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Cat Scratch Fever

10/18/1999

I walked into the office and glanced at my phone. The message light on the phone maintained its modesty
and refused to flash at me. Nobody calls a collection agent. Credit card companies mail me their files,
lawyers fax me the details of outstanding law suits and debtors pretend to be autistic.

I had a little time to kill before my next appointment. I was meeting D'Arcy Quinn at his favourite bar at
10:00 that night. D'Arcy owed $27,000 in credit card debts. By all appearances, he's the nicest guy you'd
ever want to meet. But he has a real problem with the concept of debt. He believes that anyone who lends
him money, ought to know better. And he's right. But if they did know better, I'd be out of a job. D'Arcy
has become master in the art of skipping debts. He moves several times a year and changes jobs every time
somebody garnishees his wages. Every time he makes a move, he leaves a trail of unpaid bills, past due rent,
and no forwarding address. He has one flaw, though, and it's that he has a favourite bar. It was Thursday
night, so that's where I'll find him.

At 9:30 I got up and drove to meet D'Arcy at Stinky McGee's. Despite the lateness of the hour and
darkness of the night, I put my sunglasses on before I entered the bar. I don't like anyone to know what
I'm thinking by looking into my eyes. Besides, I think it looks cool. Stinky's is a fairly common type of
roadhouse bar. Hardwood covers the floor, walls and bar. A cartoon drawing of a dog
relieving himself into a woman's shoe adorned the hallway leading to the bathroom. I had intended to eat
dinner but the decor did nothing to improve my appetite. The floor was wall to wall peanut shells, to the
point where the crunching of my footsteps drowned out the music. As I sat down at the bar, the source of
the peanut shells was revealed as the bartender set a bucket of peanuts in front of me.
"Do I look like a squirrel to you?" I ask.
"Nope."
"Then take away the fucking peanuts and bring me a Jack Daniels, neat."

I look around the bar and saw D'Arcy and five of his friends partying at a large table in the middle of the
room. D'Arcy's pals looked like regular blue collar guys. I'd need to neutralize them before I did my
number on D'Arcy. I was in no rush; let them get a little more into their cups before I stir things up.

The bartender returned with my drink. I belted it back in one shot. I needed some liquid courage before
I ordered food. "What can I eat here that won't kill me?"
"Try the burger and swap the fries for onion rings. The rings aren't any less fatal but they taste a whole lot
better."
"Deal, but put bacon and cheese on the burger."
The bartender seems impressed, "I like a man who lives on the edge." he replied.
"And bring me another Jack."

As the bartender went to punch in my order at the register, I continued to watch D'Arcy and his friends.
The arrival of my food failed to distract me from observing my prey. The first bite of my burger brought
me back to the reality of my situation; I had ordered food at a place called Stinky's. The bartender was right
about the rings but the burger tasted as though the main ingredient was the peanut shells, swept off the
floor. I decided to keep one eye on D'Arcy and the other on the burger.

"Is there going to be trouble?"
I turned to see a woman speaking to me from a table next to the bar. She was tall and slim with a full mane
of dark hair flowing down to her shoulders. Her facial features were sharp, making her attractive in an
unconventional way. Too attractive for a place like Stinky's.
"Don't you know it's dangerous to talk to strangers?" I asked.
"I've got protection."
"Mafia? Pepper spray? Contraceptive?"
"Attack cat." she replied mysteriously.

She was a Space Cadet, no doubt about it. Now I only had to establish whether or not she was dangerous.
I had already decided to have sex with her if she wasn't too crazy. Who was I kidding? I would use my
usual criteria and have sex with her if and only if she'd let me. If there were any repercussions, I'd deal with
them later.
"I'm not interested in playing 20 questions." I informed her.
"Neither am I. So, is there going to be trouble?"
"Probably not."
"Mind if I watch?"
"Suit yourself."

