"You weren't even going to tell me?" Ca.s.sie felt so betrayed. The idea of another failed relationship smacked her in the nose like a slammed door.

He regarded her with a sad expression. "It's just bad timing, Kitty."

She figured this would be the last time he called her by her nickname. He probably wanted to be gentle as he broke up with her, but using it was just too cruel.

"I'll see you around." He disappeared into the shadows, his overly large paws silently carrying him away into the night.

When he was gone, Ca.s.sie sank to the stone and turned her head toward the sparkling lights of the vast metropolis below her.

In a city full of felines, why do I always find toms with commitment issues?

In the end, Mr. Big-Paws had been just like all the rest.

After midnight, when she couldn't take the cloying smells of flowers and pigeon droppings anymore, she made her way down the central stairs-past the penthouse where Big-Paws lived-to the tenth floor of her sw.a.n.k building. She went out through the hall window and navigated along the ledge to her human's large balcony. The gla.s.s door was open, but she didn't go in. Ca.s.sie lay down, letting the cool breeze blow across her fur. The pain in her heart had become a dull ache, and she hoped she wouldn't wake up for a very long time.

When the afternoon sun warmed her body, Ca.s.sie finally dragged herself off the balcony. She moped around the apartment, trying to cheer herself up with a jaunt into the master bedroom closet. Dozens of designer shoes lined the shelves or lay scattered across the floor. Ca.s.sie had been planting compulsions into her human's mind to buy all the expensive brands for several years now, and the closet was overflowing. A shoe fetish was not uncommon among her kind, and Ca.s.sie was a very discerning feline. Her sense of style had helped propel her human's career as a top writer for a fashion magazine. Ca.s.sie prided herself on having impeccable taste and didn't go for the counterfeit knockoffs. They never smelled right. Her human always got the real thing: Prada, Manolo Blahnik, Fendi. They were all there.

The smell of new Italian leather cheered her up for a moment, especially when she got a whiff of the new calfskin t-strap sandals by Jimmy Choo. Ca.s.sie had always thought of them as "Chews." She had nibbled lightly on a few of them, and only when they were out of season.

She resisted chewing on the new Choos until she remembered how Mr. Big-Paws had dumped her, then she buried her teeth in the succulent leather. Glorious flavor filled her mouth as she thought of her ex-tom. Out of all the cats she had ever dated, he was by far her favorite. Not because of his access to vast wealth, or his calm demeanor that balanced her excitability. He made her feel like a queen when he was around.

Ca.s.sie was also sure he would have been the best lover she ever had and would have made a great lifelong companion. They both loved the same things: long naps on silk pillows, Mediterranean catnip, and gourmet food-especially anything with lobster or pheasant livers.

The worst thing was that they had spent weeks dating, and she still hadn't gotten her itch scratched. If Ca.s.sie was ever going to get satisfaction and have kittens, it had to be soon. Her feline clock was ticking. Fast.

Time was getting away from her in more ways than one. She had to meet her friends for lunch, and she was already late. After a quick look in the mirror, Ca.s.sie decided that she looked dreadful. Her fur was matted on her haunches, and her face needed a good tongue bath. She had once won top prize at a fashion show featuring American Shorthairs, wearing haute couture of course, but the way she looked now-like a common street cat-would get her immediately thrown into a horrid pen with fifteen other tabbies at the local animal rescue a.s.sociation.

Ca.s.sie straightened her favorite Versace collar, designed by Luciana herself. The well-known Italian feline was the most famous fashionista in the cat world. Luciana worked through a subservient family of generally competent human designers, but it was well known that she ran the show. Ca.s.sie flipped the gold charm that displayed her name in cursive script. The "i" was dotted with a flawless one-and-a-half-carat diamond that set her apart wherever she went.

She then licked her haunches, trying to smooth out her coat. It was hopeless. She was having a bad fur day and that was that. Ca.s.sie gave up in disgust. After hopping onto the balcony railing, she made her way along the ledge to the open window into the building. This section of the hallway reeked of the fake-flower perfume that the lawyer lady down the hall slathered herself with. The stench had seeped into the carpet, and Ca.s.sie suspected the high-powered-but fashion-challenged-woman had gallons of it fermenting in her apartment.

