Death Sucks

The End. Sort of.

Just after dark, death grabbed me by the tail. The moon was out, cool September breezes were scented with hints that fall was coming, and I was trotting over a mound of fresh earth, not an uncommon thing in a graveyard. My mind was on a svelte little Siamese over on 15th Street who was coming into heat when a hand shot up out of the dirt and clamped onto my rear extremity.

I twisted and went for the hand with my claws, but another hand burst out and seized the scruff of my neck—I went limp, just like I had to when I was a kitten and my mom picked me up. The hands snapped my body straight, and then a woman's face poked out of the ground. She sat up, holding me in front of her. I figured I was about to kiss my furry butt goodbye, and I was right. Sort of.

The woman looked to be thirty-something. Dirty blonde hair—with dirt, that is. Her bulging eyes were scary, but I forgot all about her eyes when she put her mouth on my throat and bit. She got her teeth into my skin and I felt a warm rush of blood. Putting her lips to the wound, she sucked and slurped. Strength and will drained out of me, along with the sweet sauce of life.

I didn't even have enough energy for regrets—except, maybe, for peeing on Amy's bed when she switched brands of cat food without asking. A petty thing to do to my associate, I admit.

The woman stopped her noshing, laid me on the dirt in front of her, and looked at me. Her eyes weren't scary any more. I couldn't see real well at this point—things were dim and it was hard to focus—but her expression seemed sorrowful. Then she turned her head and, patooie, spat out fur.

Served her right.

She turned sad eyes on me and said, “I'm sorry, kitty-cat. But the pain hurt so much . . .” She trailed off and licked my blood from her fingers like she'd just had some Kentucky Fried Chicken. I could only lie there like a sack of cat meat.

As though handling something precious, she shifted me to the grass and then climbed out of her hole. After brushing dirt from her clothes, she lowered me into the hole and stroked my back—I could hardly feel it, but I sensed my body moving under her hand. And then she pushed dirt over me. Too weak to move, I waited to die.

I didn't pass out—I guessed she hadn't completely drained me. My heart slowed and slowed, and then stopped. Amazing how utter the silence was, lying there in total darkness. I'd never been aware of my heart beating but, once it quit its constant lub-dubbing, I missed it.

I thought, “Well, that's it.”

I was sorry I couldn’t give Amy a parting purr. I’d been with her since kittenhood, maybe four years by now, but cats don’t keep track of things like that. We’d sit in front of a fireplace in the wintertime, me curled in her lap, her with a philosophy book in one hand and the other petting my favorite spots. I enjoyed the times her college students came over. When one kid tried to argue that I was just a concept, I countered with reality by climbing up his leg.

Ah, the intellectual life.

And then I thought, “I'm still thinking.”

I focused on my innards. No heartbeat. And I wasn't breathing. Probably a good thing with a snootful of dirt.

I pushed up with a front paw and it broke through. I crawled out of the hole, tried to stand, and fell on my stomach. I was alive.

And I wasn't.

An ache started in my belly. Then it flashed into a fire that spread through my body. I've never, never, never felt such agony, not even the time a kid doused my tail end with kerosene. I struggled to my feet and I could think of only one thing.

Blood. Blood-blood-blood-blood-blood.

I heard the scuttle of rat paws in dirt just on the other side of a gravestone. I took off in a run . . .then my front legs buckled and I hit the ground with my chin. But I had some luck; the rat didn't run away. I listened as well as I could, considering the unbearable suffering and all. He was digging. I crept until I could peek around the stone. His back was to me.

The pain was so consuming I could hardly think, but I managed to get into a crouch and spring. Instead of grabbing the rat with my claws, I belly-flopped right on it. I was a little off but hey, I'd just had most of my blood drained from my body.

I pushed myself up, hoping the rat wouldn't run off—I'd never catch it. But it just laid there, face in the grass. Its head wobbled when I flipped it onto its back—I'd broken its neck, and ratso was dead. Unlike me. Sort of.

Now, I never liked rat. Gave me indigestion. And rats stunk. Also, I was accustomed to a steady diet of premium cat food provided by Amy. No queasiness about rats that night, though, mostly because of the pain raging though me that screamed BLOOD!

