Forward
Ok, look I've written the same things like six times and nothing I have written can prepare you for the weirdness that is about to follow. So, I'll start by introducing myself.
Hello *waves* my name is C.L.A.W.
When someone asks me what my name means, I tell them it's Cats Love All-out War. Kinda catchy, I think, but that's what it means to me. It is not what it meant written on the side of my cage, the wall of the facility I was made in, or the special bullshit acronym the military loves to name shit with. No, that's Cloned Living Animal Weapon.
Don’t get me wrong. I was 'in' the military, for certain values of the word in. I was engineered, trained, and the only survivor of a batch of 24 critters just like myself. Twelve male, twelve female. I think you can guess where that was going. I am a little over five foot ten, almost six foot if I go all the way up on my tip toes. I have orange and black hair, and a face meant for national geographic. I can and do walk on my hind legs and have thumbs, but running is far easier on all fours. My reflexes are - surprise, surprise - cat like, as is my eyesight and my hearing. The two radar dishes I got on top of my skull allow me to view sound three dimensionally, which was a big bonus for what I was made for. If you haven't guessed by now, I am basically a Tiger-Human hybrid. Granted, some other things were thrown in. Some of it from the tiger in your house right now, the common house cat. If you're talking reaction time, you can't beat a cat.
Yes, I am a cat girl. No, I'm not a cute one. I only got enough human in me to let me think and speak, have thumbs, and tits (why I have human tits is beyond me)... but I digress. I spent the first part of my life being trained in a line of work that can best be described as both black and wet. I then spent a number of years in the catbox during the forever war. Kitty litter everywhere. It was a shitty experience.
No, there was no end date for my term of service, and my MOD doesn't exactly lend itself very well to civilian life so the brass who actually knew I existed, well, they figured I would leave feet first.
I had other ideas. Ideas that put a bounty on my head and led to me not only finding my best friend in the whole wide world, but to her making sure my asshole Uncle wouldn't come looking for me.
Weird enough yet?
Too bad, I'm the normal one.
No, I'm not kidding. A humanoid force-mutated tiger is the normal one in the story.
Everything is relative.
So, why am I writing this? A few reasons.
One I do not have a job. Not as such, anyway. I do some odds and ends kind of stuff. No, nothing black and nothing wet. More like "Oh can you possibly help me find this" kind of stuff. I also perform at conventions.
Two, when I tell the stories of what Sonja and I get up to I get lots of people who are interested and, well, someone asked if I could write down one of our adventures.
I got no idea if I can, mind you. I don't know if what I see her do I can do justice to. But, the third reason is why I'm doing this. Someone needs to know; someone needs to take up for this girl. Because, well, she's got other things to worry about.
So, buckle up and hope I find an amazing editor who can keep me on track.
***Aside from the future. I found the best editor in the world. Oh god this was fun. I am so going to write another one.***
***Aside from the editor: I doubt I am the best editor in the world, but I loved working on this book and hopefully made it as easy to read as possible. >^.^<***
Chapter 1
A Bad Night
Today was not a normal day. A normal day would see her working out with one of her wooden wasters. Short sword and up, she has one and practices. I've been trained in martial combat, both armed and unarmed, as well as a variety of toys. Her? She knows the guards, she knows the strikes, she’s been taught... something. What, I'm not sure, but something. Mornings for her normally start about 10:30, 11... 12... when I get there. Sometimes she doesn't wake up even then.
Bedtime is whenever she falls asleep.
So, as you probably guess, when I came at 6am to find her sitting on her couch, staring at the TV and a news report about the Synagogue fire, I knew something was up.
God, how to describe Sonja?
Ok. She's five eight, 170 lbs., with red hair that has black, blond, brown, and white in it. It all depends on what the light is doing to her at the moment. Same with her eyes. They're grey, except for when they are Disney villain green, or steel blue... or, well, you get the idea. She is muscular, but it's the old school Celtic or Norse muscle. She's goth, so most of her clothing is some shade of black that she swears she can tell the difference between.
None of that does her justice. If I may get poetic for a moment, she has eyes that flash like blades; quick, precise. She has a lopsided smile that can light up a whole room, and she knows how to use it. When she's happy the room warms. When she's upset the room gets colder. Wait. That's not actually poetic, that part is literal.
*sighs* What she is, is fun, warm, thoughtful, empathetic, nice, hard, cold, distant, frightening, all rolled into one depending on her mood. Is she good looking? I don't know, she's human. I'm a cat. I know some humans really seem to dig her.
Sonja and her roommate Mortis live in an old warehouse that a friend of ours bought just for her. She has a bed, a couch, a tv, a shower, a tub, a stove, and a fridge. Also, a horse trough and hay, but that's for Mortis.
Her roommate is a horse. He's not her pet, he's her partner. He is also intelligent. Like me and you, intelligent. Kyle's horse Midnight is smart and self-aware, but he thinks like a horse.
