Pet Alley Cat Prologue
The city was dense and dark—a place with tall row houses and towering businesses that stacked attics onto homes onto storefronts. The churches knocked on the door of the heavens and the banks were taller than the hells were deep. It all cast constant shade on the rambling cobble streets below. In this city, where even in broad daylight its twisting alleys were cast in shadow, it had made a name for itself as a haven for thieves, for cutpurses, for lowlifes—for cats.
In some ways, since the ancient times of yore when witches first taught them to take on human guises, cats in society had both come a long way and gone nowhere at all. No longer were they slaughtered on sight—not since their instrumental work in keeping at bay the rats that would have brought plague to the city. But with the plague all but vanquished and the city becoming very rich very fast from very rapid innovations, it was the cats who remained out on the streets catching rats to live. After all—so the logic goes—they were cats before they were humans, and instinct-driven creatures that killed on the daily surely could never become proper and upstanding citizens.
As if “logic" had anything to do with it, in truth. Like most oppression, it was born of fear of the “other", and the humans' desire to keep what they had made entirely to themselves. A cat searching for a job wasn't going to be turned down for fear of them suddenly pouncing on customers and ripping out their throats, because the truth was that in human form, cats were just as cogent as any born human was, and in fact some preferred to change to a human form even when only with other cats, for the sheer convenience of language. No, there would never be a cat holding down any sort of normal paid work so long as humans owned every business and no human would hire a cat when they could hire a person.
Of course, that only applied to “normal", “paid" work. Just as much as it was an open secret that nobody would hire a cat, it was an equally open secret that cats could still get their paws on money; a cat could live without a penny to their name, but there was more to life than merely surviving, after all. With such heavy purses walking about the city and none of them being on the belts of cats, to their vertical-slit eyes it was only fair that they evened the playing field where they could. While their human forms had a human shape, upright posture, articulate mouths, and hands with much-sought-after opposable thumbs, they retained their three-part legs and hind-paws, making their padded steps inaudible except to the best-trained ears; the only ones with sharp enough hearing to catch those sounds were the cats, who too kept their triangular feline ears even in humanoid form—and they weren't ones to snitch on their own. In the rare circumstance they were caught in the act, a human capturing a cat who didn't want to be caught was nearly impossible: it took only a second to transform back into animal form, and even the slowest quadrupedal cats could outrun the fastest humans, squeeze through spaces no person could hope to fit, clear jumps that would spell death if failed, and climb walls that were impossible for those without claws to set into stonework.
Or, for those cats so inclined, there was always the alternative to a hard and fast life of hunts and thievery: one could always become a pet. Otherness begot exoticism, which begot fetishization; and for those cats who could stomach—or were allured by—the concept of it, there were lavish lifestyles indeed a cat could find themselves enjoying, should they and an interested human cross paths. What, exactly, a cat may contribute in exchange for this life of comfort was something unique to every pair of cat and human; no two “agreements" were ever quite the same. In order for a truly mutual relationship to form—whether it be one endured or enjoyed; romantic, business, or something in between—required no small amount of luck for such a chance encounter between exactly the correct two.
Cats, however, have always been known for their luck. Normally, a well-dressed man noticing a cat tailing him was a sign to keep his hand on his purse and walk faster. But, for no reason that either he nor the cat could divine, it instead gave him pause. Perhaps it was the cat's atypical colouration: a gentle golden-orange, splotched with black-edged rosettes like a tiny jaguar, their honey irises stark and bright from the black outline around their eyes that flowed into tabby-like striping on his face. Perhaps it was that the cat's eyes were clearly following not the man's purse, but the paper bag in his hand containing a breakfast for himself a prospective business partner: fresh croissants, still warm from the oven. Or perhaps it was that, when the man and the cat locked eyes, the cat didn't dart—in fact, it sat.
That said, as soon as the man took a step toward it, its back arched and its fur puffed out, ears flattening back. The man stopped, but his brow raised. “Fine way to greet someone you're begging from," he said, raising his voice to carry over the twenty-foot distance. “If you want something so badly, you can use your words, can't you, kitten?"
