• Heather’s Claws


    “Meow,” said the beautiful dark-haired girl.

    “Meow?” I asked, then gave the orderly a strange look.

    The young balding man shrugged. “That’s Heather Clarke, the actress.”

    “Meow,” said Heather Clarke. She licked her hand and used it to smooth out her hair.

    “What happened?” I asked.

    “She snapped last week. Been playing the part of Jemima in Cats for seven years, and now she can’t get out of character.”

    “Hmmm,” I said, then turned and did the only thing I could think of: I barked.

    Immediately her head dropped, her shoulders raised, and she spat and hissed at me. The hackles at the back of my neck rose, and I growled.

    Quick as light, she unsheathed her claws and slashed. I stumbled backward in pain, blood streaming down my face. I gave her one long canine gaze, then turned and left. I knew her smell. I could find her again. Anytime.

    During the next full moon, I’d get my revenge.