Edward Grey has hardly spent a night away from his cat, Boo, since before he was in preschool. Not even death could separate them, as Edward resurrected Boo as a zombie when he was five. Now, Boo has gone missing, and the cat isn’t in any of his usual haunts.
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Kit was at work, and I was —miraculously—caught up on my coursework. I was full of restless energy after spending the previous day sitting on the couch watching TV with Kit, so I decided to give Boo a bath. He doesn’t groom himself very often, and when he does, he usually just makes his fur worse. He was definitely getting a little…ripe.
Unfortunately, Kit came home from work partway through the bath, and I don’t even want to imagine what he thought was happening when he walked in and heard Boo’s unearthly howls and me pleading with him—loudly, to be heard over him—to hold still so I could rinse him off and it would all be over.
I heard Kit shout for Winston, so he could be heard over Boo’s yowling, and then he burst into the master bathroom, holding a purring, contented bundle of blue-grey fur.
Boo and I were frozen in an epic tableau of wet, reeking cat and equally wet—and, probably, reeking—medical student.
Kit paused in the doorway, then started laughing. “Oh. God, I thought something was really wrong. You shouldn’t scare me like that.”
“You could help,” I grumbled, as Boo got his head free of my hand, which he proceeded to bite. Hard. And not let go of.
Kit looked at the…less than clear, decidedly murky…water and shook his head. “Ew. I don’t think so. Doesn’t that hurt?”
“Yes, of course it hurts! Being undead doesn’t turn his teeth into…candy corn!” With a sadly practiced motion, as Boo bites me on a regular basis, I wedged my free thumb into the corner of the cat’s mouth and pried his jaws apart. My hand was white where he’d bitten me, and then each depression slowly filled with blood.
“You’re not going to turn into a zombie, are you?” He’d gotten a little more relaxed about the ‘Z’ word, though last week he left his browser open to a site called the Zombie Rights Campaign. I wasn’t sure if it was a joke, or something he’d made himself. I try not to snoop on his computer.
I also hadn’t asked him about it. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
“Kit, if I turned into a zombie every time Boo bit me, I’d be…”
“It only takes one time, Edward.”
Strange didn’t want to learn how to read, but literacy prevailed and she hasn’t stopped reading—or writing—since. She’s been published with Torquere Press since 2013, and she writes M/M romance in multiple genres, including paranormal and BDSM. T.’s other interests include cross stitching, gardening, watching terrible horror movies, playing video games, and finding injured pigeons to rescue. Originally from White Rock, BC, she lives on the Canadian prairies, where she shares her home with her wife, cats, guinea pigs and other creatures of all shapes and sizes. She’s very easy to bribe with free food and drinks—especially wine.
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