Page 10 of Blade

“He liked my mother, though, and he didn’t scratch her or chase her out of the trailer on a regular basis.” That’d been a stressful couple of years but it’d honed my reflexes. “You’re going to be my good murder kitty and not scratch me either.”

I was so screwed.

“It’s going to be fine.” Fingers crossed. “We’ll figure out how to make this work.”

My hand started reaching up for his head before the rest of me could tell it to stop being stupid. It wasn’t a sudden enough movement to scare murder kitty but his entire body seemed to focus on that one idiotic body part as it inched closer. “Yes, you’re my murder kitty, so you’re not going to eat me. Humans are fragile even if we seem to forget that on a regular basis.”

Time seemed to stop as I crossed the final inches and barely brushed my fingers over his head. The fur covering him was softer than I expected and made me wonder if I should’ve beencalling it hair instead. That debate could wait until I survived my current round of bad decisions, though.

“Soft murder kitty. Yes. You’re my good boy.” Please let him be my good boy. “You’re going to be my new friend and we’re going to be a team.”

Somehow?

Okay, at least for a few minutes until I figured out how to leave him on the side of the road?

He didn’t belong in my camper and definitely wasn’t a pet, so I didn’t have to feel bad about lying to him.

I was not supposed to bring home wild animals, and it wasn’t like I could hide him at trailer parks.

But if we did more off-grid camping it would work.

As tiny strokes turned into full head rubs without my being turned into lunch, my murder kitty’s chest rumbled and I was pretty sure he started to purr in some kind of mangled way. “Good kitty.”

Or whatever mishmash of animals he was because my murder kitty looked a bit like a drunk with both hands tied behind his back had tried to draw what a large cat should look like.

Yeah, I couldn’t be mean to kids…drunks were better to blame murder kitty on.

Oh.

If he hadn’t eaten me, I probably shouldn’t keep calling him my murder kitty. “We need to figure out a new name for you. The only name the locals call you is The Beast of Bladenboro, and that’s good for marketing but not for a useable name.”

Beast seemed rude too.

“We’ll keep it simple.” I could do that. “Kitty. Beast. Bladenboro.”

Oh.

“Bladenboro. A murder kitty with blades on his feet.” It worked for me. “You’re going to be Blade.”

It wasn’t that creative but I hadn’t died of a heart attack or pissed myself, so I was going to give myself some props.

Now what?

CHAPTER 4

BLADE

Soft.

Water.

Good boy.

The pain was always too much but now everything was too much.

The sand hurt.

My paws hurt.