This was interesting. In all of my 47 years, I'd never known an attractive woman to pick up a guy in a bar,
unless she was a pro. So what was this woman's game? I don't like to show my hand too early, so I let
her make the next move. I continued to monitor D'Arcy but watched the girl out of the corner of my eye.
Having only two eyes, I was forced to abandon the observation and attendant consumption of my half eaten
hamburger. The woman had an excellent body. Her breasts were high, full and round. She was wearing
a fuzzy pink sweater. It was a cardigan with large buttons running down the front. Each button was
screaming for release from its imprisoning hole. The sweater made her look fuzzy all over, like a
pornographic picture taken with a vaseline covered lens. Her pants were black and fit her like a second skin.
I wondered what she smelt like.

"Those sunglasses make you look like a CIA agent. No one can tell what you're looking at."
I responded with silence.
"How can you see anything in the dark?"
"I can't" I replied.
More silence. Two more pitchers of beer arrived at D'Arcy's table. I decided that the girl wasn't a hooker.
She was probably an excitement junkie looking for a rush and a story to tell the other girls around the water
cooler tomorrow morning.
"My name's Felicity. Felicity Katz".
"You Jewish?" I asked.
"Wrong cats" was her cryptic reply. I liked this girl's style.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Mac"
"Mac, is that your first or last name?"
"You a cop?" I asked.
"No."
"Then just plain Mac should be good enough for now."
It was time to give Felicity a little of what she had been waiting for. I took off my glasses.
"Watch but don't be stupid. Don't say anything and don't get involved."

I walked over to D'Arcy's table. No one noticed my approach.
"Well if it isn't my old friend D'Arcy. I'm surprised to see you here. Doesn't beer cost money?"
D'Arcy let a pained groan escape from the back of his throat.
"Who's this arsehole, D'Arcy?" the greaser asked.
"He's just some faggot who thinks he's tough. What the hell do you think you're doing? Do you think you
can come into my bar and try to scare me? We'll you just made the biggest mistake of your life. As soon
as we finish our beer, me and my friends are going to take you out back and beat the living shit out of you."
"Don't gimme that. These guys aren't your friends. Low life, cheap bastards like you don't have any
friends."
"D'Arcy, who is this guy?"
"I'm a collection agent. D'Arcy here ran up over $27,000 in credit card debt."
The table erupted in a chorus of cheers and cat calls. I let the yahoos settle down a little before I continued.
"You're right, that's very impressive. But what I'm
wondering is where exactly did D'Arcy spend all that money? Any of you guys ever see D'Arcy pick up
a tab? Did he ever offer to buy you a drink? Anybody ever see the inside of his wallet? Or does he scurry
off to the toilet, like a rat, every time the bill shows up?"
The table has quieted down. "Yeah, I thought so. So D'Arcy, where're you working these days?"
"Drop dead, you miserable prick."
"Any of you guys know where our boy is working?"
"Nobody tell him. If he finds out, he'll garnishee my pay cheque."
"I'll tell you what." I said and pulled up a stool from the bar to make myself more comfortable. "We'll have
a little contest called `who does D'Arcy owe the most money to'. The winner gets to tell me where he
works. Of course I'll eliminate myself since I don't think anyone else was stupid enough to lend him $27
thou. O.K. who wants to go first? How about you buddy?" I indicated the fat guy sitting on my left.
"I'm not telling you jack shit."
"How about you then?" I pointed to the next guy down the line. "What's he into you for? Fifty bucks?
A hundred? Don't be shy, we're all friends here."
"You're a wise guy and I don't like wise guys. So why don't you shaddup before I go over there and shut
you up myself."
"You know what I don't like? I don't like guys that don't pull their own weight. I pay my taxes. I pay my
bills, just like you. I don't ask anyone to pick up a tab for me. You guys are just working stiffs. After the
government takes their share, do you really have enough left over to support D'Arcy? Hey, D'Arcy scams
a credit card company, what do I care? They got more money than god. They write it off and pass on the
cost to you guys. Well D'Arcy didn't let them rip him off with 21% interest. He turned the tables and
ripped them off instead. But why does he have to rip-off his friends too? You know why? Because he is
the lowest piece of human bloodsucking parasite on the planet."
D'Arcy's had enough. He stood up, red faced and yelled. "That's enough you fat fuck. Let's go outside.
I'm going to teach you how to suck blood through broken teeth." We stared at each other, eye to eye,
waiting to see who'd make the next move.
"He works with me at Cochrane Dunlop." One of the guys broke rank.
D'Arcy's anger was instantly redirected. "Doug! What are you, some kind of asshole?"
"No, you're the asshole, D'Arcy. You should have paid me back my $350 when you said you would."
"Well you'll never get your money after they take away half my pay."
Doug stood up, put on his jacket and headed for the door. "According to this guy, you were never going
to pay me anyway. I gotta go guys. D'Arcy's going to pay my share of the bill from what he owes me."

