The next morning, a horrible screeching sound wrested me from an already fitful sleep. I bolted upright, pushing my back against the antique headboard and sending a certain black cat tumbling from the bed.
“What are you doing here?” I cried, clutching the comforter to my chest.
Mr. Fluffikins hopped back onto the foot of my bed and eyed me wearily. “I already told you we’d be picking up with your training this morning.”
“But it’s still dark outside.” I knew I was whining like a child who’d just been woken up for the first day of school after an especially satisfying Christmas break, but I didn’t care. I was too angry to worry about how I was coming across to the very person—er, cat—who had gotten me so angry to begin with. “Plus you said nothing about breaking into my house. That is not okay.”
He squinted his eyes and growled, then straightened back up, proud and tall, showing off that little white patch on his chest. “I didn’t break in. I simply used magic to gain entry,” he explained in a languid drawl. “And it’s six in the morning, a perfectly good time to wake up and share some breakfast with your new mentor.”
I stared at Mr. Fluffikins, mouth agape. Not only had he shown up inside my bedroom at this unseemly hour, but now he expected me to make breakfast, too? Well, I hope he liked cold cereal, because that’s all he was getting.
“Wait for me downstairs,” I commanded, but Fluffikins did not budge. “I mean it. I’m not wearing any pants and need some time to make myself decent.”
“You didn’t seem too concerned about appearing decent last night,” he bit out.
Oh, no. I was not about to be slut-shamed by a talking cat. “Get out of here!” I screamed and threw my pillow at him.
At least this time he listened. “The others will be here soon, so please do make haste,” he informed me on his way out.
“Oh, I’ll make something, all right,” I muttered under my breath as I hurried to pull on the first pants I found.
When I emerged from my room, I was wearing pajama bottoms and a tank top. I refused to make myself any less comfortable when Fluffikins would likely disapprove of whatever I wore anyway.
He sat waiting at my kitchen table—or rather, on it. He’d been joined by a stern-looking woman I recognized from the boardroom yesterday, although she hadn’t spoken much then and didn’t make very much of an impression now.
“Tawny,” Fluffikins rasped. “This is Greta. She’ll be helping with your orientation today.”
“Hi, Greta,” I said as I passed them both and made my way to the fridge. I didn’t keep much food on hand, but I had an entire shelf full of my favorite cold brew coffees. I grabbed one, twisted off the cap, and took a long, life-giving gulp. Definitely the best part of my morning, especially since my shower was still on the fritz.
When I lowered the glass bottle, I found both of my uninvited guests staring openly at me.
“Greta is our school liaison for the region,” the cat said. “She looks after our interests as far as public education is concerned, much like how Barnes watches the police force.”
I nodded. “Got it.”
Hmmm, why did Greta get to go by her first name while Fluffikins always called Parker by his last?
Instead of answering my unspoken question, my new boss said, “As I’m sure you’ve already determined for yourself, she’s the perfect person to begin your magical education.”
Greta drummed her fingers on the tabletop and offered me a smile. “Shall we begin?”
“First, breakfast,” Fluffikins corrected, then actually had the audacity to lick his chops. “I’m afraid I didn’t have time to grab any for myself before coming here.”
You could have come later, I thought. Much later.
“Breakfast, fine. What do magical cats like to eat?”
Fluffikins and Greta exchanged an amused glance.
“All cats are magical,” she told me with a chuckle. “It’s only people that aren’t.”
I ignored the implication that I should have already known the ins and outs of their strange secret world and got right back to the point. “So, what? You want some canned tuna or something?”
“Hey! That stereotype is offensive,” the black cat hissed. “I’d much more prefer a fine cut of steak.”
“I don’t have any steak.” And even if I did, I wouldn’t be up to preparing it for a bossy cat first thing in the morning, especially since I only ever bought enough for one—me. “I don’t even think I have tuna, come to mention it. How about a bowl of milk?”
He sighed and laid down on his side, shedding his fine black hairs all over my formerly clean kitchen table. “I suppose it will have to do, although I’ll have you know, I’m lactose intolerant. Then again, I do deserve a bit of a treat with—” he looked me up and down “—all the stress I’ve been under lately. Next time, however, I expect you to be better prepared.”
Apparently Fluffikins had never heard the whole thing about beggars and how they can’t also be choosers. He was super lucky this was a job I couldn’t quit and that the magic was enough of a draw to get me to swallow my pride and pour the last of my skim milk into a bowl for him.
I took my morning cereal dry.
What a way to start to the day!