The cat paused, ear flicking, then crouched low before pushing off the ground with its front legs, throwing itself upright and transforming smoothly on the way up. In the cat's place then stood a lithe young man—short as most cats were in their human form, but especially so, by the way that the two of them seemed to have a literal foot of difference between them. The cat's sunset fur manifested as a sort of strawberry blond hair, kept short but with ragged edges betraying the cut being home-done. The rosettes still dot his ears and tail—and one presumes over the thin fur of his body, though most of it is in fact under quite small clothes that nevertheless hang rather loosely on him. The same honey-gold eyes were narrowed, thin arms crossing. “Begging your pardon, sir," he said, with the dry tone of a rote pleasantry.
“Better." The man brandished the paper bag, shaking it gently side to side like a hypnotist's pocket watch. “Interested in this? Thought your sort were obligate carnivores."
The cat's ears had only been upright for a second, but then they flattened back again. “We are—to live. But you humans eat sugar for the pleasure of it more than the nutrition, don't you? We're like that with dairy." His nose twitched.
“Aha. And this smells like butter, doesn't it?"
The end of the cat's tail flicked, curling around a knee. “Yeah. I always hang around the bakery this time of day. Never know what might get dropped every now and then."
“Dropped, you say?" The man's second brow raised to join the first up his forehead. “Not filched out of people's hands?"
The cat's pink lips twisted. “I'm... not so big a fan of stealing s'all. Not for this—not for something we don't need to survive."
“Well! Isn't that a first! A cat who doesn't steal!" The man laughed shortly, and if it was possible, the cat's ears folded even flatter. “Who's 'we'?"
“Me 'n... another. I'm taking care of him."
“Oh? Kin of yours?"
The cat's starting to look a bit perplexed at the man's questions, but he answered regardless, “No, sir. Just a friend's... friend." His eyes averted.
And the man's narrowed. “A friend's friend, huh? One you're willing to scrounge scraps for, though, just to eke out a taste of something nicer than gutter rats and crows. So... are you generous, or lying?"
The tail puffed out and started lashing harder. “...He's just a kitten, sir. And it's none your business."
“Hm!" If anything, the man sounded... appreciative? “Well aren't you a bit of a spitfire? Tell you what, kitten: I'll throw you a croissant right now if you beg for it on hands and knees." He turned his head away, busying himself with pulling out one of the pastries, and said, “For that poor kitten friend of yours, surely you can bring yourself to—" The man looked back.
The cat had dropped, falling to all hours, head bowed so low his forehead nearly scraped the cobbles. “Please sir," he said, not a drop of sarcasm nor petulance in his tone. “Please. He's never tasted anything that isn't mice or birds. He deserves to know there's more out there. He deserves to know that eating can be a pleasure, not just something he has to make himself do to survive. I know it must seem like a little thing to you, sir. But it would mean a lot to me and him. So... please. May I have one, sir?"
The man's head tilted, and the sunlight glinted in the man's eyes. “Well well," he said softly, the hard leather of his shoes tapping on the stone as he paced forward. “That certainly didn't take much prodding, did it? What would you give for the whole bag, I wonder?"
The cat's ears have swivelled forward, so he knew the man was getting closer, but he stays facing the ground. “I... well, I'm not..."
“Hm? Not sure all of a sudden?" Tap, tap, tap, as he got closer. “Alright, if you don't have any suggestions, I'll pitch you one." The man's shoes came into the cat's view of the ground. “I've got four of them. Four begs put together would equal... let's say, oh, you coming back to my hotel with me for a few hours?"
Nails scratched quietly across the cobbles as the cat's hands curled into fists and his ears lowered. The man huffed a laugh out his nose. “Thought so," he said, but a smile was unfurling across his face. “Knew that pure-as-snow altruism couldn't hold out forever—not in a goddamn cat."
Though it shook a bit, the cat drew a breath and said, “Yes, sir."
“Oh you agree? And here I thought you cats had some self-respect—"
“No... I mean I'll do it. Sir."
