I’m getting the dreadful feeling that my goose is cooked, and I don’t mean my buddy Artemis. What’s the right play here? Is there even an excuse I can make that lets me get away from this trio scot-free? Wait. Do I even want to? Safety in numbers, and all that. Plus, they’re mostly harmless, and pretty entertaining.

I guess now starts my life as Kitten Around, cat burglar around town. At least for a few days, maybe a week or two, til my wound heals. Shacking up with some fuzzy friends, burglars or not, is probably my wisest move overall. Knives or Barry might catch me unaware on my lonesome, and neither of those encounters end well for me.

Doing my best to stay in character, I respond to Meowster Purrington, “I don’t claim to be a helpless little kitten, it just happens to be my name. I do in fact have a fearsome set of claws, so don’t tempt me to use ‘em buster. Not that I’m in much shape to do so, ow, my arm.”

Kitty clucks her tongue and demands, “Tsk, let meow look at that for mew Kitten. Honestly, gluing a fresh wound closed. Clever, but stupid at the same time. Felix, fetch the sutures, put some stitches in her. She’s going to have a nasty scar, and her ear’s torn up purr-etty bad too.”

With her attention on it returning my attention to it, I realize how much my ear smarts. They’re big, sensitive, pointy listen-flaps, and the one I hit sliding under the wall smarts like the dickens. Despite being wary, knowing that they’re criminals who’d probably fillet me if they find out I’m really a bounty-hunter, one specifically on their tails, I cave in and join their crew. I announce my intent, “If you’re being so kind as to look after this little stray, I guess I’ll have to make myself at home fur a while as I lick my wounds.”

Kitty smiles benevolently and performs a bow with a flourish, welcoming me to stay. Her motherly instincts seem to have her planted firmly in my corner. The way Felix eyes her, it’s pretty obvious he wants to please her, so he’ll probably go along with what she wants as long as I’m not an obvious threat. Purrington is the one I’ve got to watch out for. He doesn’t seem to care what either of the other two think.

I really need to ditch their scribs at the earliest opportunity. I’ll probably incinerate them as soon as I have a second to myself. Startling me as he inspects my wound, Felix declares, “Word is they’re passing out scribs fur our bounties to any Tomcat, Dick, and Harry wannabe bounty hunter, so we’re laying low fur a while between jobs.”

I really hope the blush steaming my cheeks doesn’t give away the ghost on my cover. Or is it goat? Who gives up a goat? What sense does that even make? Then again, who has a ghost to give up? Ugh, my brain is aching. I’m not sure if it’s from the adrenaline crash from my fight and flight, the poison and cleanse, the blood loss, or thinking myself in circles. Either way, I massage my right temple as Felix uses a candle to melt away the sap I’d had closing my wound, bit by bit.

He carefully douses my wound in alcohol and stitches it closed as each new bit comes undone from the sap holding it together. Kitty was right, I’ll have a wicked scar. If I make it out of this alive, Bitty will be so impressed. With the scar, not my survival. I think. I try to refrain from getting moony-eyed thinking of Littlebit, as I don’t want my expressions misread or misinterpreted. The last thing I need right now is someone’s jealousy leading to a cat-fight squabbling over my—or Kitty’s—attention.

Voicing a concern, I mutter, “I’m not sure how long we can stay in this hideout, unless mew three want to fight off the knifey maniac hunting me. Got any backup safehouses?”

Hissing his answer, Felix stops patching me up momentarily, “I didn’t sign up for any fights to the death.”

In a low growl of agreement, Purrington seconds, “Meow neither.”

While sensually stretching, Kitty reassures us all, “Don’t worry darlings, this clever Kitty always has a backup purr-lan, and a backup den or two to retreat fur licking her wounds.”

I feel almost a little bit guilty at how easily I might be able to nab these three after the bounties on Knives and Barry are collected. Filling me in on their backup hideouts? It’s a dream catch of a rumor or tip from an informant for any bounty-hunter. Straight from the horse’s—err, cat’s—mouth is even better.

Hitting a touchy subject for me, Kitty eyes me hungrily as she queries, “So Kitten, this cat’s curiosity’s getting the better of her. Which do you go for? Dames, Toms, or both?”

Still struggling with reconciling my feelings for Littlebit, I grumpily pout and fib, “Neither,” then I realize how curt I was with the woman vouching for me in this group, since I want to remain on her good side I quickly apologize, “Sorry, touchy subject, nevfur been with anyone.”

All three cat-burglars raise their eyes and ask at the same time, “Nevfur?”

My response, “Nevfur evfur,” would be almost cute, almost, if it weren’t true. I sigh and return to moping, thinking about how I can never tell Littlebit how I think I feel about her. Because, on top of everything else, what if I’m just misinterpreting my own feelings? I don’t think I am though. Bitty is too great, too wonderful, the kindest, most supportive, brightest, smartest, cutest, everything.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

My emotions are probably on full display as Kitty calls me out, “Why the long-face now Kitten? Some pretty kitty or handsome Tom turn you down? Sorry, curious cat.”

Huffily I answer, “No, nothing like that. I’ve nevfur dated, and not sure if I want to, or evfur will. Except… nothing, nevfurmind.”

——

Huffing now, I stop reading my diary aloud and set it down as I comment, “Sorry pal, you already know it took me a long time to work up the courage to talk to Littlebit. There’s a lot of that in this adventure and the next. I mean, you can guess how it went down. I laid low with the cat crew til I recovered. There were some hairy moments, hehe, and a lot of cat puns.”

