Cat Nipped Ch. 04

"I'll take a water too. I think I've had enough beer for today."

"Okay." I make my way to the deck where the coolers are sitting. Grabbing two waters out of the blue cooler, I turn to see Monday, Barbara's cat, slinking across the deck's railing. There is a bird feeder hanging from a pole attached to the corner of the deck. A robin is sitting on the railing's edge just beneath the bird feeder, seemingly unaware of Monday's stealthy approach. I watch, fascinated by the cat's movement, slow, methodical, designed to catch its prey by surprise. The muscles beneath Monday's shiny coat bunch and roll as he stops in a crouch, hind legs pulled in tight, front paws extended toward the little bird target. When the pounce comes, it comes in a flash of fur and a blur of wings, leaving Monday unfulfilled on the very edge of the railing, his bird meal winging away to safety. Monday turns to me as if to say I've done something to prevent his successful hunt and his eyes catch the light of the failing sun, turning from hazel to liquid gold.

Oh god! NO! It can't be true! But it is true; I feel the truth in my bones, in my very soul. I turn to where Tara is still sitting on the swing. I see the gleam of gold streaming from her eyes too before she gives her hand a twist, pulling my sunglasses off my face and placing them on hers. "Don't worry," I hear Barb saying from behind me, "old Monday misses way more than he hits these days. I think he only hunts the birds out of habit now." I give a weak smile, but inside my stomach is cramping in pain, torn up by my fear. Tara is one of them. Tara is one of the Ska'a.

The Ska'a first appeared almost six years ago, slipping around Mars in a spacecraft the size of three football fields put end to end. By the time they landed in Antarctica several months later, they had made contact with every government here on Earth. You can imagine how big a deal that was. First Contact! There were only a few government officials on hand at the actual landing, but every news service in the world had cameras there capturing video of the first aliens to come to Earth. The Ska'a filed out of an opening in their spacecraft, two thousand and thirteen of them to be exact, arranging themselves in a long sinuous line as they observed humans in the same manner we observed them.

They were beautiful! Tall, well over six feet in height with the males only slightly taller than the females and lithe with muscles that ripple beneath black outfits (uniforms maybe?) with unique white designs. The Ska'a look something like Earth's big cats in humanoid form. Oh there are some differences to be sure: no tails (not that I've seen or heard about), slimmer faces, ears set to the sides of their heads rather than on top. But if the Ska'a aren't quite in the same family as our big cats they're certainly kissing cousins. The Ska'a coloring is varied and not always what we humans would expect from natural creatures. Sure they have tawny, black, brown, gray, silver and white in their coats, but in general those are secondary colors, the colors of stripes or rosettes, zig-zags and whorls. The Ska'a are primarily deep purple or blue or green or red, usually in hues so deep they are nearly black.

The first move the Ska'a made was to offer the world improvements in combustible engine technology. Smart people (aliens?) those Ska'a. Making stops in most of the major cities of the world, they would purchase an older vehicle, make some kind of secret improvement to the engine and then run the vehicle either in laps around a track or on a highway. A big production would be made of purchasing gas, filling the tank up and then driving until the tank was empty. They averaged nearly five hundred miles to the gallon. And it didn't make that big a difference in the make or model of the vehicle or whether it ran on gas or diesel. Even SUVs and pickup trucks got nearly the same mileage. The news media outlets were going crazy. When the Ska'a offered to sell the secrets of the engines to the highest bidder the oil producing countries, oil companies and auto industry formed a consortium. They paid the Ska'a fifteen trillion dollars in 2.5 trillion dollar installments. I'll give you three guesses whether or not that technology actually trickled down to the average driver and the first two don't count. Go figure!

Anyway, the Ska'a took some of the money they made off of that sale and built a factory in Arizona. There they built a small device that could be added to a car or truck's catalytic converter to completely eliminate carbon dioxide, carbon monoxide, nitrogen oxides (hell, maybe some other oxides too), and hydrocarbons leaving engine emissions as nothing more than water vapor. Built it cheap too! They sell them for $22.50. By the end of their first year here on Earth the Ska'a already had a deal to retrofit every car in California. That state had made it mandatory equipment on all cars registered in the state. By the time the Ska'a celebrated their second anniversary of the landing date they were selling the device to every auto manufacturer doing business in the United States. Like I said, the Ska'a are smart people or whatever they should be called. But don't be fooled! The Ska'a are not tree-hugging, Birkenstock sandal-wearing, pot smoking environmentalists. They're killers! They are violent, brutal, terrifyingly fast, savagely strong serial killers!

