Flash: Purrson

Photo by Matthew Larkin on Unsplash

Wobbling to the end of the bed, I leap down to the rug. Late morning pee run is going to be a challenge.

I bolt through the house, leaping from the hallway, off the wall, to the shower curtain swinging into the thankfully dry bathtub and let loose. I hadn’t figured out how I got that much pee in this small of a body. Once done, I kick, kick, kick behind me and jump out of the tub onto the sink pedestal.

Yep, still a ginger kitten. Fucking ridiculous. I’m twenty-six. Why ain’t I a werewolf or a tiger? I mean, that is what all the shifter paranormal urban fantasy romance shit has. But, noooo, I’m a kitten.

Wonder how long I’m going be stuck like this this time.

Eleventh time the charm, right?

I stalk down the apartment hallway to the kitchenette area and jump up to the little counter I usually eat at when I’m human. Walking by yesterday’s mugs, I knock the middle one to the floor. An ex- gave it to me. It makes a satisfying crash on the linoleum.

Now where did I put that bag of cat food? Dry sucks, but no opposable thumbs for a can opener. Two more leaps has me on top of the fridge with the chips, and the bag of dry food buried beneath them. I shove everything over the edge onto the floor, then leap down to the counter than the floor. The fall broke the bag, so I shove my face in and eat my full.

Water. So dry.

Two leaps gets me up to the sink. I bat at the level until water starts coming out of the faucet.

If this thing was predictable at all, and I have run so many different calculations to find any sort of pattern, I would buy wet and put out food and water in preparation. But no dice. I could be doing this one hour or a week, and the next episode may be tomorrow or four months from now.

A couple more swats turn off the water. Don’t want to pay the bill later for letting it run.

Full belly, I’m just about done in.

I leap down and go to the pet bed I bought. Curling up, I mew as the weight sensor built into the bed turns on the heat. Best purchase ever.


The rattle at the door brings me instantly away. I flex my hand and the claw releases. Still a cat.

“Hey Parson, you awake?” Emma, my present not-yet-ex asked at the apartment entrance. She slips in, closing the door behind her. “Now where are you, you lazy bum?” she mutters, walking through my living space, right by where I tucked the pet bed behind the futon.

Lazy bum, am I? Pot calling kettle black much, sweetheart. I cautiously follow.

“God, what a mess,” Emma comments walking by the kitchenette area toward the bedroom. “Didn’t even make your bed before you left. Whatever do I see in you?” She starts fluffing the pillows and making the bed. “Right, I remember.”

My girlfriend runs a finger down what is my side of my bed to about where my waist usually is, before flipping the sheets in place.

What can I say, I got it going on.

I jump up on my dresser then the standing closet I bought since the apartment did not come with closets. It gives me a bird’s eye view of her, including the cleavage I love so much.

Someday I hope to grow into a full tom cat, because, you know, my human side is already there.

“Oh,” Emma’s head whips around, “what?”

Then she sees me.

“Aw, Parson got a kitten. That is so sweet.” She reaches out her hand. “Here kitty, kitty, kitty.”

I stand-sit, front up and back down, looking down on her regally. I know I look like perturbed cuteness.

“Oh, fine. Just stay up there.” Emma smiles before putting a finger to her lips. “Shh, don’t tell Parson I’m here. I wanted to surprise him with dinner tonight. He’s been working really hard all week.”

Oh god, no. She is going to try to cook for me? Please no.

She walked to the door. “And maybe, he might, you know, start thinking about how nice having me around all the time would be.”

I really need to move her to the ex- list as soon as possible if she thinks her cooking would make me think of anything permanent. Delusional, I don’t need.

I leap down to follow the psychopath.

Emma stops at the edge of where the carpet gives way to the kitchette tile. “Wait, did you do all this?” she asks looking back at me.

I sit on my haunches and lick my front paws.

“Oh, you did, you little rascal.” ¬†Emma starts picking things up. She pours the dry into a bowl and fills another with water and places them in a corner under the counter. “Why doesn’t he have a cat bowl for you yet? And do you even have a litter box?”

The woman starts opening up all the doors in the apartment, looking for cat stuff.

“Oh, this needs to get fixed, pronto.”

I meow loudly at her.

“I don’t mean you silly. Although it looks like you are just about the right age.” Emma shook her head. “I bet Parson will fight it. He is such a man, but wait until you start spraying and getting aggressive, then I guarantee, snip, snip.”

Not in this lifetime babe.

“Let’s put together a list. Litter box, litter, litter scoop.” She walks over to my computer station and pulls out one of my neon pads.

I meow protest, walking over to her, batting at the pen in her hand.

“Oh, now you want to play.”

The woman reaches behind my ears and scritches me.

Oh.my.god. I can’t help but lean into it and purr.

“Who’s a good boy. Who’s a good boy.” She whispers back, drawing a hand down my spine, giving me tingle from one end to the other. I’ve never had another person around during one of these changes, and it is amazing. She picks me up and moves me to her lap. With her offhand, she keeps petting me and the other continues to write the shopping list.

I try to concentrate on interrupting her, but the petting!


“Water bowl, food bowl, a scratching post.”

Yes, a scratching post, great idea.

“Maybe one of those feather things, would you like that?”

I rumble my approval.

“Oh, and dinner tonight. Some wet food. Chicken or beef?”

She stopped petting, waiting for an answer. I flip over and do at quick nip at her fingertips. Belly rubs commence.

“Right, beef. You are definitely Parson’s boy aren’t you? Beef for us, some mushrooms, bread, and garlic and butter. I should see if he has any of these. Ready to let me up yet?” She stopped moving her hand and the heavy thing pressed on my belly. I did not like that feeling at all. I bat at her hand, no claw, and she moves her hand. I flip and leap down.

“Well, thank you your highness.” She returned to the kitchette and opens the refrigerator door, looking inside. “I’m impressed, he actually has butter, eggs, bread, beer, more beer,” I hear her pull open the crisper drawer, “Lettuce? Yep, in the door I see Ranch dressing. He actually eats salad.”

Please, the lettuce is for my homemade hamburgers last week, and I keep the ranch for fried mushrooms.

“What’s in the freezer?”

Not liking her judgement on my lifestyle, I leap on the counter and knock over another one of yesterday’s mugs, this time on the carpet side. That one was from my dad and I would like to keep it.

“Oh no you didn’t.”

Emma comes over and gathers all the mugs and place them in the sink. Then walks around to pick up the last mug. “He is going to have to pick up after himself with you around. You are a handful.”

“But so cute.” She scritches the back of my head again. I swear my eyes roll back in my head. She lifts me up and holds me against her body. I can feel the heat and hear her heartbeat, and I close my eyes, purring. “Oh, you little angel. I wonder what he named you.”

I purr louder, just wanting her to shut up and let me rest. It’s been a long day after a long night.

“Purrson. Yeah, that is what I’m going to call you when he isn’t around.” She ran a hand down my back. “My little Purrson.”

I twist and bat her on the hand, this time with a little claw. Emma drops me and I race to my cave behind the futon.

She sucks at her hand. “Okay, Purrson is a no. We will work on something else. Maybe Little Shithead. Think on that while I go shopping.”

I glare from under the futon until she leaves.

(words 1,517, first published 10/2/22)

Purrson Series

  1. Naturally Nocturnal (9/26/21)
  2. Purrson (10/2/22)
  3. Phylactery (12/4/22)

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