I turned and walked back to the bar. Felicity greeted me with applause. I put on my sunglasses and sat
down at her table. "Knock it off. " I groused. "You trying to get us killed?"
"Excellent performance."
"Thank-you." I motioned to the bartender to bring me another drink and the bill.
"How did you know that one of the guys would squeal?"

"It's my business to know."
"What would you have done if they ganged up on you and tried to beat you up?"
My drink arrived and I swallowed it in one shot. "We'll talk in the car. Let's go." I dropped some money
on the bar and walked quietly to the car. Felicity got into the passenger seat without speaking. We pulled
out of the parking lot and headed downtown toward my apartment.

I finally spoke as I shifted into third gear. "Never say anything until you're 200 yards away from your
client."
"Why?"
"Too dangerous."
"So how did you know that they wouldn't beat you up?"
"You never know, but if someone is really going to beat you up, he doesn't talk about it, he just goes ahead
and does it."
We drove without speaking. Felicity seemed to be deep in thought. Whether she was thinking about debt
collection or our upcoming sexual encounter was uncertain and immaterial to me. This was shaping up to
be my easiest lay. The girl seemed to know what she wanted and didn't need any small or sweet talk. I
inhaled slowly, surreptitiously trying catch a whiff of her scent. Something was in the air but it didn't smell
like any woman I had ever met. She had an over sized hand bag parked between her knees. Out of the
corner of my eye I saw something crawl out of the bag and onto her lap. A quick glance confirmed that it
was a cat. More like a kitten. She patted it absentmindedly as it conformed to the contours of her inner
thighs. The cat purred with pleasure.
"What's with the cat?"
"It's my little pussy."
Oh jeeze, the Little Girl act. I can't stand the Little Girl act. "Don't you think it's a little juvenile to make
pussy puns?"
Felicity cranked up Little Girl voice another notch, "If you want me, you have to take my pussy." And with
a slightly menacing undertone, added, "It's a package deal".
I replied without skipping a beat. "And what a nice pussy it is. I've been admiring it from afar. May I pet
it?" Hey, you do what it takes to score.
Felicity giggled. "Go ahead, if you're brave enough. I have to warn you, though, my pussy scratches."
I hoped I could make it through the evening without puking. "Maybe I'll wait till we get out of the car."

My misgivings vanished as we walked into my apartment. Before I had a chance to turn on the lights,
Felicity grabbed the front of my shirt and slammed me against the wall, cracking my head against a framed
picture and presumably cracking the picture too. She kissed me hard on the mouth. I struggled to maintain
consciousness. Her lips were warm and soft, I relaxed and let a wave of pleasure flow down my body. I
ran my hands over Felicity's fuzzy sweater and was rewarded with a soft purr from the back of her throat.
Her body was hard and firm without a trace of excess fat. Felicity began to grind her crotch against my
penis. I brought my hands down and grabbed her rounded bottom in an effort to control her wild gyrations.
We stood at the doorway, simulating sex through our clothing while our tongues explored each other's
mouths. I was drawn back to her warm, fuzzy cardigan. I placed my hands on the curved spheres of her
breasts. The sweater seemed to swallow my hands and they became extensions of her bosom. I gently
squeezed her nipples between my thumb and fore finger. Felicity responded by coiling her body around
mine and biting down viciously on my lower lip. The pain instantly brought tears to my eyes. I tried to pull
my head away but she just clamped down harder and reached her hand down to caress my penis through
my pants. The pleasure and pain numbed and enhanced each other. She released my lip and I used my new
found freedom to gently kiss her neck. She arched her head back and I slowly lowered myself to nuzzle her
exposed throat. I inhaled deeply. Her aroma was subtle, elusive, indescribable and unforgettable. My
mouth followed a trail of blood flowing from my lip down to her breasts. Her sweater caressed my cheeks
as I unfastened the front of her bra. I placed my head between her bosoms as I took a breast in each hand
and squeezed gently. Each breast was a study in perfect circularity. Her scent was stronger here but
remained maddeningly elusive. I slid to my knees and took her nipple in my mouth. Felicity groaned with
pleasure and gripped my hair with both hands. I increased the intensity of my attack on her nipple. Felicity
increased the savagery of her assault of my scalp. When I could no longer tolerate the pain, I released her
nipple.

