Fucking Cat.

[Editor’s Note: Hola, fans of fiction. So, during Covid, one of my things was to commission artists from around the world to illustrate these “one-offs.” I have a small idea of a story; share it with them; let them have their way with the idea; and then, they illustrate. I finish the story, and post it here.

It’s a bit of a hobby, and it’s ready to be shared {unleashed sounds better?}. So, this is the very first. Many more to come, and very much enjoy. 

If you're a big fan of this, and you really want to see more fiction pieces that go outside the normal BE zeitgeist, leave a comment, please.  In the meanwhilst, Love and peace, and a Happy New Hear. 

Charootizmant,

— H]

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Fucking Cat.

I swear to God, if you try to nest on me again…

Ah, who cares. It’s just another night. A long day. Taxes filed. It’s a tricky thing to file taxes when you make your money from… a grey space?

But… Fucking cat. This was your fault in the first place. I was just trying to facilitate a little fun.

Egh. Was it, though? Your fault? Fuck me. Probably not. He got that statue. The one we didn’t tell ANYBODY about. It was our little thing. That fat little fucking cursed Venus Goddess Thing that he could hold in his hand and go crazy with.

It was fun for a second there. And who knows. It was my fault. What kind of weird person is it who lets a cat into the room, to stare at you all creepily while you’re just trying to have a good time.

I suppose I should be thankful. When the cat knocked it over, and it crashed to the floor, shattering into 1,000 pieces, it could have been worse. He had some pretty messed up preferences.

He might have closed his eyes, and thought… “I want this chick to be two feet tall.” And then, there we go.

Or, like, something where I can’t fit through a door, or something.

I didn’t really appreciate how far he wanted to go with it. But we were having fun, right? I mean, who cares. Magic isn’t real. But… there it is! All of a sudden, he’s standing there, holding that stupid little piece of clay in his hand, eyes closed, and there I am on the bed, with my boobs just fucking inflating like balloons.

Fucking hated it when he did that. It’s like… You know… they’re kind of attached to me, and this is just… Kind of not the most comfortable thing in the world, because I’ll probably need to take a piss soon, and… Like, let me know, first?

But, whatever. He loves huge boobs. Like, huge. That’s… his thing. And other things. And other things.

So. That night. I was laying in bed. It was his birthday. And, fine. Let him do what he wants. He’s not some shithead or anything. But I remember when these fuckers got so freaking huge… I was thinking, “OK… this is… a bit much.” I always felt that way when things got a little too extreme. It wasn’t some dream. It was… real.

Before, when we were done, he would hold that little statue, close his eyes, and… In a couple of minutes? Back to normal. No harm done, mischief managed. He always held himself back; knew I was alright with it… but… always at the very edge of just not giving a shit.

Fucking cat.

Happy birthday, asshole. There you are, buried in these fucking funsacks, pounding away, when… crash.

The door wasn’t closed. Was it. We were both shitfaced. No telling who left it open. Fucking cat knocked it off the nightstand. Fucking cat.

I didn’t know what the sound was. I couldn’t really see too easily, because, ya’ know, giant-ass tits just kind of sitting there.

Moment of realization. Never really thought about it before. It was always just a thing you kept in a box, wrapped up, all safe and sound.

It took you a second, in your reverie, to process everything. You just acted so cool. No, no, no, it’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok…

I’m not sure what it was in the coming weeks. The fact that you were frustrated that I wasn’t your plaything anymore? The loss of power because that stupid thing you found at an antique shop was just a pile of chunks? Supergluing it back together, and closing your eyes, opening them, and finding that your reality was… just the same as it was a moment ago?

Thank GOD I didn’t let you make me as big as a room. Walking, you know? It’s not a bad thing to be able to do.

You didn’t really think about me too much during that time. I didn’t really leave the house. Just kinda casually quit my job at the bistro. You can’t wait tables this way.

Took all of my savings. And a little bit of begging, borrowing, stealing, and — as much as you disapproved, cam-girling — to afford that reduction. But I pulled it off. There were questions to answer. Not just to you — “Nah, no, please don’t, you’re beautiful, why would you want to ruin your body like that, babe!!!??” — but to, you know… doctors? Still, I found one. He was good. Not cheap. I hauled myself to a fucking taxi. And when I woke up after the surgery? Nice to see the farewell text when my phone got recharged. Would have been nicer if you were… I dunno, in the waiting room?

Didn’t matter. When I got discharged, I could already feel the pressure building under the bandages. It was good for a day or so, but that one night, when you were very-much not around, I had to rip them off.

That was unexpected. For a moment, there they were — my old-school, perky little C-cups. No sign of incision. No bruising, no blood, no sign that things weren’t normal since the early part of that night when the fucking cat did its thing. And, when you did your thing.

I was freaking out. I forgot how you did me wrong for a moment there, and panic-texted you back. You didn’t respond. You moved along.

I heard from you a couple of days later. “Hey, babe, you OK?” Cool.

You even came to the door. At that point, I was… they weren’t hanging down to my thighs yet. It was wintertime, and the sweater hid them enough while the chain on the doorframe prevented you from coming inside. You didn’t really care about me. You just wanted to see what was what.

It’s been alright since then. You moved along, and haven’t called in at least the last week, which is a victory. Not that I’d‘ve answered. So many empty conversations, with my Cheap-Ass Aladdin.

I wonder if you tune in, these days. If you do, I hope you’re happy, and that you’re one of the thousands who are paying $25 a month to see the Barnumesque “Largest Natural Tits In The World!” I still get around, hauling and hefting, and I’ve been able to afford something nicer than you would have preferred for me, when you were cool with me in that bed, close-by and content…

Taxes filed. I didn't forget you, entirely. When I filed with the guy who handles these things, he was willing to establish an Employee Identification Number. The gig economy has its own rules; rules that were different than they were at the bistro. I needed a name for this thing I was doing, in the realm between prostitution and Free Speech.

It took me a second. “Fucking Cat 69, LLC.” I might get audited at some point, simply because of the name. But I think I can afford the legal costs: making bank is a fair consolation prize, I would say, when the trade is being eternally stuck with mammaries both curse’d and enormous.

But tonight, after a few videos, a photo set or two, some Custom Work involving a not-inconsiderable amount of oil, and for God’s sake, finishing off the labor of April 15, I get to take a break, plop these two blobs onto the couch, arrange them properly, and zone out. 

Popcorn isn’t a bad thing; take off the ruby necklace generously contributed by a fan in Luxembourg (who says he’s technically a member of the Royal Class…?), figure out when that soda stain is gonna get cleaned but who cares for now. I haven’t seen Squid Game yet, and I’ve heard it’s pretty OK.

And then, this little animal, who shares my home, jumps up onto the head of the sofa, unaware of the trouble he caused. He looks cocky.

But, that’s the thing about cats. They’re assholes. That’s their nature: they’re unaware; they go about their business; their intent is not to cause problems; they only observe. A catastrophic flick of a tail, and an open door… Hell. If they worshipped them in a place like Egypt, there must have been a reason. Maybe it was because cats are the only creatures in this world who have the sense to inherently reject Small Dick Energy.

I guess I got put in my place by an animal who picked up something that I just didn’t.

As long as he doesn’t do that nesting thing on my left tit, spill my popcorn, and spoil Squid Game for me.

Fucking Cat.