The fetor faded as Ca.s.sie pulled herself up the stairs to the sixth floor, where she was to meet her friends for lunch. She pawed at Abigail's door and meowed, sending a mental command for the human to open up. The woman came quickly, as she usually did, and Ca.s.sie accepted a generous amount of petting. She then slipped through the woman's apricot-lotion-scented hands and into the kitchen, where Ca.s.sie knew the queens were chatting and snacking on what smelled like fresh salmon.

Abigail greeted her first. The fluffy white Persian's face fell when she saw Ca.s.sie's bedraggled fur. "What's wrong?" Abigail's large yellow-gold eyes filled with worry.

Ca.s.sie hung her head and sagged in front of her three best friends, showing them her snow-colored tummy.

Maureen-an orange tabby with a constantly twitching tail-came over and touched Ca.s.sie's nose. The smell of a caramel latte flavored with a little espresso was thick on Maureen's breath. "You okay?"

Cameron-a slinky Siamese with a sapphire-studded collar that matched her eyes-stopped eating the salmon and sat back on her perfectly sculpted haunches.

The delectable fish scent did not even tempt Ca.s.sie. She closed her eyes and put a paw over her delicate pink nose. "Big-Paws broke up with me."

"No!" Abigail's fluffy fur seemed to flatten a bit. "Ca.s.sie, I'm so sorry." The Persian came over and licked her friend's face. Abigail always resorted to grooming when there was trouble.

Maureen got that scary look, so common among female orange tabbies. Every orange tabby Ca.s.sie had ever known seemed to be have a flaw in their genes that predisposed them to bouts of insanity. "I have an a.s.sociate in the D.A.'s office who knows a human sergeant in Animal Control. If you want him gone, I'll take care of it."

"No thanks, Maureen," Ca.s.sie said after considering the offer for one tail flick. "I guess we just weren't right together."

"Honey, how do you know that?" Cameron asked with her annoying up-city accent, which reminded Ca.s.sie of the way humans with old money spoke to everyone else. "Did you finally see if he had it where it counts?"

"Cam!" Ca.s.sie bared her teeth a little. "I'm not that kind of kitty."

"You might regret it someday." Cameron raised her hindquarters suggestively. "I keep telling you to enjoy it while you're young and fabulous."

Ca.s.sie batted a paw at Cam, wondering if her friend were really a tom trapped in a queen's body.

"Have some fresh salmon." Abigail licked her own lips, trying to divert the conversation. "It was flown in today, and it'll make you feel better."

"I'm not in the mood for fish." Ca.s.sie's tail lay still and her friends stared at each other in horror.

Moments later a delicious-smelling leather shoe with a shiny four inch heel-one of Luciana's approved designs-a cloth sparrow flavored with intoxicating catnip, and the current issue of Feline Fashion lay beside Ca.s.sie's paws. Her friends rallied around her, their whiskered faces concerned.

"I'll be fine," Ca.s.sie said, glancing at the much too thin Abyssinian model on the cover of the magazine. "I just thought he was the one."

Abigail let out a shuddering sigh. "I thought Wainwright was the one, but we still haven't had a single litter. We don't talk about it, but I know he's fathered kittens before we settled down." Abigail sank down beside Ca.s.sie. "I think it's me."

"You'll just have to keep trying," Cam suggested. "Practice, practice, practice. That's my motto."

"We know." Abigail shook her whiskers at the sable-pointed vixen who would raise her tail for practically any tom... anytime.

"You just never know when it'll happen," Maureen said, then averted her eyes.

They all looked at Maureen.

"Do you have something to tell us?" Cameron asked, staring at the orange tabby, whose tail went still.

"Well..." Maureen kept a low profile. "I'm pretty sure... that I'm with kittens."

Abigail's eyes sparkled.

"I thought your urine smelled different."

"Who are the fathers?" Cameron asked.

Maureen shot her a fang-filled frown. "I'm not that kind of kitty either."

"Suit yourself," Cam said, "I wouldn't be content if all of my kittens came out looking identical. As they say, variety is the catnip of life."

"No one says that." Abigail pulled her head back.

