Page 386 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

This cat hates tuna.

Or she hates us.

Her tail is wrapped around her feet as she stares at the opened can I set in front of her, eyeing it with clear suspicion it's poisoned.

We're calling her Shadow. She looks like a tiny angry one.

Whiskey is crouched right behind me in a bomber jacket and fingerless gloves, and a skull balaclava. He insisted on "tactical gear" to catch the cat he promised if I went to dinner at the Belmonts' a few days ago, which apparently means dressing like it's the end of the fucking world.

For me, it might as well be.

“Come on, baby,” he croons, making pspsps sounds and nudging the can closer. “Daddy’s got premium fish mush.”

The cat’s ears flatten.

Never say that again, I sign.

"What? Fish mush?"

No.

He grins at me. "You don't like me calling myself Daddy around you?"

Not really. And you're not a dad.

"Take it up with the fans, bro. They're calling me Daddy Bear now, F-Y-I. Cuz of the dadbod. And cuz everyone knows Plague and I marked each other now, and bears are a whole thing with the LGBTQ⁠—"

I press my finger against his lips to hush him before he scares the cat off.

The cat watches my hand carefully, green eyes huge.

Animals don't react to me like people do, even though they must think I'm baring my teeth. They can tell I don't mean them harm, maybe.

This one… not so much.

A gust of cold wind stings every exposed tooth and scarred muscle. It isn’t painful, not with the injections doing their job. But my hand still twitches toward my face anyway for fabric that isn't there.

This is the first time I’ve been outside in a few days.

Someone could walk by.

My hood is up, but it doesn’t hide much. I caught an unwanted glimpse in a window reflection this morning. It shadows the upper half of my face and leaves the important nightmare fully fucking visible.

From the side, it's okay.

Only from the side.

I nudge the tuna can a little closer to the cat.

She stretches her neck out to sniff it.

I hold my breath…

And she dives back under the dumpster.

My shoulders lift and sag with a sigh.

So. Fucking. Close.