didn’t make prisoners wear leashes.

He cursed the fact he’d still not been able to steal anything useful like a knife or scissors, though he’d seen plenty of both in use. Xexe was just too damn tidy and orderly–his room was always immaculate, all equipment and implements put away, and his workshop was also meticulously run, never giving Temin a chance to hide a tool or anything sharp to retrieve later. Still, Temin had hoped to have a chance now that Xexe seemed willing to take him to other places within this house and even outside it. Now he’d have to wait.

He did some exercises, and jerked off–something he hadn’t had privacy to do since he was captured–but that made him think of Jeng and depressed him, so it wasn’t as much fun as it could have been. He was getting hungry, having got used to being fed three times a day at the same time Xexe ate–he wondered when DopeyBoy would remember to bring him food.

It wasn’t until after dark, in fact, when the bastard turned up with cold food cut into huge chunks–exactly how he’d been fed before Xexe had taken charge of him. DopeyBoy dumped the food bowl on the ground, splashed water into the other bowls (without emptying the stale stuff first), glanced at the litter tray with a sniff that sounded disgusted to Temin’s ears, and bolted–taking the candle with him.

“Maybe he’s a dog person,” Temin muttered. And how was he supposed to find his food in the dark?

He left eating until morning, which didn’t improve the indifferent food’s taste. Xexe had got the cutting up of meat and vegetables into manageable portions down to a fine art–all Temin could do with these lumps was gnaw around the edges. The bread was stale, and he wasn’t hungry enough to force it down. He left it all in the bowl and had another go at trying to undo the collar–but it was useless. These cat people had some ingenious locks and mechanisms–whatever anyone could say about them, they weren’t backward. Some of the glazed pottery Xexe’s workshop turned out would fetch huge prices in Venshu for its beauty and design.

He lay on the bed and sighed. It was strange but he missed Xexe, even though they could barely communicate on the most basic level. The big guy was just so...careful and kind, and clearly thought about everything he did before he did it. Not like Temin, who was the planet’s most impulsive idiot, at least since good old Dad died. Xexe was more like...Jeng, actually. And wouldn’t that just baste Jeng’s noodle if Temin ever told him that?

Despite his numerous resolutions not to, he found himself thinking of Jeng, wondering what he was up to, wondering if he was trying to find Temin, even against orders. And what the sheft he would make of what Temin was going through now? Would Temin ever be able to tell Jeng, or anyone, about any of this without being thought insane?

But he was getting way ahead of himself. “Wait until you get out of here to worry about that, you doofus,” he told himself.

By the time DopeyBoy turned up–a little earlier than the previous day, so it was still light outside–Temin had catalogued every square centimetre of the room that he could reach, had done three hours of intensive exercises, had tried to meditate twice (and found he still sucked at that), and was nearly climbing the walls in sheer boredom. He’d have torn off a testicle and eaten it for something to read–anything at all to read–or even to have had something to write with. He wasn’t going to be sane by the time Xexe returned–if he ever did, and wasn’t that a chilling thought? But no, why would Temin be confined here in Xexe’s room if he wasn’t coming back? He had to resist letting his fears become ridiculous. There was enough about this situation that was bad for him.

DopeyBoy barely looked at him, and certainly wasn’t going to waste time attempting to play with him or amuse him. He picked up the food bowl, scraped away the old food and left more that looked just as unappealing. He didn’t look at the litter tray or touch the water dishes and was clearly going to leave without topping them up.

“Hey! I need more water!” Temin tugged on the cat man’s tail, and pointed at the empty dish–the other one being what he had been using to wash his hands with. But the creature pulled its tail free and walked out, ignoring Temin’s protests.

“Great,” Temin muttered. He’d drink the soiled water if he had to, but he’d already had two fairly nasty stomach bugs as a result of poor hygiene, so he wasn’t anxious for another. He poked at the food, and his appetite died as he contemplated the stodgy mess. No clean water to wash it down with, so best not to eat until he got some. He could go days without food if he had to, and DopeyBoy would probably bring water the next day. He’d kick up a fuss if he had to–someone would have to care if he made a nuisance of himself. The exciting thing would be finding out what they would do if he did.

He was hungry and thirsty and more than a little cranky by the time DopeyBoy came back the next day, but when he spotted the dark shape behind him in the doorway, his heart leapt, his crankiness forgotten...until he realised it wasn’t Xexe, but Xexe’s shefting creepy boyfriend. The irritation was replaced by fear and wariness–this one was dangerous, and Temin deeply distrusted his presence here when Xexe was gone.