Cameron ignored her. "I've had at least four different fathers with every litter and I'm pretty pleased about it."

"That kind of mating is too rough," Maureen said.

"Too rough?" Cam was astounded and pawed at the scars on her neck left from pa.s.sionate tomcat bites. "Pardon me, honey, but is there any other kind?"

"Of course there is," Abigail shot her a disgusted look.

"But who's the tom, Maureen?" Cam asked, "Do tell."

"Graeme," Maureen said, still looking away.

"The bar cat?" Abigail's stubby nose wrinkled. "You can do much better than him. He comes from a litter of alley cats."

"Don't judge, miss prissy puss," Cameron said, "those working toms have a rugged charm that these penthouse cats can only dream of."

"I guess you'd know." Abigail pressed her lips together.

After an uncomfortable silence Ca.s.sie realized she needed to get her tail out of there. She wanted to be alone, and the tension among her friends was not helping. "Well, congratulations, Maureen." Ca.s.sie nuzzled her friend as she turned to leave. "I know you'll have beautiful kittens."

"Thanks, Ca.s.s." Maureen nuzzled back.

"Well, I better get going." Ca.s.sie headed for the door.

Abigail's human opened the door for Ca.s.sie. Before she slipped into the hallway, the woman petted her very softly, as if she knew Ca.s.sie was sad and needed some cheering up. Ca.s.sie rubbed against her ankles before dragging herself home.

Over a week later, Ca.s.sie roused herself from an incredibly long nap. She had been sleeping almost nonstop, preferring to spend her time dreaming of better days, rather than dwelling on the fact that Mr. Big-Paws had cut her loose like last month's collar.

Ca.s.sie glanced at the clock and realized it was time for her weekly lunch date with the queens. She laid her head back down, not wanting to face her friends today. Oh, well, they would understand. She wanted to mope a little longer and think about the cat that got away.

The clock seemed to be glaring at her. Both hands pointed upward and told her to get off her lazy haunches and do something. She did need to get out and stretch her legs. Lying in the garden on the roof sounded pleasant. Moments later she was sitting under a wooden bench beside the little pond that should really have had some koi in it when an unfamiliar voice sounded.

"h.e.l.lo, beautiful."

A cat with light green eyes and slate gray fur sashayed toward her. His ancestry was obviously Russian Blue, and he was definitely new to the building.

Ca.s.sie demurred, keeping her body neutral and her tail still. His fine breeding was obvious from his perfect features and shiny thick coat. He moved with a casual fluid grace that imlied a great lineage. She smelled his maleness and fought the instant attraction.

"I am Stefan. I am most pleased to meet you."

"I'm Ca.s.sie, nice to meet you too." She took in his foreign accent. His captivating scent was so exotic and musky. It tickled her nose and made her warm in all the right places. He was much smaller than Mr. Big-Paws, but he had an old-world charm so different from the common cats in the city who had only one thing on their minds. "Where are you from, Stefan?"

"The East, over the sea, though I have been traveling a lot in past seasons." Stefan came closer, his the tip of his tail dancing in the air. "Please forgive me for disturbing you. I have been in your city not very long and am eager to learn more of this place."

Ca.s.sie had always wanted to travel like Stefan, but she was too comfortable in her home. She'd heard that traveling was often tiring. "You're here on vacation?"

"Perhaps vacation, yes. Though I am considering staying for long time. Many things beautiful are in this country and my human will stay as long as I wish."

Ca.s.sie knew where this was heading and decided she was not ready. She rose to all four paws and prepared to leave.

"May I call on you sometime?" Stefan asked, lowering his tail politely and almost hiding his disappointment.

She wanted to say yes, but it was too soon for her to start dating again. Wasn't it? Her feline-biological clock started to tick loudly in her ears. She summoned her willpower to say no.

"Don't say anything, please." Stefan winked at her, his l.u.s.trous eyes full of mischief. "We are neighbors now. How do you say it in this country, see you later?"

Ca.s.sie admired his persistence, but she couldn't let herself be drawn into one of those rebound-dating things that never worked out. She should just prance off and not reply, but that would be rude. Especially to a foreigner who had just arrived in the city. "Yes. See you later."