"Felicity, please" I begged, desperate for the release of my hair.
She loosened her grip, slightly. "You've got a tiger by the tail, Mac. What are you going to do about it?"
Her eyes looked less than human.
"Let's move into the bedroom." I grabbed a bottle of bourbon on route, deducing that I would need
something to dull the pain.

That night, Felicity took me on a dark, erotic journey lubricated by blood, sweat and semen. Pain and fear
were my faithful travelling companions. Sometime during the evening, I had the best orgasm of my life.
But whether through good or bad fortune, Felicity came at the same time, leaving me with a deep wound
that would take several weeks to heal.

A hot wind blew over my face and I was awakened by the sound of a small outboard motor with a broken
prop. I opened my eyes to see the cat purring an inch from my face. I brushed it aside and was rewarded
with a scratch. I sat up in bed cursing. It was morning. I looked down at Felicity still asleep on the bed.
She was curled up contentedly, hugging a pillow. Her body looked even more beautiful in the morning
light. But as I sat admiring her, I noticed her body was covered with small flaws and blemishes. Closer
inspection revealed that the blemishes were scars, none of which were fresh. I decided that I'd better check
out my own body and made my way to the bathroom. I looked into the mirror and was frightened by my
reflection. My lower lip was blue and swollen to twice its normal size. The side of my face was covered
in blood from a scratch that ran from my cheekbone to my chin. Something on my back burned like all the
fires of hell. I turned to see a vicious set of claw marks. My penis looked like it came through the ordeal
in one piece although I noticed an ugly bite mark on the inside of my thigh. No one ever needed a shower,
or a tetanus shot, more.

I emerged from the shower to find Felicity awake, dressed and foraging for food in my kitchen.
"How are you this morning, Tiger?" she asked.
"I thought you were the tiger"
"No, I'm the pussy cat." Felicity giggled.
"Lady, you're lethal."
"But you liked it, Mac, didn't you?"
"MacAree's my last name" I figured she had earned the right to know my name.
"Did you like it MacAree?"
"Yeah, I liked." I conceded with a grin and good grace.
"Well, I have to go, but I'll make you a deal." Felicity slipped into the dreaded Little Girl voice. "If you
take care of my little pussy, I'll come back and let you play with my big pussy."
"You can't leave your cat here."
"Don't you want to take care of my pussy?"
"No."
"Well I have to leave her here anyway."
"If you walk out without your cat, I'm going to drop it down the garbage disposal."
"Don't be a silly." She reached up to peck my cheek. "Remember, be good to my pussy and my pussy will
be good to you" And with that she walked out of the apartment. It would take me several weeks to realize
how much of me she took with her as she walked out that door. At the time, though, I only marvelled at
the unpredictability of Space Cadets.

I needed to pull myself together after my death defying experience. I decided to get back into bed and do
nothing for a couple of hours. It's one of the few perks of working for yourself, and I make liberal use of
the advantage. I relaxed and cleared my mind, waiting to get back into that old familiar feeling. Nothing
was a little slow in coming that morning. Quite understandable, under the circumstances. As I waited
patiently, trying to coax nothing into making a needed appearance, I felt a searing pain as something slashed
my right hand. I looked down and saw a thin line of red appear on the back of my hand. The cat had
scratched me. I picked it up by the scruff of its neck. It was no more than a kitten but it struggled against
my grip like a cougar. "You just bought the farm, pal." I informed it as I opened the door to my apartment
and pitched it down the hall.