I'm embarrassed to say that I went into a frenzy. Turned out I didn't want to eat the filthy thing anyway. I ripped open its throat with my canines (why aren't they called “felines”—our carnivore teeth are much better developed than what dogs have) and lapped up the blood that spilled out.

The relief was instant. My heart began beating and a feeling like the best scratch-behind-the-ears I'd ever gotten—only on the inside—spread through my body. I just sat there and purred, in a daze of well-being. Which, it struck me, was an odd thing for a dead kitty-cat to be feeling.

My heart stopped again and the euphoria wore off. I'd have sighed if I'd been breathing. Now what? I was pissed off at the woman who had done this to me, so revenge came to mind. I didn't know what I would do—peeing on her bed, if she had one, seemed like inadequate retaliation for what she'd done to me.

I sniffed the hole. Dirt Woman's scent included the normal people reek of animal and chemical, plus dirt-smell and a coppery undertone, like blood. What the hell was she doing under the dirt, and sucking blood? That was what vampires . . . Naw-w-w . . . but what else could she be? When I thought of it, for the last few months I'd been seeing more and more creepy people lurking in the night.

I'd track Dirt Woman down and then...well, it was too bad a wooden stake was out of the question, my paws lacking opposable digits, but I'd come up with something.

It was good to have a mission; I didn't want to think about what being dead would do to my life.

The Night Shift

While I followed Dirt Woman's scent, I was forced to entertain the wacky notion that I was now—it sounded silly—a vampire. What did I know about them? The story went that they had fangs. I explored my mouth with my tongue. I had fangs. But I'd always had fangs.

Although my attacker had acted like a vampire, she hadn't had fangs. Just regular old blunt human teeth with those pitiful excuses for canines. She'd managed to do damage, all right, but it hadn't been properly carnivorous. So was she not a regulation vampire? Fang challenged?

What else was there about the undead? No daylight or you're cooked. That one shouldn't be a problem. I could see in the dark, so the up-all-night thing was cool. And nobody'd look twice at a cat sleeping all day, while human vampires had to hide out. Maybe that was what Dirt Woman had been doing. How disgusting was that? Imagine the mess when it rained. Ugh. And when winter hit you'd be a corpsicle. Come to think of it, cats were a whole lot better equipped to be vampires than people.

I came to 15th and spotted her across the street, just outside the 7-Eleven, brushing graveyard soil off her clothes. Now that I wasn't being terrified, I saw that she wore a dark blazer over a cream blouse and tan slacks. Would have looked very professional if it hadn't been for the dirt smudges. I trotted across the street, thinking that leaping and burying my claws in her leg might be a good start on retribution.

She peered at her reflection in the store window and rubbed at her face, no doubt trying to get rid of my blood. I started to go down the vampires-can't-see-themselves-in-mirrors road, but realized that they were supposed to have fangs, too. Who knew what the myths had wrong? Lucky me, I was going to find out.

Taking a brush from a shoulder purse, she gave her dirty hair a few good strokes. She cleaned up nice. I sprang into a run and closed fast, but she opened the door and stepped inside before I could spring. My momentum carried me through the closing door and inside. Fine, I'd wait until she left and get some satisfaction when she wasn't looking. We cats are all about the element of surprise when it comes to attacking. You know how the cavalry in the old West sounded charge with a bugle when they attacked? Dumb.

There were no customers in the store. I secreted myself next to a rack of potato chips to wait for my chance. A faint odor of dust nagged at me. Well, yeah, I had just been buried alive. I felt an urge to lick. I hadn't had a good lick for hours. But the minute I sat I sagged, my strength sapped. I hadn't gotten nearly as much from that rat as Dirt Woman had taken from me.

She went to the guy behind the counter and took a deep breath. “Excuse me, are you the manager?”

The clerk was a big one. A head like a pumpkin above narrow shoulders that spread to a fat waist overhanging his belt, and then he tapered back down to big feet. It was hard for me to tell the age of fat people; this guy could have been twenty or forty. He inhaled and then said, “That's me. George.”