Quiet beats fell, as the furrow in the man's brow creased deeper and deeper. “Really now?" he said, deathly quiet. “You know you wouldn't just be sitting there in the hotel looking pretty, yeah?"
“...Yes, sir."
“Go on. I want to hear you say it."
The cat swallowed, drawing a breath that this time shook a lot. “You mean... sex, sir. Right?"
“Right." The triangle ears sunk all the way down and the cat nodded—but the man didn't seem very happy about that. In fact, his creased brows had graduated into an outright scowl. “Four croissants is the price for your body, is it?" he said. “That's what your dignity is worth to you?"
“...Yes?" The man balked as the cat finally lifted his head, fitting curiosity in his golden eyes. “Or, at least... it's what you wanted from me. It would be humiliating and probably hurt a bit, but... it's not like it'd really cost me anything. And in exchange we'd get something really nice. That sounds pretty worth it to me."
The man's entire face joined his brows in crunching in a scowl. “Does that not mean you'd pay any amount of your dignity for the smallest favour?"
“W-Well, I... if the mismatch is big enough I'd know you were taking the piss... sir. Wouldn't want to take a deal from a man like that."
Slowly, by inches, the frown was releasing. “But the vaguest resemblance of a good trade... that would be fine—and not because of the terms per se, but because of the man behind it."
“I... suppose, yes."
The man's gaze lingered on the cat's for a moment, then trailed slowly down and back up his body. “That kitten 'friend' of yours," he said, quite suddenly and making the cat jump a little. “You care for him a lot, don't you?"
“...Yes, of course."
“But it sounds to me as if you're barely scraping by, supporting yourself and him. However... that's two birds that could be killed with one stone."
Tail lashing and ears all the way back, the cat grit his sharp teeth and ground out, “Just say it. What are you getting at? But—!" He jerked back as the man started reaching a hand toward him, a very feral, feline growl climbing out of his throat. “You come any closer and I'll dart, and you won't catch me. You're going to need me to agree to the deal—so speak. Only speak."
The man's hand retracted, and with no sudden movements, he lowered himself to one knee to get the two of them on level—or as close as they could be, anyway. “What do you say," he said, with the sunrise's crimson burning in his eyes, “that we cut out the middleman of all this and go straight to the point. No instalment payment plan, just one big trade: a life... for a life—yours for his."
“B-But—!" the cat sputtered. “W-What good does killing me get you—?"
“Killing! Ha, no, kitten. Not killing. I'm talking about a far smaller death—a sacrifice, and you'll wield the dagger yourself. With a smile on your face, no less." The cat's eyes narrowed to slits, but he didn't dart. So the man said, “I can finance this 'friend' of yours. His everything—home, food, drink, education, and... yes, a stipend for luxuries, I think that would suit." When the cat's eyes didn't get any bigger, the man guessed the hangup they were having: “Ah... you don't believe I can, do you? But then... you don't seem to recognise me. If you did you'd know this is no bluff."
Fuzzy ears bounced as the cat's head tilted side to side. “I don't recognise you, no. Should I?"
“Perhaps not—not a cat. What use does a cat have for jewels, after all?"
The cat scanned over the man again. “I don't see any jewels."
“You think I'd wear something so precious on the streets? With cats running rampant? I might as well pitch it into the sea; either way I'd never see it again."
The cat huffed. “Fine. Okay, you're rich. I guess I buy that. Why do you want to... 'finance' my neph..." He tried to cover the choke with a casual cough, but the man's knowing grin made the cat's ears twitch like mad. “My friend. What about him make you want to do all this then, huh?"
“Him? I don't give a damn about him." The man waved dismissively at the cat's offended scowl. “I don't care whether he's a saint or a serial killer; he's just the price I'm paying... to get you."
“...Me." Discomfort written in blaring letters across his face, the cat averted his gaze to the street. “...H-How so?"
“Did my earlier trade offer not tip you off?"
“Y-Yes but! There's rather a big difference between that and... this! I get wanting a mating or two, but..."
