Chapter Thirteen

No one noticed her when she entered the bar.

She was a small. Rather thin. But she had flashing eyes. She entered behind a patron, and no one seemed to notice her. But BarCat noticed right away. He could smell her.

She slinked along the bar. BarCat watched her. There was a small piece of food; she grabbed it, and it was gone in an instant. She was obviously hungry.

She also was in heat. BarCat could smell her hormone perfume the moment she walked in the door. The way she slinked across the floor was enticing to him. Very erotic to a male cat.

BarCat did what BarCat does. He knocked a plate of food onto the floor right in front of her. The burger popped out of the bun, and she grabbed it like it was a mouse. She ran with her prize across the floor in a flash and disappeared under some tables.

BarCat jumped down off the counter. He sniffed the bun, and the waitress yelled at him. "Bad Cat!" He looked at her with innocent eyes. "Don't give me that look. I know that dish didn't just fall! Did you help it?" Again, he gave her an innocent look. "I bet if I could catch you, your breath would smell of hamburger. Git while I clean this mess up before you get in trouble with Missy!" She gave him a wink, and he winked back at her. She laughed. "Sometimes, I swear you understand every word we say." She picked up the plate, and he wandered off into the back of the restaurant.

He saw where she went. The door to the storage room was open, and she had taken her catch in there. He wandered nonchalantly across the room. He weaved a path between the legs of the patrons, under the tables, so he would not be noticed as he made his way towards the storage room.

Once he got to the door, he peeked around the edge of the doorway. The door was only open slightly, but the light from the restaurant was enough that he could see her sitting, eating her catch.

He wandered into the room and sat down just inside the doorway. Obviously, she had not heard him. She smelled of the street: a little bit of motor oil, a smidgeon of grass, maybe from the park, and the intense smell of mating hormones. She must have realized she was not alone and turned to her benefactor.

She had yellow eyes, reflecting the tiny bit of light coming through the doorway. It made her look vicious. She growled low and slow. BarCat walked over to her and breathed in deeply of her hormones. Yes, she was calling to him. She gave off intense smells of fear, need, and excitement.

They did the cat dance. They pussyfooted around each other. She gave off low growls. He purred. She growled a little deeper, and he purred louder. She finally crouched down, her tail in the air, and he mounted her.

A few seconds later, the deed was done, and as he pulled out, she let out this scream! Well, he knew it was really over at that point. The door to the closet opened, and Cook looked down at them both. "How did you get in here, little kitty. You do not belong here. BarCat, you should know better."

Cook grabbed the she-cat and proceeded to remove her from the premises. "We already have a cat and do not require any others. Try the grocery store two doors down. They need a cat desperately."

BarCat watched as Cook pushed her out the front door. Yes, the grocery store down the street does need a mouser. She should wander down there. She would find a good home.

She was gone as quickly as she arrived. And Barcat was feeling exceptionally good! Really, really good! He had not felt this good since before he became BarCat and hung with the other alley cats on the street. He had not answered his primal instincts in a long time.

He jumped into his place at the bar, feeling very good about himself. He did some light preening to remove the smell of her from his immaculate fur. It was an exciting interlude. She will find a good home at the grocery store. Who knows? He may go down to visit her occasionally. Someone bought him a drink, and he settled into an evening of blissful forgetfulness and snoozes at the bar.

About five months later, Pete walked into the bar carrying a large box one morning. He was mumbling and cussing up a storm.

"I can't believe someone would leave these outside in the rain," he grumbled. "They could get sick."

He placed the box on the floor in front of the bar. Cook came over as well as Missy. They all looked into the box. Then, everyone looked at BarCat. Then, back at the box. Someone started clicking their tongue. "Tsk, tsk, BarCat. What have you been up to?"

The box had a note attached. It read, "I think these are yours." The note was scrawled with magic marker on a piece of cardboard and a big smiley face with cat ears.

Inside the box were six kittens, about eight or nine weeks old. Remarkably, they looked like BarCat. Well, all but one. That one reminded him of the young she-cat who visited the bar a while back. Yes, they appeared to have very similar markings to his. They mewed, squeaked, and rustled around the newspaper at the bottom of the box.

Missy looked at him. "What have you been up to, you nasty cat." They all laughed. "I guess we are going to have to get these kittens homes. If I offer them as your offspring, they will be adopted quickly. Really, though, have you no shame?"

Pete laughed hard. "That cat has never had any shame. He is, after all, a male cat, doing what male cats do."

BarCat looked at the box. It was labeled produce. It smelled like those green leafy things he hated over at the grocery store down the block.

BarCat smiled.