Dirt Woman looked around as if she'd like to escape, but then squared her shoulders and gave George a smile that I could tell she didn't mean. She took a breath. “Hi. My name's Meg.” She took another breath. “I'd like to apply for a job.”

She sure was a heavy breather. Then I thought about it. Opened my mouth and tried to meow. Oh. You need air for that. . . I focused on my chest and thought, “Inhale.” It expanded, and air came in. I uttered a soft little “Mrrr.” I tried to do the same thing with my heart, but that had never been available for conscious control, so nothing happened.

George shrugged, then inhaled and said, “Sure, if you want to. But there ain't any openings 'cause I'm it at night. Could check out the day shift.” He eyed her and took another breath. “You don't look like the 7-Eleven type, though.”

Her smile sagged and she looked a little scared. “It has to be, er, at night. Please, isn't there anything?”

George leaned forward, his eyes narrowed like he was studying her. “Most folks prefer to work days.”

“I'm . . . I can't go out in daylight. I have photophobia.”

“Big word.”

“Big problem. It cost me my job at the ad agency. But I'm a good worker.”

I wondered why a mostly dead person would need a job. All she had to do was dine out on some innocent person—or cat—and be able to dig a hole.

“I . . .” She looked around as if searching for a good answer. She slumped and said, “I haven't been able to get back to my apartment. During the day I’ve had to sleep. . .” She glanced out the plate glass front storefront. “. . .outside.” It was as if she saw a monster lurking out there.

Her gaze swung across me on the way back to George. She paused, and her eyebrows lifted in an expression of surprise—that's a thing cats envy people, the ability to create expressions with your face. That and the opposable thumbs. Then she smiled like she was glad to see me. Aww. I was starting to lose my resentment and even feel a little sorry for her.

She brushed at a splotch of dirt on her purse and turned back to George. “I'm so embarrassed. I'm homeless, and I don't know what to do. All the public aid places are only open in the daytime.”

George smiled. Meg looked at him like he'd just bonked her on top of the head with one of his ham hands. What an ass, taking pleasure in her distress.

He said, “Welcome to the Night Shift.”

Her sudden smile was like the sun she couldn't tolerate. “I can have a job?”

He shook his head. “'Night Shift' is just a handle for people like us.”

Us?

Vampires underground (what else?)

While I chewed on what George meant by “us,” he reached out and touched a red spot on Meg's neck. She flinched away. He said, “Got a little bit of breakfast there.”

Meg backed toward the door. I was a little freaked by George, too. She said, “I don't know . . .I think . . .”

George put his hands out in appeal. “Hey, wait up. I'm one too. You're new, and I'm sure you're scared, but you just got lucky.”

She shook her head. “Dead people don't have luck.”

George ambled out from behind the counter. Meg retreated a couple of steps. He stopped and smiled at her. He didn't have fangs either. “Hey, it's undead. There's no death certificate for you, right?”

She shook her head.

“No funeral, no mourning. You can call up people you know and they'd think you were the same as ever, right?”

He had a point. She wasn't exactly a corpse. Neither was I, for that matter.

“If you'd been able to keep your job, you'd still be paying taxes, right?”

“You mean that, even though I'm not alive, I have a life?”

He snorted a laugh. “You could put it that-a-way. We still need a place to sleep during the day, and that takes money, so we gotta work.” George waved at the store. “Trouble is, lotta night jobs are pretty crummy.”

Meg sagged at the knees and, I have to admit, mine were rubbery too. Well, they're not precisely knees, but you know what I mean. George took her arm, led her around the counter and sat her on a stool. Then he pulled a cell phone from his pants pocket, unfolded it and hit a button.

“Hey, Sammy, George here. Got a newbie. The usual, lookin' for a night job.” He paused, then gave Meg a glance. “By the look of her, the local cemetery.”

Her gaze dropped to the floor. I suspected she'd have blushed if she hadn't died.

He listened, then said, “Worked for a ad agency. . .”

Meg perked up a little. “I'm a writer. At Dewey, Fakem and How.”