Cracking a grin, I conclude that part of my tale, “After some time, I went on a couple heists with the crew to keep my cover. Eventually we had an epic showdown with Knives, nearly lost one of my new pals in the fracas. Then later, I had to blow my cover when dealing with Barry on a heist, so there was a big emotional moment, a standoff. There’s my cat pals about to make off with some loot, and me outed as a bounty-hunter, poised, ready to strike.”

Reading the face of my audience, I shrug and continue, “Yeah, you guessed it. I couldn’t do it. I pretended to try, just to make it clear where I really stood, but I let them get away. Never heard from them again. The ‘Twixt thought my story was done with them, I guess. I’m not sure I can read this next part pal. After my couple weeks of adventuring, I went home and told Littlebit about my feelings. You’re just dying with curiosity, huh? Y’know, they say that that killed the cat…burglar.”

Coughing, suppressing a giggle, I shrug before sighing. Picking up my diary, I leaf through it a bit, skipping ahead of the rest of my time in The ‘Twixt. I lament skipping what must be dozens of adventures over dozens of years in the ‘Twixt, in order to skip the part where I ran into Gram—or at least a version of her created by The ‘Twixt—since she’s why I got the courage to talk to Bitty.

I still don’t know if it was really Gram though. That’s the real reason I need to skip this section. I couldn’t bear it if someone found out I might have run into Gram in the ‘Twixt, and didn’t convince her to come home. I tried though, but either The ‘Twixt made her up for me, or she was adamant about not coming back.

Picking up from a section after my adventure, around my return home from The ‘Twixt, I return to narrating, using my diary for notes, fibbing a little about how long I spent in The ‘Twixt, and the timing of some events, “So there I was…”

——

Artie and me pop through The Tear, returning to The Courts in the Fey’s Wilds. He honks happily, and plods back towards home. Looking at the crowd, it’s almost exactly as I left it. Despite spending some weeks in The ‘Twixt, at most a minute or two passed out here. I definitely had the adventures. I’ve got the scars to prove it, literally. Not to mention, a bit of ill-gotten gains, loot from heists, bounties, exploring some ruins and dungeons, and some spelunking.

I couldn’t bring myself to turn in Biggs, the gentle giant that he was. Not that I really could have if I wanted to, he was way too heavy. His uncooperativeness wasn’t belligerent or anything. He was mostly just slow on the uptake. The reason there was a bounty on him was that he didn’t even realize he was in jail, so he walked out—through the wall—without having a hearing for the damage he’d done. He was mostly harmless, other than some property damage. I couldn’t bring myself to bring in the cat crew either. Hopefully no one ever learns I actually let them go.

Okay Tikki, time for the moment of truth. Your adventure convinced you to tell Bitty your truth, so you’d better do it. I swat Artie on the tush in passing as I race off towards the scrap-heap, where I know I’ll find Littlebit digging about for material for her inventions. I have the wherewithal to prestidigitate myself clean, using a little freebie magic that’s come in handy plenty already in The ‘Twixt.

I want to look presentable, and, and maybe cute, and, well, kinda sexy. Y’know? Ugh, my heart is hammering, racing and pounding. Why is this scarier than deadly duels to the death in The ‘Twixt? I rush towards the sounds that set my mind at ease. The clamor and clang of metal being haphazardly chucked about. For anyone else, it might be nerve-wracking. For me? It means Bitty is having a good time.

Sure enough, I hear her elation as she gleefully squeals at each new find, be it a simple large cog with all its teeth intact, or some complex doohickey that I don’t know the name of. Approaching, I fidget, straightening my clothes over and over, trying to get them just right, to show off a little bit, without making it obvious or uncomfortable. Gulping, I cough for her attention, and nearly pass out as Bitty turns her bright smile towards me.

The clamor and clang come to an end, and my bestie waves gleefully, smiling brightly my way as she calls out, “Tikki, heya! Good mornin’ gal! How’d your goose on the loose prank go?”

Oh wow, it’s been so long since that prank, I’d nearly forgotten. Her question catches me offguard, so I lamely respond, “Um, kinda bad. No biggy, there’s always tomorrow, right?”

Smiling and nodding an enthusiastic affirmative, Littlebit agrees. My breath hitches, catching in my throat as I stare at her adorable compact frame, her skin-tone is the loveliest shade of matte-moss, verdant in a way that’s otherworldly somehow. That’s despite her skin tone being pretty much the same as every other gobbo in the Fey’s Wilds. It’s just, it’s Littlebit’s skin, so it’s prettier by default, somehow. Her well-toned frame, and every inch of her is somehow sexier than anyone else, even covered in rust and grime as she is.

Gulping, I’m about to continue when Bitty begins to gab to me about her latest projects. I barely understand a tenth of the words she uses, but it sets me at ease, leaving me smiling brightly at her, lost in following along with her enthusiasm. Hours pass as we meander in the scrapheap together, until finally Littlebit apologizes for going on-and-on without pause.

Giggling, I retort, “Never be sorry for being you Bitty. I love listening to you. Just… just like I love you. Like, really really do. Um, in, in all the ways.”

My words seem to hang in the air as Littlebit stiffens, her features frozen in a quirked eyebrow as she tries to parse what I said. Suddenly she bursts into a nervous laugh, slapping her thigh before she claims, “Oh Tikki, hah, you’re always so funny! You really had me going there! I almost thought that was a real profession of like, undying love for a minute. Dang girl, you got me good.”