Things got real bad with terrorism not long after the Ska'a made their deal with the oil industry/auto industry consortium. Probably because it showed just how much some groups have and how little others are forced to get by on. Whatever the reason, things were pretty terrible. Bombings, mass poisonings, abductions, you name it and it was being done somewhere. Mostly in the Middle East and Africa, but it was a problem everywhere including Europe, Asia and the U.S. too. At first, the Ska'a were fairly mum on the subject, but when it became apparent that the problem was too big for any single government to get a handle on, the Ska'a stepped in, ostensibly to help.

Help! Fuck, they stepped in to kill. I remember the day Father, the leader of the Ska'a, held his press conference in New York City. He was so handsome, his hide a deep, crimson red with nearly vertical slashes of dark purple, dressed in a charcoal gray Armani suit. Stepping up to the microphone he said, "We have seen the problems your world is having with terrorism. I will send the Little Sword to help." Nineteen words! That was all he said. The Little Sword is apparently the title for a particular Ska'a warrior. In their language it translates into something along the lines of a "right hand man" or "problem solver."

In any case, a big production was made of selecting the group of Ska'a warriors who would be helping the Little Sword. A group of forty-nine warriors were hand-picked by the Little Sword to fight the terrorist epidemic. And fight it they did! In groups of two or four or eight, sometimes in groups as large as ten the Ska'a swept across the Middle East killing anyone over eighteen with the slightest connection to terrorism. They would appear suddenly, in random locations, huge and fast and terribly savage, swinging enormous five and six foot long broadswords capable of cutting through cement, metal and human flesh with equal ease. If you were a terrorist you died. If you provided cash or other material support you died. If you gave shelter or succor or aid of any kind you died. Didn't matter to the Ska'a if you were the lowest, meanest rebel or a government official sitting behind a desk, if you were involved in terrorist activity you died. To prove the killings were not merely random, the Ska'a sent terabytes of data to the news services detailing exactly how each individual was involved, how they had helped to perpetuate terrorism. Somehow the physical evidence made the killings even worse for me.

Several of the more well-known and well-funded groups tried attacking the shelters the Ska'a had created to facilitate their various missions. Those attacks invariably failed and grisly reminders were left stationed around the Ska'a shelters as a warning. I never was sure if it was a warning for the terrorists, the country governments and armed forces or humanity in general. I can tell you those attacks on the Ska'a stopped when it became apparent that no one, no matter how near or far away the culprit, was safe from Ska'a reprisals. By the time the Ska'a had "cleansed" the Middle East, Africa and Europe, persons in the United States and all across Asia were turning themselves into the authorities, providing proof of their own crimes and accepting harsh punishments in an effort to avoid the ultimate punishment of death. When the Little Sword and her group of fifty Ska'a warriors were finished 563,259 people had been killed. I know the number by heart. Most humans probably do. The Ska'a kept a running tally on the billboards they purchased. They're still up in every city where the Ska'a still maintain shelters. A threat? A warning? Possibly, but you never hear those governments complaining. At least not publicly.

Why? I'll tell you why. Many of the world's governments made complaints to the United Nations. Asking for war reparations, demanding the Ska'a be tried for war crimes or human rights violations. Father was ordered to appear before a full session of the U.N. Security Council. He did. Father and the Little Sword arrived in New York City amid a maelstrom of demonstrations and media coverage. Father, as per usual was dressed in a slick Armani suit, while the Little Sword was covered head to toe in the black/white combat uniform of the Ska'a. Before the two Ska'a could be escorted into the U.N. headquarters everyone in the vicinity became violently ill with vomiting and uncontrollable diarrhea. Seems the Ska'a neglected to tell us old humans, you know the owners/caretakers of the planet, that unless they actively suppress their natural ferocity no person can stand to be within a few hundred feet. And it's not based on poisons borne by air or toxins (we know now because our scientists have tested) its just fear. Fear of a bigger, stronger, faster, morally ambiguous predator. The meeting with the U.N. Security Council had to be postponed for three weeks while the sick recovered.