“Writer.” More listening. He grinned. “Yeah?” He looked to Meg. “Sammy'll be over in a minute. He's with the A.V.A.” He folded and pocketed the phone.

The place was crawling with vampires. Shouldn't be a problem, though. They wouldn't suck on one of their own.

George glanced my way and then did a double take. “Hey!” He reached under the counter, came up with a baseball bat, and charged.

I spun to run, but my paws slipped on the floor. Leave it to me to be chased by a vampire in the one convenience store in the universe with a freshly waxed floor. Running in place, I glanced back over my shoulder and there was George, coming down on me, bat raised above his shoulder—

“Stop!” Meg came running.

George pulled up. He said, “It's a cat. In the store.” I stopped, happy to sit down again.

Meg grabbed the end of the bat. “It's my cat.”

George bent low and sniffed. “I'll be darned.” He straightened. She let go of the bat and he lowered it. “So what's its name? Breakfast?”

Funny guy. She looked embarrassed for a moment, and then said, “I've never given him a name. But maybe I will, just so I can introduce you.”

What a waste of breath. Cats don't do names. Wouldn't be much use, seeing as how we don't talk. As far as I'm concerned, I'm Me. Amy called me Spot, and thought it was funny. There are some things you just have to live with.

On second thought, maybe I didn’t regret peeing on her bed.

Meg looked me over. I wondered if she knew she was looking at a rare creature. Not that calico cats are rare—you can see my mixture of orange, gray and white all over town—but we guys are. For every one of me there are about three thousand calico pussycats. That’s not a bad thing. And the fact that we’re sterile is something the neighborhood pussies appreciated. It was a dead-end genetic profile, which was now extremely ironic.

But she just had to give me a moniker. “Let's see. . . patches of colors. . .how about 'Patchie'?”

Ewww. I stuck my tongue out. Maybe Meg was sharper than the average vampire because she said, “Naw, too cutsie for a big guy like you.”

Hmm. I stood a little straighter, and I might have pushed my chest out a little.

Meg said, “How about Patch?”

Not bad. At least it had something to do with me. I decided to let her know my opinion, so I walked to her and rubbed my side against her leg. Just once, though. I'm not a gushy cat.

Then I looked up at her and did the eye-contact thing. She grinned. “Patch it is.”

George said, “It don't matter he's got a name, still no animals allowed in the store. And I can't lose this job.”

A car pulled up outside. George said, “It's Sammy. C'mon.”

He went out the front door and Meg scooped me up. I was too weak to protest and, besides, I kinda liked her. She knew how to hold a cat, too, with an arm under my hindquarters so I could sit, none of that one end or the other left hanging.

That close to her, I noticed the same undertone of copper I'd found when I was tracking her. Was that what George had gotten from me that made him figure I'd been Meg's latest meal? The smell of blood—the scent of vampires?

Outside, a scrawny, sunken-chested little guy with squinty eyes stood by a banged-up, old-style Volkswagen Bug. He sported a handlebar mustache that covered his mouth. His eyes widened when he saw Meg. He smiled—I couldn't tell if his mustache was covering up fangs—and a bass voice that seemed impossible for such a pip-squeak said, “Welcome to the A.V.A.”

His gaze dropped to me. “Now that's curious. Cats usually hate to be around us.”

He had that right. This whole scene was definitely creepy. But what choice did I have? And, like I said, Meg was pretty cool.

George chuckled. “Yeah, but this cat is us.”

Meg stepped forward and stuck out a hand to shake, still cradling me quite comfortably in her other arm. “My name's Meg, and this is Patch.”

Bright headlights swung across us and then an old hearse, long and black with fishtail fins on the rear fenders, pulled up next to the Bug. Sammy said, “Crap. It's Lester.”

Lester climbed out of the hearse. Unfolded, actually—he had to be seven feet tall. Black was his thing, with one exception—when he rounded the front of the hearse his black cape flared and revealed a crimson lining.

He smiled. Big fangs. Sharp ones, touching his bottom lip.

He glommed onto Meg right away. “My dear, let me welcome you to the underworld. My name is Lestat.”

Lester and I have our differences.

