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Must Love Cats

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Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Dale Thomason wasn’t much of a cat person. In fact, he didn’t particularly care for animals of any kind.

Or people either, for that matter.

He lived alone in a small, one bedroom townhouse and mostly kept to himself. He worked as a food critic for a handful of local magazines and newspapers, which allowed him to eat out often and have someone else pick up the tab without having to actually bother with going on a date—no need for stilted conversation or awkward pauses, no laughing at something someone said that wasn’t all that funny, no expectation of putting out at the end of the night. Sex consisted of his hand, a bottle of lube, and a few old Bel Amipornos that were beginning to skip in his DVD player. But at least he didn’t have to kick anyone out of his bed come morning.

He kept his own hours, and tended to stay up late sipping wine and writing his reviews, only to sleep in the next morning fending off his usual, impending hangover. So it wasn’t unusual for the door of his apartment to squeal open at a quarter to midnight on a chilly January evening as he chucked a bag of trash onto his stoop. Dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a padded denim jacket, with a pair of Tevo sandals on his feet, he tugged the door shut behind him as he stepped outside.

The cold pierced his open jacket and cut through the thin T-shirt he wore underneath. Tugging his hood up over his disheveled hair, he ran a quick hand down his unshaven cheeks and drew in a deep breath. The brisk night air chilled his lungs. “Damn,” he muttered to no one in particular as he clapped his hands together for warmth. Fortunately the Dumpster wasn’t too far away. He hefted the trash bag in one hand and stepped off the stoop.

He had barely made it to the end of his walkway when he first saw the stray cat.

It was a large beast, bigger than a domestic cat had a right to be, which made Dale think it wasn’t much of a stray after all. One of his neighbors must own it and, instead of taking it inside where it belonged, let it roam the apartment complex freely. So thatexplained the dusty paw prints he sometimes found on the hood of his Mazda RX-8. He should call the management office about that.

The cat hunched at the fence separating the apartments from a row of residential homes on the other side of the block. Draped in shadow, the cat’s eyes reflected the security light shining above Dale’s door, and it was the two pinpoints of bright yellow staring at him he noticed first. Like Alice’s Cheshire cat, the outline filled in once he realized what he was seeing—bulky shoulders, ragged fur, the hint of more hidden in the darkness.

Dale made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat as he neared the end of the walkway and the cat didn’t move. When he was close enough, he called out, “Get.”

Those large, pale eyes didn’t even blink.

Pulling his jacket closed at the throat, Dale hunched into its warmth and watched the feline from the corner of his vision as he passed it by. It didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, but its amber gaze followed his every step. “Stupid cat,” he mumbled, switching the trash bag from one hand to the other. “Stay off my fucking car, you hear?”

Though no one was around to hear him, he felt foolish talking to a dumb animal. Fortunately the Dumpster was just ahead, and in the overhead lights from the parking lot, he could see one of the top lids had been thrown back, making it easy for him to swing his bag into the receptacle. Good thing, too—it was freezing out here, and his toes were going numb. He really should put the Tevos away in the wintertime so he didn’t grab them to run outside. Sure, he was just taking out the trash, but he could have at least put on a pair of socks, no matter how ugly that looked. Who would see him?

Once the trash was in the bin, he shoved both hands deep into his pockets and hunched into himself as he hurried back to his apartment. Head down, he didn’t bother looking at the cat again, but in his mind, he was already on the phone leaving a message for the management office. People with pets should keep them inside, where they wouldn’t scuff up the expensive paint job on his sports car…

Halfway up his walk, he stopped in mid-step and stared at the large, fat, orange and white tabby cat now sitting on his stoop. Blocking his door.

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