“Oh it's more than that, kitten." The cat flinched, but didn't seem surprised. What surprised him was what came next: “This... worthlessness you hold your dignity in—it fascinates me. And it fascinates me because I'm certain it's false. You told me not minutes ago you would whore yourself for four croissants. That's already so pathetic it practically wraps around to being noble, being so willing to debase yourself for the smallest gain you could win for your... 'friend'. I want to see how deep the well goes, kitten. I want to heap humiliation onto you until you can bear the shame no longer. I want to bleed you of your dignity until even you cry mercy. I want to add straw upon straw upon straw until I see your back break. I want to see what it looks like when it all comes crashing down on you.
“I want to make you my pet, kitten. So long as you are my pet... the payments to your 'friend' continue. You may, of course, slink back home with your tail between your legs at any time, if you wish. But know that the moment you do, your 'friend' will not receive another red cent from me; his home and its contents remain my property, and he will be out on his ass in the street come morning—ready to receive you in your triumphant return."
All throughout, the cat had remained staring at the ground, but for the look in his eyes one would think him staring into a yawning abyss—and the call of the void was dangerously close to sucking him in. “Could... I write to him?"
“I will want to read them before they're sent. So far as this 'friend' of yours ought to know, you found gainful employment keeping house—nothing else."
“Fine. I'd just want to have a way for us both to make sure the other's okay."
“Then by all means. Let it be proof enough that I have no intention of cheating this deal. There is no trickery involved... because I think you'll take the deal as is. For... his sake. Yes?" The man bounced a shoulder and said, “Or... you could run now. Refuse me. As you said, I cannot catch you, even if I wanted to. You are perfectly free to do so—yes, to return to your 'friend', and even if you never tell him anything about what we spoke of today... you will remember. You will remember this talk while he has an evening meal of rat's guts, and think back to the buttery scent of fresh pastry... and remember that you are the reason he is not enjoying that now."
The cat's head lolled limply downward, sagging under the weight of the choice; hell was calling for him louder than ever. “I thought... you wanted to... break me. Why... why are you give me every reason to fight it?"
“Oh, kitten... if you gave up so easily, this entire exercise will have been pointless. There's no fun in bending paper—but bending steel, now that is a feat worth revelling in. That will be worth it."
“I... don't understand that."
“You don't have to. You already know all you need to know. The last bit more I need... is your answer." The man placed the bag, all four croissants inside, right in front of the cat's hanging face. “Take them. Call it a deal sweetener. Bring them home. Use the opportunity to tell him what's happening—if you wish." The man stood, towering so high above the kneeling cat that he was absorbed entirely by the man's shadow. “You have until sundown. Return to this spot by then, if you agree, and you will join me in my carriage, which will take us to my manor. If you are not here by sundown, I will leave the city without you."
The sound of the man's retreating steps reached the cat's sensitive ears for minutes more, though he heard not a one. In time, a rosette-spotted orange cat with a paper bag clenched in its teeth bounded through the streets and disappeared.
The day passed, as it was wont. The street endured the hooves of horses, the wear of many wheels traversing its bumps and leaving them a little more worn than they found them, and masses of feet both shod and padded. By the time the sun hung low in the sky, the street was by and large the same as it had been that morning.
Right down to the occupants. Long after the other carriages had come and gone, there was one remaining to witness the horizon catching fire. In the early evening glow, the golden-furred cat seemed to have an aura of light about it as it paced steadily forward. It approached the carriage, and the door opened. The cat took one last look over it shoulder to the city it had called its home since birth, gleaming, bathed in sunlight... and stepped into the carriage's shade. In one smooth, graceful motion, it leapt aboard, the door closed, and the carriage left the city streets behind it.
--Author's Notes--
Sorry about the No Sex, it'll be in every chapter afterward I swear, this story just needed a bit of setup to make any gosh-danged sense lol
My first piece for SoFurry! I was encouraged to post here thanks to my good friend SevenWingedDragon, and if you haven't checked his stuff out already, you should!
Thanks in advance for favs and rates and comments, I appreciate them all and I appreciate you! See you in the next chapter!