Sammy said to Meg, “Lester is into Ann Rice these days.”

Lester/Lestat glared down at Sammy. “You're such an insect. You and the rest of your breather wannabes.” He spread his arms wide, managing to make his cape flare and show off the red lining, and smiled down at Meg and me. Actually, I didn't think he'd noticed me.

“I live the legend of the vampire, free, a law unto myself.” He raised a fist into the air. “I am Lestat, the beast that feasts in night's darkest deeps.”

Where did this guy get his dialogue? Maybe he spent his days at bad movies.

Sammy said, “So, Meg, George told me you're looking for work.”

Lester stepped between Sammy and Meg and me. “Work? Why? If you need to feed...” He waved a really long arm at the night. “...your dining pleasure awaits you, ready for the taking.”

Stepping to the side so he was visible again, Sammy said, “Yeah, if you don't get caught. There are police out there. And some breathers don't like being chewed on. You can get hurt.”

Hurt? How do you hurt dead people?

Lester puffed up. “Hah! Maybe you mice fear breathers, but not those true to the Dark Path.”

So now he was Darth Lester?

Meg said, “I don't think it's right to attack innocent people. That's what happened to me.” She put a hand to her neck, and her voice got harder. “Thanks to that bitch, I have no job and no life. And I'm sleeping in the dirt, for God's sake.”

Lester struck a pose, chest out, hands on his hips, legs spread. I half-expected him to break into “Yo ho ho, fifteen men on a dead man's chest.”

“You're mistaken, little woman.”

I felt Meg stiffen at that.

Lester said, “She set you free, just as a munificent monster once did me. And you don't have to sleep in dirt.” He pointed at his hearse. “I have all I need here. When the sun comes, I just park, draw the curtains, relax in my coffin, and doze. I have a little TV, too.”

He gripped Meg's arm and pulled her to him, squishing me between them, his belt buckle poking me in the eye.

“Come with me, Megan. I know where to get a coffin just your size. There's plenty of room in my vehicle, and together we can enjoy the life eternal.”

Sammy laughed. “The life of a petty criminal, you mean. With no job and no money, how do you think he feeds that gas hog of his?”

Meg pushed at his chest with her free arm and got a little space between us. It was a relief to get that belt buckle out of my eye. It was still inches away, and I could see that it was shaped like a bat. Not just any bat, but a Batman bat.

I looked up, and I didn't like Lester's smirk. With the fangs and all, he looked a little on the evil side to me.

Lester said, “I have money, all I need. My dinners gladly donate their worldly goods.” He leered. “Well, perhaps not gladly.”

He yanked on Meg's arm to pull her back to him, and crunched me again. That pissed me off, and I whipped out my claws and sank them into the back of his hand. He jerked it away and I felt my claws tug as they ripped through his skin. What a nice feeling.

Lester jumped back a couple of feet. “Foul beast!” He held his hand out so the light from the neon sign showed the damage. Four nicely done furrows crossed the top of his hand. In the greenish light they looked black against his pale skin, and they didn't bleed.

George said, “Uh-oh.”

Lester stabbed out with one of those four-foot arms, wrapped his fingers around my middle, and tore me away from Meg. He lifted me high above his head and turned toward the brick wall of the store. I twisted and slashed, but all my claws caught was air. Dead or not, I didn't think that wall would do me any good if Lester smashed me against it. He drew his arm back like a pitcher about to deliver a fastball —

Then Sammy was in front of Lester, his arm extended, his hand gripping a big switchblade knife. The blade flashed open with a snicking sound. He tiptoed and held it against Lester's neck. “Let the cat down easy or you're going to have a nice, permanent hole from one side of your nasty neck to the other.”

Lester grabbed Sammy's wrist with his other hand and wrenched the knife away from his neck. The knife fell and clattered on the sidewalk. Then Lester wrapped his fingers around the little guy's neck and lifted him off the ground. “You do not cross Lestat, vermin.”

Meg jumped for me, but Lester laughed, swung the arm that held me and caught her in the head with his elbow, knocking her against Sammy's Volkswagen.

