I hear Clarice’s voice before I see her. “Hey. Were you the one who let Hannibal into my—”
She stops short, eyes bugging out.
I follow her gaze, and a fresh wave of heat assaults my face.
His Royal Hardness is still at full mast. I guess it takes a few seconds for things to come down.
I’m also acutely cognizant of the hazmat-style suit I’m wearing and the plastic-shield-covered room.
I can't even imagine what kind of kink Clarice thinks she’s just walked into. Is there such a thing as serial killer roleplay? Or maybe she thinks we’re playing doctor… during the outbreak from The Andromeda Strain?
“I’m so sorry,” she mutters, backing away. “I thought I overheard your porn, not—”
I don’t hear the rest because at that moment, Hannibal streaks into the room.
Seeing his nemesis, Tigger drops the condom he’s been holding and instinctively grabs his pants.
I half expect Hannibal to get scared by His Royal Hardness, or Prince Regent for that matter. When one of my roommates put a cucumber behind him once, he freaked the fuck out.
But no, he’s heading right for Tigger. I guess the phallic object has to be green to be a problem.
“Stop,” I yell at the cat.
“Hannibal!” Clarice says sternly.
The cat actually speeds up. In an eyeblink, he’s at Tigger’s feet.
Oh, no. His Royal Hardness is still out and proud. Is that what the cat is going for? Is he thinking of finally living up to his name and—
Nope.
The cat isn’t yearning for a taste of man meat. His real goal turns out to be—to quote his movie namesake—“a thousand times more savage and more terrifying.”
I gape in horror as Hannibal snatches the condom with his teeth and dashes toward me.
My mask muffles my scream as a terrible scenario plays out in front of my eyes: the cat claws holes in my suit, then forces the man juices in there… somehow.
The scream must upset Hannibal. He veers off his course—by running up the plastic-covered wall as though he’s been bitten by a radioactive spider.
The duct tape I used to keep the plastic in place doesn’t like this and gives up, but Hannibal leaps to the next piece before he can be smothered, and then he lands on the floor behind me and Clarice and streaks out of my room.
“Hannibal!” Clarice shouts and gives chase.
I dash after them, only to learn that my getup isn’t meant for running.
Panting as I waddle, I watch Clarice disappear into the kitchen.
I follow, and when I arrive, she’s standing there confused.
“Where is he?” I ask breathlessly.
She shakes her head. “I thought I saw him run in here.”
A motion behind me gives me a start, but it’s just Harry.
“I Tawt I Taw a Puddy Tat,” she says in her best Tweety impersonation. In a normal voice, she adds, “He was carrying a condom. What’s up with that?”
“Where is he?” Clarice and I shout in unison.
Harry looks me up and down. “What the hell are you wearing?”
“Where is the cat?” I growl.
Harry takes a step back. “Chill. He’s in my room. I locked him in there before I came over.”
With a sigh of relief, Clarice steps over to a drawer, takes out a pair of tongs, and shoves it into my hands.
I narrow my eyes at the thing. “What’s that for?”
“To get the condom,” Clarice says with an eyeroll.
“Why me?”
She looks me up and down. “You’re wearing a hazmat suit, plus it’s your boyfriend’s condom.”
Harry looks intrigued. “A boyfriend?”
“He’s not my—”
Before I can finish the sentence, my not-boyfriend waltzes in.
Harry looks impressed, as does Clarice—despite the fact that she just saw him pants-less.
“Let me,” he says, reaching for the tongs. He doesn’t seem the least bit embarrassed.
“No.” I bravely grip the tongs. “I got this.” The last thing I want is Tigger losing one of those beautiful eyes to the cat.
We creep over to Harry’s room, and she opens the door.
Hannibal is there, in the middle of the floor, rolled up into a contented ball, ignoring us as only a cat can.
The condom is next to him.
Eeek.
I steel myself.
You’re wearing a suit. You can do this.
Bravely, I waddle over and pick up the biohazard with the tongs… and goggle at it, turning it this way and that.
“What’s the matter?” Clarice asks.
“It’s empty.” I keep examining the latex as though I can conjure the cum back—which hey, might be a neat magic trick.
“Empty?” Tigger asks, incredulous.
“What was in there?” Harry asks, and gets a funny look from Clarice.
As one, we look down at Hannibal—who was clearly waiting just for that moment to very pointedly lick his chops.
There may even be a slurping sound.
“Eww!” Harry shouts. “He ate it?”