I Was An Alien Cat Toy (4 page)

floor. The stairs weren’t human scale, and seeing the way Temin struggled with the outsize treads, the male

just picked Temin up, cupped a hand under his butt, and carried him, while Temin’s skin flushed hot in

embarrassment. This was worse than the shefting litter tray!

Utterly unaware of his feelings, the male carried him as if he weighed nothing, as if Temin was a

tenth his size and not nearly half. But he was also careful with him as some of the others had not. Temin

didn’t feel he had to worry about being dropped and having his backside bruised for a week or more as had

happened twice now. This one seemed to be used to carrying things with care—he’d handled those two

kittens downstairs like he did it all the time. Maybe he was the tribe’s babysitter or something.

The male continued to carry him even once they’d climbed the stairs, Temin on one arm, the bowl of

food held in the crook of the other. Temin thought about struggling to be put down, but the creature’s thick,

tawny fur was warm and soft against his bare skin, and all he was likely to do was earn himself a cuff to the

head, so he behaved himself. He’d not been taken to the upper floors yet—to him, this house was enormous,

but then everything was, built to the scale of residents whose adults were four metres high and where even

the children overtopped him. Only the fact that they didn’t seem to use chairs of any kind meant Temin could

see over the tops of tables and desks here.

Up to now, he’d been forced to sleep either in the kitchen or in a store room next to it, on an

admittedly luxurious fur covered cushion, but he’d still been far from warm or comfortable. He’d never seen

any of the private quarters, so despite his general depression at his situation, he was curious to see something

new. It turned out to be a spacious, airy room, the walls, like all those on the lower floor, intricately and

brightly decorated with images of the cat people and their world. Filtered light came through long banks of

glass bricks in the ceiling—ventilation, as downstairs, was through slits in the wall, and here, in the roof,

though the vents seemed to be closed for the moment. To one side stood a polished reddish wood desk with

the usual cushion in front of it, and a low bed that looked nearly the size of a podpod, covered with furs, with

a carved headboard that looked very old. There were a couple of furry bolsters, but no pillows, sheets or

blankets—Temin hadn’t seen cloth of any kind the whole time he’d been captive, but since the cat people

didn’t wear clothes, maybe that wasn’t surprising. They used soft leather for towels and wiping things down,

which meant there was very little Temin could steal and use as a replacement for his missing clothing.

He might find something in this male’s quarters, though. Maybe if he acted like a perfectly well-

behaved pet, this one might trust him enough to let him off the leash. The feel of it around his throat had

made him want to vomit from fear and disgust at first, and though he was getting used to it, he still hated it.

He was set down once the door was closed, though the male kept a firm paw on Temin’s leash,

talking to Temin the whole time, or at least, vocalising, much as Temin would do himself to a pet cat. The

irony that he was supposed to be reassured that the giant predator with the knife-like claws wouldn’t hurt

him, didn’t escape him. But the male wasn’t threatening him, and was in fact paying him a lot of apparently

well-meant attention.

There was a low table at the far end of the room where the male set the bowl of food, and now he

tugged Temin over to sit, apparently expecting him to wait with him while he ate. Temin’s leash was tied

securely around one of the short legs but with enough play for him to move around if he needed to. Temin

reluctantly sat on the cold floor, which meant the top of his head was about level with the table. The male

stared at him for a moment or so, then made an odd noise and stood up to fetch the cushion from in front of

the desk. Temin, shocked by this sudden consideration, was urged to stand and the cushion placed where he

could sit on it.

The relief from the stone floor was immediate—and now he was high enough to at least see what was

on the table instead of just its edge. Temin stared at the male who was vocalising at him again—maybe

asking if he liked it. Temin smiled and patted the cushion, hoping that conveyed some of his gratitude. At

least it seemed to satisfy the male who sat down on his own cushion, his long, thick-furred tail coiled neatly

around him.

A plate and knife was retrieved from a drawer under the table—a real bachelor set up if Temin had

ever seen one—and then the cooked food was doled out onto the plate. At least the male wasn’t eating raw

meat, which was about half of what the cat people ate from what Temin could tell. They’d tried to make him

eat it the first couple of days, but it had made him vomit uncontrollably. The raw vegetables they’d tried next

were almost worse, and Temin hadn’t been sure if he would die of food poisoning or starvation first. Finally

they’d worked out he could eat cooked meat and vegetables, bread, some of the fruit and a kind of tasteless

nut which wasn’t plentiful or appealing, but at least didn’t make him want to throw up. The problem was,

they gave him too little of the nutritious stuff he could eat, and the rest was just watery stodge without much

protein. He’d lost weight, he knew that—another reason he was in no position to make a run for it.

He suddenly found a manageable piece of cooked, pale green vegetable shoved in front of his face,

held on the knife the male was using for his own meal. Temin blinked up at his owner—was he supposed to

eat it off the knife? The male was waiting patiently, no sign that he was irritated by Temin’s hesitation.

Temin decided he didn’t quite have enough courage to put anything sensitive near the wicked looking blade,

so he pulled the vegetable off the knife and held it in his hands. The male made a little chirrup when he did

that—he didn’t
sound
annoyed—and placed a small dish in front of Temin to catch any falling food.

Protecting the lovingly polished wood of this handsome inlaid table was the most human thing Temin had

seen any of them doing, and it made his throat close up a little in homesickness.

Observing him falter in his eating, the male cocked his head as if concerned. Temin smiled and made

himself stuff some of the vegetable into his mouth. It was protein-poor, and rather bland, like nearly everything else he’d eaten—they didn’t seem to go in for spices or herbs at all—but he’d eaten it before, so

he knew it wouldn’t kill him.