He looked at me, and then at Sammy, who still dangled with his feet off the ground, although he was in no danger of choking to death. “Which will it be? You first, Samuel, and a broken neck that will never heal?” He glared at me. “Or you, unnatural animal, every bone smashed.” He showed his fangs. “I like the sound of that.”

I make an enemy

George shuffled around in front of Lester. “Hey, uh, Les, could you take this somewhere else?” He looked left and right, worry all over his fat face. “Night jobs aren't easy to get these days, and I can't afford no trouble.”

I was dealing with having my bones smashed and he was worried about his crummy job? If I'd ever had any respect for George I'd have lost it right then, but I didn't even have that satisfaction.

Lester laughed, then said, “Move aside, numb-nuts, unless you want a faceful of cat.”

George nodded like a bobble-head doll. “Yessir. Right. Got it.” He stepped to the side. “Uh, could'ja make it quick, then? Maybe nobody'll see.”

I hoped there was a special place in hell for George. If he ever got there.

I saw Meg crawling toward the switchblade Sammy had dropped. I figured it would be a good idea to distract the vampire Lester. Luckily I'd worked up a good hairball before joining the undead. I activated the process for barfing it up, which included sucking in some air. I hacked a couple of times and then hurled the mess straight at Lester's face.

Caught him right between the eyes. Woo-hoo!

He flung little Sammy into George, and they went down in a tangle. Lester screamed into my face, “Abominable creature!” Then his voice got silky which, along with the fangs and the sinister smile that appeared, turned my woo-hoo into an uh-oh.

“First, I will break all of your legs into many pieces so you can't move. Then I will run over you with my hearse so your body is little more than a bag of ruptured organs and bone splinters.”

Oh, the pain, the horror.

He said, “It's unfortunate that you won't feel any pain at that time. . .”

Oh, yeah. Dead. Still, there was the horror.

“. . .but then morning will come and sunshine will hit your flattened carcass. I wish I could see what's left of you writhe when the pain of the undead hits.” He paused. “Hm, maybe I could steal a camcorder and tape you. It would be fun to replay over and over.”

Down on the sidewalk, Meg reached the knife. She snatched it up, lunged to her feet, and stepped in front of Lester. My view was good enough to let me see her put the knife between his legs and lift up.

At the pressure on his crotch, Lester looked down at her.

Meg said, “Let go of my cat or you're going to live out the rest of your death missing a couple of parts.”

Considering what she was doing for me, I was willing to let the “my cat” part go. It's a common mistake for humans to think they can own a cat. I'd have laughed about that, but the thought of being a bag of ruptured organs was just a little distracting.

Lester said, “You wouldn't—”

She added her other hand to her grip on the knife and pulled up.

“Stop!” Lester lowered me. “I'm putting it down.”

I hated being called an “it.” I tried another swipe at Lester's arm with a claw as he released me, and then I was busy twisting to land on all fours. Looking up at him, I decided that further infuriating a gigantic vampire was not strategically sound.

Bless little Meg, though. She stepped back from Lester, holding the switchblade in front of her, and then knelt beside me. “Are you okay, Patch?”

I gave her a little “Mrrr.” of assurance. She ran a hand down my back and stood.

Sammy and George had untangled, and Sammy stepped next to Meg. He held out a hand for his knife and, when she gave it to him, he said to Lester, “You can be sure this is going into a report at the A.V.A.”

Lester sneered, which the fangs turned into a truly malicious expression. “As if I gave a rat's ass.” He looked down at me and then sliced his finger across his neck in a throat-cutting gesture. It would have been a perfect time to give him the finger . . . if I'd had one.

He turned, swirling his cape, stalked to his hearse, got in and roared away with a squeal of spinning tires and the stench of burning rubber.

Sammy put away his knife and frowned at Meg, “I'm afraid you've made an enemy.” Then he lightened up. “But I'm sure you'll be safe with us.”

“Who's 'us'?”

“The American Vampire Association. Our mission is to preserve and protect Vampire American heritage and culture.” He walked to his car and opened the passenger door. “Come with me to headquarters. We've got a spot for a good writer.”

