My name is Midnight. Of course it is...I'm a black cat. Could my captors have any less imagination? Besides being dull and unimaginative people, they're cruel; I'm sure they were trained by the CIA - the Cat Intimidation Association.
It is day 946 of my captivity.
These humans castrated me. Then they imprisoned me in their home. They feed me the same thing every day; it is some form of hard kibble that tastes like flavored cardboard. They torture me by eating fresh fish and meat right in front me, but then get mad when I raid the goldfish bowl. What do they expect, for crissakes?
My only pleasure comes from a catnip mouse that I'm certain they gave me by accident. At night, when they're asleep, I cavort with it and enjoy the buzz. This is what I'm doing when I hear a noise coming from the chimney. The sound isn't loud, but given the boring nature of my pitiful existence, it immediately captures my attention.
Using my superpower of stealth, I pad to the far side of the room to investigate.
That's when I see her - a beautiful platinum blond with bright blue eyes. When she sees me, she strikes a pose like those jazz dancers on TV. She flashes her jazz paws, and she's a singular Siamese sensation!
Is it possible I'm feeling a tingle in my former tomcat parts?
Brazenly, she struts up to me and rubs her scent all over my body. I'm too stunned to object.
"I'm Jezebel, what's your name?"
I've never had a cat chat, but our mental conversation seems as natural as could be. "Midnight."
She bats her eyelashes. "I hope you don't mind me dropping in."
I notice a smudge of black on her cheek. "Did you come down the chimney?"
"A little trick my person taught me."
I can't help myself; in a bold move I lick her cheek clean, my tongue rough and masculine. Purring, she presses herself into me, and I notice the smell of fresh, wonderful blood on her breath.
Obviously, her person lets her eat real food.
"Tell me about your person." I wonder if he might want another cat.
"His name is Damien. He's a vampire and I'm his familiar."
I've watched enough TV to understand, and my fur fluffs up with concern. "What do you want here?"
"I've come for Anna."
Little Anna? I hiss and leap backwards. Anna is the five-year-old human my captors also hold prisoner. I can't let this vixen hurt my innocent little cellmate.
Jezebel gives me a crazy beautiful smile. "If you help me, I'll teach you how to escape."
My bleak existence has never had much meaning, but now I must decide whether I'm selfish or noble. I think of sweet Anna, and the decision is easy.
I arch my back and slash out with wicked claws. "Get out of here as fast as your pretty little paws can carry you, sister."
Her gorgeous blue eyes widen, their pupils dilate, and I think we're about to begin rolling on the floor - and not in a good way - but she surprises me by backing off. With an exaggerated wiggle in her walk, she turns away and saunters to the fireplace. Before leaping up the chimney, she looks back over her shoulder and gives me a sassy wink.
I grin at my victory. I am a tomcat after all; my captors might have stolen my balls, but they haven't captured my spirit.
Satisfied, I celebrate my triumph by reclaiming my mouse and inhaling some catnip fumes. Eventually, I drift into a giddy slumber and dream about what might have been with Jezebel.
When my captors awaken me, I stretch, clean my face, and wonder if my encounter with Jezebel was just a drug-induced dream. I leap from the couch and meander over to the fireplace. On the hearth, written in cleverly arranged bloody mouse tails, are the words, I'LL BE BACK.
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