I sat back on the bed and tried to do nothing. Although I was covered in cuts and bruises from the
evening's activities, it was my most recent scratch that distracted me the most. I watched blood cling to
hair on the back of my hand to form an intricate red lattice. I poked at my various wounds, remembering
how I acquired each one. Much to my disgust, I found myself savouring each memory and encouraging the
deeper wounds to resume their hemorrhaging. She was only a Space Cadet, I reminded myself. Not worth
mooning over. Since nothing wasn't happening, I decided to go to work.

I stopped by the office to pick up the day's files. The first one was an old friend, Lucy Rankin. She'd been
paying down her debts for over a year but still owed over $5,000. Lucy was pure trash. She lived in a run
down Cabbagetown tenement and did what she had to, to keep a roof over her head. Driving to her
apartment, I glanced at my reflection in the rear view mirror. I was a mess. I put on my sunglasses in an
attempt to hide, or at least provide a visual distraction for my more obvious lesions. The glasses only made
me look more sinister so I took them off and hid my wounds in plain sight.

As if in homage to the neighbourhood, Lucy's hallway stank of stale cabbage. Daytime TV blared from
virtually every apartment. I pounded on Lucy's door.

"Who is it?"
"It's MacAree."
The door opened with a sigh. "Come on in Mac. Holy shit, what happened to your face?"
"Nothing you need to know about."
"Well, sit down. You look like you could use some coffee."
"Yeah, that would be great."
Lucy continued to talk as she went about making our coffee. "Listen, I know I'm behind on my payments
but I lost my job and I'm waiting for my pogie to start."
The coffee arrived. "Are you looking for a new job?" My lower lip was sensitive to the heat. I tried to
drink my coffee from the side of my mouth.
"Not right away. Thought I'd rest up for a while. Boy, that looks tender. You should probably ice it"
"O.K., let's cut you back to $25 a week for the next 14 weeks. We'll go back to a hundred when you get
another job. I'll expect your first $25 cheque on my desk next Monday. Don't make me come down here
to remind you."
"MacAree, are you O.K.?"
"I'm fine."
Lucy got off her chair and positioned herself behind me. She gently massaged the back of my neck. "This
job is going to kill you one day."
"No different than any other job. Unemployment will kill you just the same. Don't think you can avoid
death by avoiding work."
Lucy bent over and softly kissed my neck. "You have plenty of customers. Why don't you just kinda lose
my file?" She paused and whispered softly into my ear, "I'll make it worth your while."
"Lady, you must have a pretty high opinion of yourself if you think that a roll in the hay with you is worth
$5,000. If you want to give me a blow job, I won't object but I still want your $25 in my hand next
Monday."
Instantly, Lucy's mood turned sour "You're a real prick, you know that? Tell whoever beat on your face
that they can come over here for a free blow job any time."
"I'll let her know" I replied and walked out of her apartment.

I found comfort in the familiar routine of my work day. The usual assortment of deadbeats tried fucking
with me. There are a surprising small number of tactics that these people use. Mr. Belligerent went on the
attack and accused me of slander, libel, perjury and the Kennedy assassination. Mr Evasive came up with
a string of unconvincing and contradictory excuses. None of it required any strenuous effort on my part.
And although it turned into one of those days where I walked away with a pocket full of promises instead
of cheques, I knew that I had done the necessary prep work to shake out a stream of cheques in the coming
weeks. Still I missed the thrill that comes with a successful collection. After four hours, I decided to call
it a day and headed back to my apartment. If truth be known, my concentration level was down. Not only
did my body ache, but my mind was haunted by the pleasantly disturbing image of a fuzzy pink cardigan.
Rationally I knew that Felicity would be unlikely to return until after dark, but I couldn't shake the
irrational hope that she was on my doorstep waiting for me.