Meg looked down at me. “What do you think, partner?”

Nothing a cat likes better than being given the respect he's naturally due. But what about Amy? Maybe I should head home. But how would she feel about associating with a dead cat? And then I thought about going berserk when I needed blood and what I’d done to that rat. What if that pain hit when I was in Amy’s lap? I couldn’t take the chance.

This vampire woman had potential for a good associate, so I trotted to the car and leaped for the seat. Unfortunately, my legs turned to mush when I jumped. I cracked my chest on the bottom of the door opening and fell back onto the pavement.

Sammy laughed. I stared up at him, vowing to pee in his car. If I ever got into it. If I could still pee.

Cocktails for two

Then a low burn glowed like a coal in my belly, a glimmer of that gigantic pain that had driven me to have a rat cocktail after Meg drained me. It didn't consume me in a rush like it had before, but I knew the train was coming. I pushed myself up. I was going to need blood, and I'd do anything to avoid that pain.

I looked around. This was a convenience store, so there had to be, gag, rats out back. But then my new associate scooped me up, got in the car, and settled me on her lap. “We're ready.”

My gaze was drawn to her throat. Cats are realists. Practical, too. But there was no pulse beating there. And Lester hadn't bled when I scratched him. Was it possible to get blood from a vampire? The heat in my tummy cranked up another degree.

Sammy shut the door and went around to the driver's side. George leaned into our window and said, “Good luck. Sorry about the hassle with Lester.”

I might have been dead, but I wasn't, er, dead. I raised a paw and extended my claws. It so happened that they were an inch from George's bulbous wedge of a nose. He jerked back and banged his head on the top of the window frame. We left him rubbing his head.

As Sammy drove he pointed out places that were lit up in the night—convenience stores, a couple of gas stations, a burger joint, a video store, the emergency ward at a hospital—and said at each one of them, “We've got people there.” The Night Shift.

We came to a darkened four-story building, and he pulled into its underground garage, which did have lights on. We took an elevator to the top floor. The burn in my belly amped up and I squirmed in Meg's grip.

She ran a hand along my head and down my back. “Take it easy, Patch. I'll take care of you.”

I didn't want to bite the hand that petted me, but the blue veins on the underside of her wrist looked inviting.

When the elevator doors opened, there were lights on. Sammy said, “Welcome to the A.V.A.” We stepped out to aisles of cubicles surrounded by offices on the outside walls. The windows were covered with black curtains.

I'd been to a previous associate's office when she wanted to show off her new kitten-like all cats, I never forget anything. Comes in handy for holding grudges. This place didn't look any different, except for the black curtains. People going from here to there, papers in hand. A phone ringing now and then.

A white-haired woman shaped like a stack of doughnuts with legs cruised up. She looked like she should be home baking cookies for the grandkids, but she carried a bunch of file folders. “Sammy, a lot of vees are getting more and more pissed about problems with accessing government agencies.”

He frowned. “I hate it too, but what can we do? We just need to figure out ways around it.”

She inspected Meg and me. “I'd say welcome to you two, but to what?” She scratched me behind the ears. “Cute cat.”

I hate “cute.” Cats are only cute when we're kittens, and after that we're elegant. Except maybe when we sprawl on our backs.

Sammy did introductions. “Meg, Patch, this is Vera. She runs Communications.”

Vera the vampire? I bet she hated that.

He said to Vera, “Meg's a writer.”

Meg nodded. “Advertising.”

Vera gave her a closer look. “Think you can write non-fiction?”

“Advertising isn't fict...” Meg shrugged. “Sure.”

“Come see me when you're settled. I need an assistant.” She handed a folded paper to Sammy. “Here's tomorrow's newsletter. Let me know if you need any changes.” She checked her wristwatch. “We've got an orientation class to do in a few minutes.” Vera hurried away and disappeared into an office.

Meg gripped me hard, and a little moan escaped her. My belly was starting to burn seriously, and I wondered what I could do when the pain really hit.

Sammy babbled as he led us along a wall. “A lot of our function is as an employment agency. And two floors below we've set up temporary housing for new vampires until they get established.” He glanced at us. “We can help you there.”