Father and the Little Sword eventually met with the Security Council, though it didn't seem all that productive. When he was asked to account for the human rights violations the Ska'a committed, Father stood before the lectern tall and dapper in his high-priced suit. He adjusted the mike, looked at the seated members of the Security Council and the several hundred video cameras on hand, and Father smiled, showing enormous, sharp teeth. Then Father held up one of his hands showing thick, dark crimson claws. He waited a few seconds so everyone could see those deadly claws then Father used them to shred the Armani suit leaving him naked save for a covering around his crotch and thighs. Each muscle in his arms, chest and legs was starkly revealed, the crimson and deep purple of his hide shone glossily under the lights. And he spoke, spoke just four words in his deep, gravelly voice. "We are not human!" Then he and the Little Sword left. To my knowledge the U.N. never contacted them again. Thoughts of the Ska'a flash through my mind far quicker than I can recount, and in truth I probably only spend a moment remembering the Ska'a's war on terror.

No, my real focus is on Tara. My stomach aches and my chest is so tight I can hardly breathe. My thoughts circle and clash in my mind like a tornado rampaging through a mobile home community. Oh god! Tara is Ska'a. But Tara is so sweet and loving. Tara is Ska'a. But Tara holds me at night. The Ska'a are nothing like humans. But Tara is my everything! My whole world is wrapped up in her. The Ska'a are killers without remorse. But Tara is mine! Tara IS MINE! That thought fills me with warmth and love, dispels the fear and reservations I have about Tara's heritage. Regardless of what she is, or can do or may become in the future: Tara is mine!

I look over to where she is sitting, still in the same position where I left her, still as a porcelain statue. I make my way back to the swing. Tara's head moves as I approach so I know that behind the sunglasses she is tracking my movement. She just sits there though, unmoving, not saying or doing anything to give away what's going on inside. Only, I don't have to guess what's going on inside. I feel her emotions nearly as strong as I feel my own. Tara is scared. Scared to death of what I will do. Or what I will say. It breaks my heart. I've scared my girl and it feels like the weight of the world sits on my chest.

"Hey, you okay?" I ask, though I know she is anything but okay.

Tara reaches toward me with one hand, but stops before she touches me. "Just give me a chance, Jenn. Please don't leave me tell we've had a chance to talk. Please don't go. I need you! You're my mate; we belong together." She's trying her best not to cry.

'You're my mate...' The words make my belly flip-flop, heat spreads out from my middle and blood rushes to my core even as I feel my cunt begin to moisten. 'You're my mate...' Ffffffuuuuuccccckkkkk! I clamp one of my hands over Tara's mouth to silence her. If she says it again there is no way in hell I won't get down on my hands and knees, rip off my panties and present myself for fucking. The thought alone has my thighs rubbing together. Still holding my hand over Tara's mouth, I take a couple deep breaths to center myself. Then I tell her what I think about leaving her. "You need to get it through that thick noggin of yours lady, you are mine, MINE! Today, tomorrow and every day after that you will still be mine. I will never leave you and I will NEVER let you get away!" By the time I finish speaking, my voice is rough with emotion and I'm very nearly growling my words.

A couple of tears slip beneath my sunglasses, rolling down Tara's cheeks before falling to the skin of her chest bared by the sundress. "You promise?"

"I promise!"

"Ms. Tara! Ms. Tara! My mom says we can't cut the cake 'til you and Ms. Jennifer come. Please come now. Say you'll come now."

LJ is bouncing around us frenetically. I doubt Arianna really intends for him to have more sugar. Oh well. She should know I never pass up the opportunity for sweets. "C'mon guys," I say taking Tara in one hand and LJ in the other, "let's go eat some cake."