Stefan's eyes followed her as she left the garden. She could feel them. As she went down the stairs, Ca.s.sie started to miss Big-Paws even more.

Maybe it could work out between us? Maybe he just got scared? Maybe if I go to him now, he'll want me back?

The door to his penthouse suite was open. Ca.s.sie gingerly approached the door and peeked inside. Harsh carpet cleaning chemicals replaced the usual smell of leather ottomans and those strangely intriguing cigars Big-Paws' human liked to smoke. The place was empty save for a housekeeper's cart and the nice woman who always shut off her vacuum when cats pa.s.sed her in the hallway. It was true that Ca.s.sie had planted the original idea to shut off the ear-splitting machine, but even after that, the woman continued to be thoughtful.

Ca.s.sie realized she was doing a good job of avoiding the truth as she surveyed the penthouse. Mr. Big-Paws was gone. He wasn't going to ask for her back. It really was over. Ca.s.sie felt as though she were sinking into the carpet and had to get out of there. Now. She had to go back home and take a nap that would last for days. Maybe weeks. Perhaps it would be better if she gave up on the idea of kittens all together and just got spayed like a lot of the other cats.

She sulked toward the staircase, her tail feeling dead and lifeless. Stefan appeared, his eyes filled with concern. "What is wrong? May I be helpful to you?"

"No. Thank you." She didn't want to tell him. After all, they had just met.

"Later, perhaps, we will have dinner. I will be in my new place of living all night." Stefan motioned toward a door to a posh penthouse suite facing the park.

Ca.s.sie made it back to her place and hid under the bed. She fell asleep after wondering where Big-Paws had gone. She missed him, especially the times when he would wrap his tail around her legs and they would fall asleep together. She awoke in the darkness and crawled out from under the bed. Her stomach was empty, and her food bowl was too. d.a.m.n. Her human must not have come home-again. The silver laptop with the fruit symbol on it was on the desk, so she couldn't be out on business. She must have spent the night with one of those fashion photographers that she was so fond of mating with.

Stefan did say to drop by for dinner. Ca.s.sie found the custom-made penthouse cat door open and soft music playing inside. It sounded like one of Tchaikovsky's sweeping piano concertos. She poked her head into the s.p.a.cious room. It had modern decor with two cognac-colored Ekornes chairs in front of a huge flat-screen TV, brushed metal tables, plush couches with a very relaxing pattern, and thick sand-colored carpet that had only a hint of the just-off-the-roll smell.

"Welcome to my new home." Stefan's eyes beamed as he greeted her. "Come in. Come in."

"Thank you." Ca.s.sie entered the lavish apartment, noticing how low and perfect for hopping onto the furniture was. As they pa.s.sed the soft couch, she smelled gunpowder and money beneath the cushions. Perhaps Stefan's human had heard how rough the city sometimes was and decided to keep a gun close by.

"Are you hungry?" Stefan asked.

With impeccably embarra.s.sing timing, her stomach growled. "Maybe a little."

"Follow me."

In the marble-floored kitchen, Stefan showed her a silver bowl with small black fish eggs. "Mmmm, caviar."

"Beluga, of course," Stefan said, "I find it more palatable than Malossol. Don't you agree?"

"It smells delicious." Ca.s.sie took a bite and was hooked. "Would you like some, Stefan?"

"I've already dined, thank you."

She finished the bowl rather quickly as he explained that his human was at some nightclub and would probably be there all night with business partners.

"Care for something to drink?" Stefan indicated a saucer of water.

When her tongue touched it, Ca.s.sie noticed something different. It was extremely pure and had a clean taste so lively and different from the plastic-flavored bottled water she was used to. "This is excellent."

"It's from a pristine spring in my Motherland, shipped in gla.s.s bottles to preserve the taste. Common brands are so bland."

Stefan came over for a taste beside her, and their tongues almost met by the edge of the bowl. Ca.s.sie pulled away, licking her upper lip.

"The view from my balcony is quite nice," Stefan said. "Would you like to see it?"

Ca.s.sie followed him and was stunned by the twinkling lights of the high-rises and the perfect view of the lush park.