There was someone waiting at my door, or rather, something. It was Felicity's cat. Evidently, it had been
waiting for me all day, and the evidence was the scratch marks on the door and the smell of urine in hall.
I tried to boot the cat down the hallway but it was too fast for me. My apartment was quiet. No phone
messages, no notes slipped under the door. I stepped into the bathroom and looked at my reflection in the
mirror. It was worse than I remembered. The scratch across my face wasn't very deep but it was angry.
My lower lip had turned a deeper shade of blue and hurt like hell. My scared face, combined with my large
bulk, made me looked like I stepped out of a Boris Karloff movie. No wonder I couldn't collect any money
that day. I stripped off my clothes to re-examine the rest of the damage. Mainly scratches and bite marks.
Nothing to get excited about but those bites might get infected. The bitch might have rabies. I smeared
some antibiotic cream over the open wounds.

I walked back nakedly to my bed and lied down to relax. Nothing was clearly impossible. I was too
agitated. It occurred to me that I got off lucky. I could have needed a plastic sturgeon as easily as I needed
antibiotic cream. Who knew what other infection I might yet pick up. Well, I got what I deserved for
bringing home a stray Space Cadet. I was well rid of her. But I had expected her to call. She would want
her precious pussy back. She had my last name and address. It wouldn't be too hard for her to look up my
number. She had better come by soon, before her cat wandered off for good.

Her aroma was still on my bed. I put my pillow over my face and inhaled deeply. The scent was as elusive
as ever. It had an earthy quality, maybe a little like humus? With the pillow still over my face, I
remembered how it had acquired the scent. Sometime during the evening I had mounted her from behind.
It was the only way to avoid her teeth and claws. She had tried to stay on her hands and knees, but I had
put all my weight on the wings of her shoulder blades. She eventually buckled under my sizeable weight
and her face had been forced down against the pillow. With her butt high in the air, I had pumped away at
a ferocious speed. She must have found it difficult to breathe but her vagina had been so wet that the juices
had soaked me down to my knees.

I reached down and took my penis in my hand. I imagined Felicity in a black leather hood. No holes for
the eyes, a zipper over the mouth. The image of what had not happened seemed more real than the images
of what did happen. Maybe it was an image of what might yet happen. I sighed and released my now erect
penis. I took the pillow off of my face, put on my pants and went out into the hall. The cat was waiting
patiently just outside my door. I brought it inside hoping that Felicity would show up before I had to buy
all of the prerequisite cat paraphernalia.

It was not to be. By the next morning the cat had eaten all the leaves off of my only plant and shit in the
now empty pot. The smell sent me on a shopping expedition. I bought $200 of cat food, kitty litter, a litter
box and a scratching board.

Three days later, Felicity had still not arrived. The cat was a terror. Like a spoiled child that refused to play
with its toys, the cat scratched everything in the apartment except its scratching board. The couch, the bed
posts, the stereo speakers, the wallpaper and my ankles all showed evidence of the cat's nasty disposition.
The only thing that would appease its relentless sharpening of its claws was my constant and undivided
attention. I had to be in physical contact with the cat at all times. If I was reading the paper or working
at my desk, the cat would wonder over and sit down on my reading material. If I tossed it aside, the cat
would find something new to ruin. I refused to call it Pussy and began to think of it as Felicity's cat or just
plain Felicity for short. I was keenly aware of the irony of my chosen nomenclature. Felicity preferred to
lay in my lap if I was sitting up or sit on my chest if I was laying down. I quickly learned to take Felicity
with me whenever I left the apartment. It was the only way to prevent it from trashing the place in my
absence. It also guaranteed that I would be scratched throughout the course of my work day.

I hated the sight of that cat. Instead of doing nothing, I would spend hours staring into Felicity's eyes. I
would lie on the couch with Felicity perched on my chest, inches from my chin in a Sphinx-like pose. Who
knew what evil thoughts went through its tiny head as it stared at me inscrutably with those inhuman eyes?
Who knew if it had thoughts at all? It had desires, that much was certain. It suffered loneliness. But if the
cat had thoughts, it did not communicate them to me through its eyes.

After a week I had had enough. I was mad at Felicity, the woman, not the cat. How dare she unload this
devil in cat's clothing on me? Just because she threw me a cheap fuck did not give her the right to abuse
my hospitality. I figured that she owed me $200 for cat supplies, a replacement for my destroyed plant, a
new couch, a new set of speakers, a pair of slippers and at least one more lay for the mental aggravation.
Being a professional skip tracer, I felt exceptionally qualified to track Felicity down.

