His voice took on a whiny pitch. “But I wanna go with you. I hate staying at the house all day long. It’s bo-ring. So boring. Dullsville.” He rolled onto his side, displaying his fluffy underbelly as he clenched and unclenched his claws, kneading the air.
“And the cardinals in the backyard?” I eyed him critically. He knew I knew about those birds.
His whiskers twitched.
I’d seen him staring for half an hour or more the other day. “Hm?”
“Okay, except for Mr. and Mrs. Red, your place is the worst sort of dull. There’s not even any porn since you blocked all the good channels. No pay-per-view. No instant-watch rentals of any kind. You suck.”
“I pay the bills. And since you have no money . . .” I paused, waiting to see if he denied it. I had my suspicions about Clarence, and one of them was that he had a stash of cash socked away. “Right. Since you have no money, you’re stuck with me paying the bills and that includes making the call on which programs we have in the house.”
A grumbling/growling combo emerged from Clarence’s throat.
Was he becoming more catlike, or was that just my imagination?
“So, take me with, and if Lilac won’t let me come in, you can leave me in the car.” He gave me his sad cat face.
“Ugh. Just stop that. I told you before: you don’t look sad when you do that, just demented.”
His features resumed their more natural, smug expression. “So I’m in?”
“You’re in.” I met his gaze and gave him a hard look. “But if you end up in the car, and someone calls animal control, you’re never leaving the house again.”
His eyes widened.
“I mean it.”
He growled again, but it was distinctly human this time. “Fine. I’ll keep a low profile.”
Clarence convinced me to take him inside when we arrived, swearing he’d be on his best behavior until we got the okay for him to stay for the session.
So I brought him in with me to ask if he might stay, even though he wasn’t actually my emotional support cat. My second mistake.
The first had been threatening him with house arrest if he got caught in the car and got me in trouble.
To give Clarence credit, he was exceptionally polite when he broke all the rules, opened his yap, and (very sweetly) begged Lilac’s understanding. He mentioned hot cars, uncomfortable seat cushions, and his general desire to be entertained and not bored out of his mind in the car. Then he went on to detail his exact level of boredom in my home, including the lack of porn, and explained that he couldn’t risk house arrest by staying in the car outside.
He’d have blathered on indefinitely if I hadn’t shut him up with a nudge (kick) to his furry posterior. In my defense, he’d ignored my other, less physical attempts to interrupt him.
Once he grunted then shut his trap, Lilac backed up several feet and stared.
For a while.
Eventually, she said, “Are you a ventriloquist or something?”
“Or something,” Clarence said with a chuckle, his amusement a clear indication he was oblivious to the repercussions of his actions. Nothing but dry kibble stretched into his future, and any minute now he was going to figure that out.
Regret was only one of the many emotions I experienced as I considered dropkicking Clarence across the room. Regret that I hadn’t left the furry idiot in the car, or better yet, at home. Anger that I’d been stupid enough to fall for his best-behavior act.
He’d outed himself, never once considering that it was my rear on the line if anything went awry. Anything like, say, a giant leak of supernatural info into the mundane world. Dry kibble was just the beginning of what I had planned for his meddling, furry hind end.
“Do it again.” Lilac’s request yanked me out of my torture-leaning musings—and just when I was getting to the good parts.
“Okay,” Clarence said in the most agreeable tone I’d ever heard come out of his fanged mouth. “Finally, a discerning ear. You have no idea how hard it’s been, being the silent companion to Mr. Straight and Narrow here. This guy, he’s a complete dud in the conversation arena. You should have seen him try to make small talk with our neighbor. She is one fine piece of—”
“Tsch. That’s enough.” She held up her hand, her gaze flitting between Clarence and me.
“I know. It’s unsettling.” I shot Clarence a nasty look that couldn’t come close to expressing how completely screwed he was. “Hearing the words but having no visual cues is unnerving, but trust me, it would be worse if his mouth moved.”
“Uh-huh.” She seemed to be taking it really well. No fainting, praying, nor exorcising of demons. Not yet. Her gaze zeroed in on Clarence’s mouth. “And how exactly is he talking? Since his mouth isn’t moving.”
“Ah. It’s not actually the cat who’s talking. Cats don’t have the requisite anatomy for speech.” She gave me an exasperated, you’re-an-idiot look, so I hurried up the explanation. “The cat’s possessed by a talking ghost.”
Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared—but she didn’t say a word.
In a stage whisper that the neighbors could probably hear, Clarence said, “I think she might be having a meltdown.”
One warning glance had him whistling away.
Lilac shook her head. “He whistles, too?”
“Yeah. It’s incredibly annoying. But yes. If you can think of him as deceased, as a ghost and not a cat, then it’s easier.”
“A powerful and exceptionally talented ghost.” Clarence stretched then collapsed in a heap of fur, looking far too pleased with himself.
She made a strangled sound.
The man’s ego knew no bounds, and the cat knew no place he couldn’t make himself comfortable. The combination of