But the boyfriend seemed only interested in making sure DopeyBoy did a better job than on the previous three days, watching as DopeyBoy changed the water in both dishes and cut the food up into smaller pieces, though it was still the same crap Temin had been getting. DopeyBoy also dealt with the litter tray, which was good because it was starting to stink. Why the boyfriend had such a sudden interest in Temin’s welfare, he had no idea–he just wanted him to get out.

DopeyBoy put the candle lamp on the table, then hung around the doorway, as if wanting to leave. The boyfriend crouched down by Temin, and seemed to be waiting for him to eat. Temin wasn’t going to do anything for this bastard, so he just sat and stared back, pretending like the thing wasn’t bothering him.

The boyfriend extended a paw and suddenly the claws came out–Temin couldn’t stop himself jumping, and a low growl came from the boyfriend’s throat. He poked a claw through a bit of meat and held it under Temin’s nose. Temin shook his head. He wasn’t going to let him hand feed him–it was bad enough when Xexe did that and he liked Xexe.

The boyfriend held the meat for a few more seconds, then flicked it off back into the dish as if he’d got bored. With a screech of pottery against stone, he shoved the bowl away as he leaned in closer to Temin. Temin scooted back as far as he could on the bed but there wasn’t much play in the leash. He tugged at the collar in frustration, hoping maybe it had come loose and by a miracle he’d be freed–but it was secure, leaving him in easy reach of this male. What was the bugger up to?

The boyfriend yowled something and DopeyBoy came over–rather uncertainly, or so it looked to Temin–before crouching down. Then the boyfriend reached over and grabbed Temin’s leash, dragging him forward, half-choking him in the process.

“Watch it, you shefting shit!” His protests were ignored as he was pulled off the bed and onto the cold, hard floor, his arse hitting the stone with a painful thump. He found himself shoved between the younger male’s legs, then his arms were pulled behind him and held fast by strong paws. The boyfriend took a moment to look him over, and then, movements unhurried, deliberate, he put his paws on Temin’s knees and forced his legs apart. The boyfriend growled and then bent to lick at Temin’s dick, his rough tongue hot and insistent against cringing flesh, tasting and exploring where he was not welcome. Temin began to struggle, kicking with all his strength against the male’s body and legs, and bellowing, hoping someone would come and see what the fuss was about.

But it was hopeless–he could never defeat these creatures even if he was fully fit and big as Jeng. The boyfriend didn’t even seem to be irritated by his fighting back–he just sat back and watched Temin wear himself out, paws on Temin’s ankles, holding them down. The other male growled, and the boyfriend reached out and grabbing Temin’s braid, yanking it agonisingly, pulling his head forward while the rest of him was held back, like he was trying to tear his head off. Temin screamed again, but the boyfriend dragged Temin’s braid painfully tight around his head and across his mouth, turning it into a gag. Temin struggled and tried to yell but it was effective as it was cruel–he could swear the bastard snickered as he watched Temin trying to breathe, drooling around the choking obstacle.

I’ll kill you, Temin swore, glaring at the male watching him with half-closed yellow eyes. Just let me get my pistol and you’ll be one dead kitty cat, you fucker.

The boyfriend yawned, exposing frightening perfectly white canines. A warning–as if Temin needed one. Then the boyfriend leaned forward, placing his claws on Temin’s belly, the needle-like tips digging in painfully but not breaking the skin. Yet. Temin shivered, his stomach muscles contracting under the creature’s grip. He was sure Xexe wouldn’t want him hurt, but he wasn’t at all sure this animal gave a damn.

I could be killed. For real, right now. And he was utterly helpless to do the slightest thing to even slow them down. He could only stare, breath straining through his nose, teeth jammed around the distasteful mass of hair in his mouth as the boyfriend pinned him down. The flickering candle light made him look even more alien, primitive, but this wasn’t just some dumb animal. It was a creature as smart–maybe smarter–than Temin, and much, much stronger. Whatever it wanted, wouldn’t be something as simple as dead prey.

The paw moved down over his groin, and began to knead, claws half-retracted, ready to spring out again in a microsecond. Temin started to struggle frantically as he suddenly realised what was going on, and sheft it, he wasn’t going to let this thing molest him again. He screamed through the gag, but the braid was just pulled tighter, forcing his head back against the younger male’s chest. The boyfriend chirruped–he was pleased at his reaction. Sick fuck! Temin yelled in his head.

The candle flickered again, suddenly went out. But cats could see in the dark.

Start of story Homepage Books in print Next part books in print darshian tales pindone files other fantasy nonfantasy contact livejournal