Inside, I placed my things just inside the door, shocked to see two pairs of boots sitting in the rack.
Was that in case guests forgot to bring their own?
I guess they really did think of everything.
Whistling, I headed back out to grab my duffle bag, the sack containing my collection of frozen dinners and bags of pizza bites, and the only other things left in the trunk. My camera bag and the snowshoes I used to hike through the snow to take pictures. While I possessed a vivid imagination and a fine eye for details, having visual references was always helpful, especially when there were times when I had so many ideas tumbling through my head that memories got all tangled up and sometimes merged. It was great for the fantasy art pieces I loved designing, but it could suck at times when I was shooting for realism only to discover that the hues I used were so far off I couldn’t even convince myself that it was right, let alone someone else.
Inside, I propped my snowshoes against the wall just behind the tray with the boots and set my groceries and duffle bag on the floor so I could untie my boots and place them beside the other pairs, not wanting to track snow across the floor and step in puddles later. Wet socks were the absolute worst. Like, seriously cringe-worthy, especially if the dampness was accompanied by a sopping squelch.
Shuddering, I stood, and spying the cracked-open bedroom door, decided to drop off my duffle bag before I got the rest of my things sorted.
Stepping inside the room, I immediately spied a chair beside the window and headed over to drop off my bag when I caught sight of two massive stuffed animals curled together in the center of the bed. A toddler could have easily taken a nap on the back of one without the risk of falling off. Talk about realistic. The spotted fur looked to be soft and thick, and those whiskers—holy shit, I always hated how short and even the whiskers on stuffed animals were. Not to mention stiff. These were curved and even seemed to droop a little, and holy crap, one even had a two-toned nose. Most were just dark brown or black, but this one was black around the edges with a pink center that was so adorable I couldn’t resist reaching out and booping it.
I tripped over my feet and landed on my ass when one yellow-green eye popped open and lips peeled back into a fanged snarl that froze the blood in my veins.
Holy shit. Holy shit. HOLY SHIT!
There was a real fucking cat on my bed! And not a housecat either. Not even a bobcat; I’d photographed several of those, and this guy was at least double, if not triple, the size of the biggest one I’d seen. While I sat there blinking, it uncoiled until it reached the edge of the bed, then stretched out a paw, claws mercifully sheathed, to boop me right back. Warm and just a tiny bit rough in texture, its paw pad tapped with far moregentleness than I’d ever have expected in this situation, like it was actually playing with me. My thoughts spun like a thirty-two-car pileup waiting to happen, and I scarcely dared to move, let alone breathe, as it continued to stare at me, tail bobbing and gently brushing against the back and shoulders of the other cat on the bed. It was too much to hope that one was fake, not when it looked so similar to the one currently studying me, though at least it did seem to be a smidge smaller. Though not by much.
‘Uh, hey kitty-kitty,” I muttered. “Please don’t try to eat my face.”
It scrunched up its nose like it was laughing at me or just found the whole idea completely distasteful. I sent up a silent plea to whatever forces were at work in the universe that it was the latter and slowly began to shakily climb back to my feet. When it didn’t immediately pounce, knock me to the floor, and leave my clothes and skin in tatters, my heart stopped hammering so hard. Common sense and reasoning began to kick in, especially with all the time I’d spent photographing landscapes and the critters who dwelled in them.
These big, beautiful cats weren’t wild, and they absolutely did not feel threatened in any way by my presence. Now, I might not have been the biggest rule follower, but I was certain that there were laws on the books regarding exotic pets. They weren’t wearing collars, but then they were in the cabin and not running around the mountainside.
The problem, at least to my way of thinking, was that they were inmycabin, and I didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to do about it.
Call a park ranger,the voice in the back of my head whispered. But even as I thought it, I was hit with a surge of concern over what the rangers would do. If they were illegally owned, would they be taken from their owner and placed in a zoo? After seeing them cozy on the bed, looking as contentas common house cats, it was impossible to picture them trapped behind bars, restlessly pacing in insufficiently spaced enclosures, longing for freedom.
“How did you guys get in here?” I asked while the cat rolled on the bed and waved paws in the air, head hanging over the edge of the bed as he studied me from his upside-down vantage point and rumbled out a loud purr.
“Well, if that was the answer, I don’t know how to respond because I don’t speak kitty.”
Whiskers wrinkled and lips peeled back, revealing a pair of wicked-looking fangs as his tail lashed back and forth beneath him, smacking the sleeping kitty in the face with it until it woke with a snarl that certainly sounded irritated, pounced on the tail, pinned it in place, and started licking it.
Until those pale blue eyes landed on me and he let out what sounded like a rumbly chirp. It was certainly not the kind of sound I expected from a cat that size and nowhere close to the fierce, majestic roar of a tiger or lion. It was positively adorable, though he didn’t look like he would welcome hearing that from me. He pounced on the other cat with a chuff to chirp his disposition at me, big paws pinning his buddy to the bed while he continued to fuss.
“Still can’t understand what’s being said, but that doesn’t sound very nice,” I said, keeping my voice low and as calm as I could manage with a pissed-off kitty cussing me out, or at least, I was relatively certain that was what he was doing.
While I was trying to figure out how to diffuse the situation and who the fuck to call to help, the first cat sort of shimmered and contorted until there were pale, muscular arms where legs and paws used to be.
“Wha…?” I couldn’t even finish the thought.
My mind kept tripping over what I’d just seen, like the needle hitting a scratch in one of my grandfather’s old records.There was no way that had just happened. No fucking way. And yet there lay one naked human clutching one narrow-eyed cat to his chest, despite the razor-sharp claws that were lightly kneading his skin. Its nose was wrinkled, its whiskers laid back, and its teeth were bared, while the former cat, now human, stroked its sides and spoke soothingly.
“Easy, Mav, easy, it’s all good; we’ll figure it out.”
“Figure…?”
If figuring it out meant I was about to be an entree, this was going to go down as one of the most fucked-up vacations in history. My mouth had gone so dry my tongue was plastered to the roof, which might not have been so bad if my feet were working, but those traitorous bastards had turned to lead.
No running for me.
Not that I harbored the belief that I could outrun that fierce kitty, and damn did he look ready to pounce. Until he shimmered. Twisted. Contorted like the first one had done. Leaving me faced with two naked men sprawled across the bed that I’d planned to spend the next two weeks sleeping in.
Waiter, check please.
That was the last shock I could handle. The very last one.