Mortis doesn't.
Midnight will talk to anyone, usually to freak them out since he does it telepathically.
Mortis talks when he wants to, not before. It's also not telepathic. Don’t get me wrong, he's not Mister Ed. His lips don't move, but you know what he said. You heard him. Even if you are telepathically a null, if that damn horse wants you to know what he thinks, you will know.
Oh, it gets worse.
He's ash gray. He's also built like a percheron.
She treats him like any 16-year-old treats her horse. Oh, yes, when it comes to him she’s a total horse girl. Granted, that's about the only normal thing she does. She's also not 16. Not by a long shot. I think she's in her late 30s... I think. Oh, she looks to be in her 20s, but seeing as I have known her for fifteen years, she most certainly is not.
So no, seeing her curled up on her couch, crying, watching the morning news, was not how I expected to start my day.
I was going to make her breakfast.
Look, I love the girl. She’s one of the smartest people I know, but when it comes to taking care of herself, she forgets. A lot. Kyle says its C-PTSD, ADHD, Autism, and Dissociative Disorder. To me, she's just her.
"Hey toots, you're up early."
A sort of wave was my only answer. On my way to the area she had made into her kitchen, I walked by the horse. “How bad?”
***<Up until a little after two, back up at five. She’s been staring at that screen since then.>***
Oh boy.
I went over and made her a southern breakfast; grits, eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, and coffee. Once it was done I then mixed it all together, well, all but the toast and coffee, and threw some cheese in it. She was a comfort eater, and this was something her mom made for her. I put the heavily buttered toast, which was cut diagonally, in point first. Her coffee was sweet and light. I had seen her drink it black. In fact, I had seen her drink it every way possible except black with sugar. That she didn't like.
Taking it all over to her, I sat beside her and put the bowl in her lap. "Want to talk about it?"
She kept staring at the TV. "I'm just tired."
"Bad night?"
"Nightmare."
"About?" What she called nightmares and what I called nightmares were vastly different things.
She shrugged, "I got up, walked outside, saw the sky as blood red. Started trying to talk to people, ask what's going on, warn people, whatever. It didn't matter. No matter how much I yelled, my voice was so quiet no one heard me."
Trust me, it wasn't the bloody sky that messed her up. "Want to go out today?"
Her head tilted to the side, "Maybe after."
Uh-oh. "After what?" The words weren't out of my mouth when I heard the sound of a text hit my ears. "Shit."
She shrugged. "It's not that bad." She blinked, "Not yet."
I gave it a quick read. It was my 'work' phone. Like I said, I do odds and ends kind of stuff; follow ex-wife, spy on former husband, a lot of lawyers hire me… a lot of divorce lawyers hire me.
A girl's got to eat.
::You were recommended by a friend of mine, Charles Stanton. He said you were discreet and could help. I've tried the cops, they are not as helpful as I hoped. Please, can we at least meet?::
Well, shit. Charles was a regular, usually had me doing a lot of leg work for him. I was good at the human side of this biz despite never receiving a day of training in it. People like to talk to me, and it lets me find a lot of people who don't want to be found. Granted, this was usually where cheating spouse x was shacking up with who, but it still counted.
Whoever this was, they weren't a lawyer. Lawyers always start off with 'HI I'm A. Lawyer. I Work for Dewey, Cheatem, and Howe.' The police aren't as much help as I hoped wasn't a good sign either.
But Sonja saw it coming.
::Sure, I would love to meet. I take it you have been told the particulars about myself?::
::Money isn't an issue, nor is the fact that you are different. I don't have a lot of interactions with you people, but Charles says you are the best, and that you're basically the only person he can think of at all with your track record.::
You People, wonderful. I looked over at Sonja. She was still watching TV, but at least she was stuffing her face. This might get her out of her funk. Especially if it was something that the cops couldn't help with. What I love most about her is the fact that she seems incapable of turning down anyone in need, even if she's not a fan of them.
I gave Miss... Mr? You People, the address, told them to bring coffee, and that if my partner was good with the case, we would help out.
After that? Well, Sonja wasn't in pajamas. I don't think she owns any.
"Oh kay, up. We got company, and possibly a job."
Mechanically, she stopped chewing, swallowed, and got up and went over to her clothing rack to get dressed.
Oh boy, this wasn't good.
I watched as she moved robotically; took a quick shower, got out, dried off, pulled her clothing on as if she were doing it from instructions she got off the internet and this was her third time, then sit down and do her makeup. That she actually took some care with. There are times when I act more human than she does. It’s like she’s not quite tethered to her meatsuit. As she went around getting ready, she downed another cup of coffee, then went over to the mirror and ‘masked up’. Zero to human in no time flat. I had watched her do that for years, and to be honest? It kind of broke my heart for her.