The cat sat on my lap as I searched my databases for a Felicity Katz, Kats, Kat, Kates, Katy, Katie, and then
all over again with the letter "C" but to no avail. I opened up the phone book and tried Katchutis, Kactcha,
Katsoris, Katrova. Any name beginning with Kat or Cat. I found no credit rating, no police record and no
address for Felicity. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Felicity had used an alias. This was a tough
problem. I had no other hard information. It was time to go shopping. For the sake of my furniture and
any article of clothing that was foolishly dangling within claw's reach, I put Felicity in a gym bag and headed
for the mall.

I stopped at every department store and women's clothing shop in that mall and then hit the street.
Everywhere I went, I heard the same story; fuzzy pink cardigans were out of style. Some of the discount
stores carried some cheap looking knock-offs, apparently the slutty look was still in style with K-Mart
shoppers. But the knock-offs lacked the feel of Felicity's sweater. There were no fuzzy pink sweaters in
the expensive clothing stores but I did discover that Felicity had been wearing cashmere. I finally hit pay
dirt at a vintage clothing store. I picked up Felicity's sweater and walked to the cash register.
"Do you sell many of these sweaters?" I asked.
"Yeah, when we get them in. That one's used."
"Do you remember a woman buying one of these? Attractive, tall, slim. Lots of dark hair. Sharp nose.
Big breasts, tight ass."
"Mister, except for the nose, you just described half the women who come in here. The other half are blond.
No, I don't remember your woman."
"Maybe she used a credit card. Do you mind if I look through your old receipts?" I produced my
credentials. "I investigate credit card fraud."
"Do you know her name?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out."
"Then I'm not showing you any receipts. If you were investigating a fraud, you would know her name. For
all I know you're stalking the poor girl. So, either buy the sweater or get out of my store."
I looked down at the sweater. "How much?"
"$75 plus tax."
I pulled out my wallet and counted out $90. I took the change and put the sweater in the gym bag with the
cat.

That night I lay naked on my bed holding the sweater. As usual, Felicity sat on my chest. I brought the
sweater up to my face. The cat took a swipe at the pink sleeve as it swung past her. I rubbed the sweater
against my face. The texture was right but the smell was wrong. Time was working its usual nasty tricks
and it was getting harder to conjure up memories of that night. I brushed the cat off my chest and sat up
a little straighter. I rubbed the sweater against my neck and chest and began to masturbate. I took the
sweater in my right hand and wrapped it around my penis. Paradoxically, the sweater was both soft and
provided extra friction. I should have been paying more attention to the cat. Felicity was crouched down
in a classic hunting pose as it watched the sweater bob up and down in my fist. I felt myself ready to climax
and picked up the pace. Felicity chose that moment to pounce. I shot cum into the air as the cat took a two
inch gash out of my hand, narrowly missing the head of my penis. Once again my blood and semen ran
together. A large blob of cum had landed on the cat's head and I watched with fascination and horror as
Felicity used its paw to lick my semen off its head.

This was getting desperate. I needed a woman. A human woman. I quickly got dressed, put the cat and
the sweater into the gym bag and headed out the door. 20 minutes later I was knocking on Lucy's door.
"Who is it?"
"It's MacAree."
The door opened. "You got your cheque didn't you?" Lucy leaned against the doorpost in a slovenly
manner. She had on a cheap housecoat and it looked as if it had been a few days since she had last bathed.
Unemployment did not seem to agree with her.
"Yeah, thanks"
"So what do you want?"
"I'll lose your file for three months."
She let me into her apartment. "You'll lose my file permanently."
"That's not going to happen."
Lucy paused for a moment. "We're talking about a blow job here. Right?"
"That's right."
"With or without a condom?"
"Without."
"We lose the file permanently, take it or leave it."
"I'll take it." What the hell, there are cheaper whores, but Lucy is a friend. I opened the gym bag. Felicity
scratched me as I took out the sweater. "Here, put this on."
"Ooh, thanks lover." she said and got down to business. She took off her housecoat to reveal two rather
dingy breasts. Her panties might have once been white. She put on the sweater but it failed to transform
her. She and her body remained low rent. After a few loveless kisses and some obligatory groping, Lucy
dropped to her knees.
"Looks like you've been a busy boy." she said as she unzipped my fly and pulled out my stiffening penis.
"I don't think I'm the first one down here tonight."
If nothing else, Lucy was a professional. She worked it hard for about 15 minutes.
"OK, I've had enough."
"But you haven't finished."
"That's OK, you've earned your freedom."
"Well if you ever want to finish, I still owe you." she said as she got off her knees.
"Can I have the sweater back?" I asked rather sheepishly.
"Sure thing sugar."
I put the sweater back in the bag and left Lucy's apartment.

