1.
As the sun sets, Marta pours another glass of wine and fans herself as the spaghetti boils on her stove. It's the middle of October, and by all rights, it should be chilly outside, but Autumn has been timid as of late, letting some of Summer's heat linger like stragglers at a party. She wipes sweat from her brow and is reaching for a can of tomato sauce when Marta hears the chirp of her mobile phone, announcing that she has a new text message.
"It's Howard," She thinks. "He's canceling on me... Again."
She takes her phone and flips it screen down, not bothering to read whatever bullshit excuse he has this time. Anger and disappointment twist like crooked vines inside of her, and suddenly Marta doesn't want to think about her flimsy Boyfriend. Instead, she gulps down her second glass of wine and is preparing to pour herself a third, when she hears the doorbell.
She peers suspiciously down the hall at her front door. It is mostly glass, and she can see out into her front the yard, only there isn't anyone there; no dark figures like in horror movies, no black-eyed children, and certainly no Howard.
Marta turns off the stove and shuffles quietly to her front door, where she presses her head to the glass and looks all around her porch. She closes her eyes and is momentarily distracted by the cool touch of the glass on her forehead before opening them again. Her porch is empty, but just beyond the steps leading down out into her trim yard, there appears to be a box, or crate, or a chest, or something.
Marta opens the glass door, and a quiet night breeze surprises her. It blows her long dark hair into a bramble just behind her shoulders before she steps out onto her porch.
Outside, there is a smell that greets her. It isn't the sort of harsh musk that reams her nose, but a light scent that tickles her senses. It's a warm smell and, without really knowing why, she thinks it's oddly feline.
It turns out it isn't a crate in her yard. Instead, Marta sees a double-walled box, one of those big ones twice the size of a footlocker. From the porch, she can read the note stapled to the front that simply read, "Free cat."
Inside the crate, she hears something move.
"Hello?" it seems silly to speak to a cat, but to Marta, whatever is in the box seems too big to be a cat. She takes a step closer, curious enough to try and peer inside, but not wanting to get too close. Then the thing in the box began to stir, like a waking animal.
Now, she takes a step back and watches as two hands appear on either side. Then, pulling itself up slowly, the thing stood.
It was a man, painted up and down in shaggy browns and eggshell white stripes to look like a cat. He looks at her curiously beneath a cheap dollar store cat's mask before stretching up to the Autumn sky. He even stretched like a cat.
Marta looks him up and down and feels dregs of fear drain from her. He was naked except for the mask, and she thought the paint job was good, probably airbrushed on. Then her eyes drifted to his thick cock, which drooped sleepily between his legs.
"Oh my." The two words are lubricated with wine and slip between her lips almost too low to hear, but the man in the cat mask catches it. He stops stretching and steps out of the box and onto her porch. Marta catches a glint of silver around his neck. "A collar?" She says aloud. "Kinky!"
She reaches out and reads the name engraved on the small plate. "Shakey?" She looks at her, and beneath his cat's mask, his eyes glow marigold. "What kind of name is Shakey for a cat?"
She expects him to speak, or maybe even shrug. Instead, he stands quietly. Marta shrugs before reaching a hand out to touch his chest. Some part of her expects to push right through him as if Shakey the cat is a dream or a wine-induced delusion. Some part of her expects a flash, a puff of smoke, and then he's gone. But there is no flash. There is no smoke. When her fingertips land on warm flesh, Marta exhales hot excitement and feels her tongue dance in her mouth.
2.
"Did Howard put you up to this?"
Shakey looks at her as if Marta is speaking another language, and after a moment of silence, she waves a dismissive hand at him. "Oh, fine. Keep your secrets. I had spaghetti on, let me just take care of it."
She leads him inside, shuts the door, and eyes him as she undoes the top two buttons of her blouse. She hears him purrs deep in the back of his throat before Marta brushes by him, trailing her fingers over his chest. Then it hits her. She sniffs the air and realizing that it is his scent she smelled on the porch.
"Follow me," she commands through a flirty smile.
In the kitchen, Marta wonders if Shakey is hungry and feels a pinch of guilt. "Should I offer him something to eat?" She thinks before another voice answers inside of her. "No, let him work up an appetite."
She drains the pot of spaghetti, feeling Shakey's eyes all over her. Sweat rolls down her back and between her breast, and she tries to convince herself it's from the steam rising off of the water.