***----------***

We leave Barb's place not too long after finishing the cake. Our drive home, well back to Tara's apartment seems longer than the trip up. The silence in my truck is oppressive, perhaps because it's so crowded, what with Tara and I in the front seats and the big ass elephant in the back. Tara is miserable in the seat next to me, shoulders hunched, hands clenched tight in her lap. Her gaze has been locked on the window since we started moving. It's dark out so there's not much to see and even if it was still light out the scenery along the highway is fairly unremarkable. There's a knot of tension in the back of my mind mirroring the knot of worry in my belly. The one in my head belongs to Tara. I'm not sure what she's worried about, but I can feel her building a wall to shield herself from being hurt. It breaks my heart. I've spent the last five or six miles trying to think of a way to break the ice. So far every idea seems lamer than the previous one. But at this point even lame is better than nothing. I hope!

"You're quiet tonight," I say in the lightest tone I can make.

Tara snorts, "Right back at you."

Touché. "Yes, well you see I am driving. I'm doing my best to concentrate and keep us safe. You on the other hand are sitting in the navigator's chair, but since I already know where we're headed you have nothing to do except keep us entertained with conversation." My B.S. quotient is very high!

"You know you want to say something," Tara fires back hotly. "That or you don't care at all and you're taking me back home to drop me off so you never have to see me again!"

The words are coming out of my mouth before I can stop them. "How in the world can you be Ska'a? You're so freaking tiny!"

"I'm big enough where it counts!"

"Did you...just turn into a thirteen year old boy?"

She leans her head back against the headrest. "Sorry," Tara says. "I'm stressed out. I want to talk to you about being Ska'a. I have for a while, but every time I try to bring the subject up I lose my nerve. I'm terrified that you'll hear what I have to say and leave me." Tara's hands, balled into fists, are pressed hard against her belly. "Ask me something. Anything. I'll tell you the absolute truth." She turns to look at me for the first time all trip. Tears are leaking from her eyes. "But I can only answer one question tonight. That's all I have in me tonight." She visibly deflates, going back to the hunched posture from before.

One question. I have enough questions to leave Siri with a dry throat, how the hell do I narrow it down to just one. And looking at Tara I wonder if she even has the nerve to answer a single question. I thought I understood despair when my mother died. What I'm feeling from Tara is hopelessness. I'm guessing she feels trapped by the vastness of this confession, feels even more strongly that divulging the secret will push me away for good. One question. One question with so much riding on it. How the hell do I decide?

My mind races with my indecision. Time develops a weird duality, feeling too short to choose wisely and yet each moment I go without speaking lasts interminably. Fools rush in where wise men fear to tread. Well hand me my dunce cap. "What's my surprise?" I ask.

"Wha...What?"

"What's my surprise?" I ask again. My voice is stronger, more confident. This is the right way; I'm sure of it.

"But...you can't..."

"You said I could ask anything I wanted. Right now I don't really care about your being Ska'a. So I'm asking about something I do care about. So...what's my surprise, chick?"

"Seriously?"

I've turned my attention back to the road, but I can feel the weight of Tara's stare. "Seriously," I answer.

Tara cocks her head to the side, appearing to give the question some thought. Finally she answers, "Do you want the short version or the long version?"

"According to you, the long version is all I can get from you."

Tara snorts, this time in an amused way. Slowly a smile spreads across her face and I can feel her tension falling away. "Well...your surprise has a big visual component so...you'll have to wait to find out what it is."

"You suck," I say.

"Nope. I mean I used to, but now that we're together I have you to suck it for me." Her hazel eyes are twinkling now and Tara's mouth has taken on the devilish smile that makes my pussy wet. Her face goes serious again. "How do you do it, Jenn? How do you keep picking me up when I get low? Like it's effortless for you."

Luck!? "We pick each other up. That's what you do in a family."

"But we're not family."

I shake my head no. "That's where you're wrong," I say, "we are family now."

"Family," she says, testing the word. "I like that!"

***----------***

The rest of the drive is much more amicable than the start. By the time we've reached Tara's apartment we are back to being ourselves. Tara bolts out of the Jeep almost before the wheels have stopped moving. She races around to my side, giving me a tight bear hug before taking both of my hands in hers. "Listen. I'm going to go in and jump in the shower. As much as I would love to shower with you right now you have to wait outside. If you don't you'll ruin your surprise."

"I have to wait out here in the parking lot?" I ask.