Driving back to my apartment, I saw that a tape was hanging out of the tape deck. I pushed it in and was
rewarded with Country music. It occurred to me that there was one more place that I could look for
Felicity. I turned the car around and headed for Stinky McGee's.

The place looked crowded. A constant stream of cars were pulling in and out of the parking lot. With the
gym bag under my arm, I put my sunglasses on as I walked into the bar. I followed the peanut shells to an
empty spot at the bar.
"Well if it isn't the Collector. Jack Daniels, neat, and hold the peanuts?" Evidently the bartender
remembered me.
"That'll be great. Thanks."
The bartender poured the drink and set it in front of me. "Anything to eat tonight?"
"No thanks, I try not to make the same mistake twice." I finished the drink in one gulp. "Did you happen
to see the woman I left with last time I was here?"
"How could I miss her?"
"Has she been back since?"
"Nope."
"Has she ever been here before?"
"Not that I noticed."
"I guess you don't know her name."
"You guessed right. She the one that gave you the fat lip?"
"In a way."
"How many ways are there?"
"Just bring me another drink."
"You're the boss." The bartender put another drink in front of me and walked away.

I sat at the bar, nursing my drink, watching the door. There was a steady stream of people walking in and
out of the place. I unzipped the gym bag to give Felicity a little air. I put my hand in the bag to pet her.
Out of force of habit, the cat scratched my hand. I had become accustomed to the constant scratches and
barely noticed this fresh one. What would have brought Felicity to this bar that night? Did she come in a
cab? Did she drive? Did she live close enough to walk? How did she get home from my place? If she
dropped by the bar once, chances are she'll come back again.

Because I was focused my thoughts, I had no warning of trouble until the beer bottle came smashing down
on the back of my head. I fell to the floor, cracking my eye against the bar on the way down. The force
of my face hitting the bar caused one lens to pop out of my sunglasses and bent the frame into a state of
trash.

I lay on the floor trying to regain control of my senses. My eyes were closed and I imagined that I could
smell Felicity. Her distinct scent filled my nostrils. I opened my eyes to see that I was lying face down in
a pile of peanut shells, The bartender was at my side helping me back to my seat.
"What happened?" I asked the bartender as I rubbed the back of my head.
"I think you know a guy named D'Arcy? He hit you in the head with an empty beer bottle. He also told
me to give you a message. Stop fucking with him." The bartender paused to watch my reaction which
consisted of me rubbing the back of my head. "You O.K.?" he asked as he brushed the peanut shells from
my face.
"Yeah, I think so."
"You'll want to go get yourself checked out. You're going to have quite a shiner to go with that fat lip."
"I'll be fine."
"Listen, I hate to do this but if you're OK, I'm going to have to ask you to leave and not come back. Every
time you come in here, there's trouble. Not only that, but you brought a cat in here." Again the bartender
paused. "I'll pick up your bar tab." he added as a conciliatory gesture.
"Where's the cat?"
"When your bag hit the floor, it ran through the open front door like a bat out of hell."
I picked up the bag and walked out of the bar. I looked around the parking lot for Felicity. She lay on the
ground, not 50 feet from the front door. A car had run her down, crushing her spine and back legs. She
was a mess of blood and fur on the pavement. I threw the gym bag, with the sweater inside, into the nearest
trash can and drove home. I had to accept the fact that I was on the messy end of a one night stand.

The next day I bought another cat.

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too bad, the real pussy was a one night stand.

9/13/2007