As soon as he finished the vegetable, he found a large piece of meat shoved in front of him. He took

it, but then was at a loss to know what to do with it—it was easily a kilo or more in weight, and he had

nothing to cut it with. He put it on the plate, thinking he would have to gnaw at it in some way, but then he

heard a low growl. His guts turned to ice as he slowly looked up, expecting a blow at the very least, and he

flinched as the huge knife descended. But all that happened was that the meat was speared and removed,

taken back to the male’s plate, and returned in smaller pieces Temin could easily manage. He was so

dumbstruck, he could only stare in surprise—the male stared back, apparently waiting for his response.

Temin reached out and took a bit of the meat, and smiled. “Good!” he said cheerfully, and mimed

eating heartily. The male chirped and then touched Temin’s arm gently with one huge paw—a paw that could

easily kill him but which now, with claws sheathed, felt like being caressed by a furry cushion. Then Temin

was left to eat his meat in peace.

The male was watching him again as he finished what he could—they always gave him too much, but

it was better than too little, he supposed, and the meat was welcome. Temin decided a little physical display

of gratitude would probably work better than smiles, since he doubted his expressions meant much to these

creatures. He reached over and put his hand on the male’s thickly-furred arm, digging his fingers in carefully

—he jumped as the male lifted his other hand, but it was only so he could pet Temin, just as carefully. A low

purr came from that massive throat, loud as a drill.

And it was then he realised, he’d been going about this all
wrong
. He’d been acting like he was a

slave or a prisoner, the helpless pawn of these huge bastards, and he’d missed the really important thing—he

was a
pet
. And pets got their owners to do all kinds of things for them without any need for language. He’d

seen for himself how cats had normally intelligent and independent humans running to their beck and call

with a few well-placed yowls and carefully doled out acts of apparent affection. Shefting shit, he’d even

learned about it in school—why the human colonists had brought some animals with them which had no

economic or nutritional importance. Humans needed the emotional rewards of grooming, of caring, and while

children and friends could fulfil that to a certain extent, pets offered so much in that way to their human

carers that it overrode their relative uselessness as food animals. These cat people must have the same basic

urges—and if Temin wanted to make his lot more comfortable, he would have to ‘train’ his owner just as cats

and dogs had done Terrans for thousands of years.

So he’d just discovered that touch was appreciated—maybe he could try that head-rubbing thing the

cat people went in for. Tentatively he bent and rubbed his forehead along the furred arm, and the purr got a

little louder, the petting a little more enthusiastic. He started to suppress a grin, then wondered why he was

bothering—if by some miracle they ever worked out what his facial expressions meant, they still wouldn’t

realise he was attempting to manipulate them. He was just a dumb animal to them.

He let the male pet him for a little bit, but then sat up and stretched—no point in letting the guy think

that Temin was easy, after all. The male let him go immediately, unusually respectful of his wishes, then got

to his feet, removing the food and dishes to a side room Temin couldn’t see into. The male—Temin thought

he should really start to name these creatures to keep them straight—returning with a cleaning leather,

kneeling and taking Temin’s hands carefully to wipe them, then his face. This, Temin was used to, because

these cat people were as fastidious as their little Terran cousins—only they liked water too, unfortunately,

and had given him several unwelcome freezing cold baths to satisfy their need for hygiene.

But none of them had been this gentle before, and Temin found it soothing. The male—Temin

decided he would call him Xexe, after a large cat his aunt had owned when he was small—wiped his own

face and muzzle, then returned the cloth to wherever he’d got it. Temin stretched out on the cushion—leather

too, but soft and supple against his skin, such a pleasure after stone floors—and thought that this wasn’t so

bad, compared to how it had been and how much worse it could be. Things might be taking a turn for the

better, at last.

~~~~~~~~

Gredar chuckled to himself as he cleaned the dishes—his new pet was far better behaved than his

mother had led him to believe, and quite a delight. Jopas could be such noisy, unsettled creatures, but this one

sat nicely and made small but charming sounds—one could call it well-mannered in fact. He wondered if the

trouble his mother had had with it was more than a little down to the carelessness of the younger kits like

Buhi, and a simple misunderstanding of how to put the animal at its ease. Kirin’s nakedness was a challenge

—the poor thing had to be cold all the time. However could it have survived in the wild? Perhaps it had been

taken as a pet as a youngster, and had never lived outdoors for long. He also wondered how old it was—it

was likely to be an adult, but it was such an oddity, nothing about it could be taken for granted.

He would have to make some sketches—already he could imagine the decorations on a set of dishes.

Perhaps a gift for his mother on her birthday. Yes, that would be the very thing. It was several moonsweeps

away, and even with the next gathering not long in coming, he would have time. He might take Kirin with

him to the gathering—it would cause a sensation once the other clans got a look at him.

He heard the door opening and then an angry screech from his pet—he hastily went out into the room

and found Filwui crouching in front of Kirin while the jopa cringed back against the table leg. “Leave him

be, Filwui,” he warned, as his grooming mate reached out a hand to tug at Kirin’s hair.

Filwui gave a little growl of frustration as he stood. “I was only looking. What are you doing with it?

I thought it was Kadit’s.”

“She gave it to me, and why are we talking about a jopa when I’ve not seen you in nearly a

moonsweep?”

Filwui chirruped and flung himself at Gredar, claws extended and teeth bared in lust. Gredar took him

hard and fast over the desk, biting Filwui’s neck with less care than he’d give a more inexperienced lover,

and breathing his familiar scent in with joy, reanointing Filwui with his own scent, claiming him. Ah, he’d

missed Filwui. Casual couplings were fine, but there was something about having someone hard and warm to