We came to a large room with chairs at long tables, vending machines, and a half-dozen microwave ovens on a counter. “This is our break room.”

Meg put a hand on her stomach and said, “I'm sorry, Sammy. It's starting to hurt. I'm going to need to go outside for a while.” She petted me. “My friend Patch could only do so much.”

What the hell, it wasn't my idea for her to suck my blood. And ratso hadn't done a whole lot for me, either. I wondered briefly if a vampire rat was out there, roaming the night. Naw. I'd broken its neck and it was totally dead before I dined. The pain grew, and it was getting hard to think straight.

Sammy said, “Ah, the vampire pain.” He looked down at me. I inhaled and gave him a hiss. He said, “You too, I'll bet. But you guys don't need to go outside.” He crossed to a big red Coke machine, digging into a pocket. He fed a bill into the machine and punched a button. When a bottle thudded into the slot, he took it out, gave the machine another bill, and punched another button. He didn't pay much attention to which button he pushed, like there was only one thing stocked. A second bottle arrived. He took it out and walked to the microwave counter. The clear glass bottles looked like V8 juice—in fact, the label read “V1”—but the red liquid inside was darker.

He said, “Some people take theirs cold, but I think it goes down a lot easier at body temperature.” He uncapped the bottles and put them in a microwave, but not before my sniffer picked up the scent of blood. He started them heating and opened a cabinet door. “Let me see if I can find a bowl for Patch.” He took one out and set it on the counter.

The fire started spreading through my body, and I had to move. I twisted and flailed my legs until Meg put me on the floor. As the microwave hummed, the scent of blood grew stronger. I paced to keep my mind off the pain.

A glance at Meg showed her biting her lip, her gaze locked on the microwave. She stood hunched over, gripping her belly with both hands. She moaned long and low.

Sammy pulled out a chair for her. “Here, sit.” The microwave dinged and he took the bottles out. Handing one to Meg, he smiled and said, “From our own bottling company.”

She grabbed the bottle and gulped the stuff of life—and, apparently, death. Sammy poured half the other bottle in the bowl and set it in front of me. I plunged my muzzle in and then licked as fast as I could. My heart started up and the burn faded fast.

Sammy drank the rest. That was okay, I was already feeling great. When I finished, I sat and purred, that all-over pleasure flowing through me again. Meg had chugged her vampire juice and now leaned back, her gaze unfocused.

Our benefactor took a chair. “You'll get used to the rush and it won't slow you down so much.”

She shook her head and sat up. “Thanks. I'm afraid I can't pay you back. . .but if there's a job. . .”

“My treat. You get the next one.”

Meg said, “Have you got any gum? The taste of blood. . .well, I was a vegetarian before I joined the club, so this whole blood thing pretty much sucks.”

My heart stopped beating and the blood buzz died down, no pun intended.

What she said.

Meg meets her maker

Sammy contemplated her question and then said, “Don't have any gum. I wonder if it would work. Would your salivary glands start up? Would the virus care about a nasty taste? Why?” He indicated the sink. “It might help to rinse your mouth with water. But don't swallow. It'll just sit in your belly.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. I was in denial after I was changed and I ate a hamburger. The gas was. . .I felt like the Goodyear blimp. I wanted to die but, of course, I couldn't.”

I knew how she felt about the leftover taste of blood. My muzzle reeked of it. I licked a paw and got to work washing my whiskers and fur. My mouth was dry for a moment, then I felt a tingle in my cheeks and moisture came.

There's nothing better than licking, especially when I can reach a spot directly with my tongue instead of having to use my paws. It starts with a single spot of skin that sends out the itch of attention needed. Then, when I lick that spot and the pleasure begins, the itch moves on and my licking follows, leaving behind a trail of happy skin.

It is to purr.

Meanwhile, Meg rinsed out her mouth. Sammy said, “You should do our orientation class for new vees.”

I was a “vee?”

She said, “Orientation? For vampires?”

“We cover feeding, jobs, dangers, the cause of vampirism, the mission of the American Vampire Association, stuff like that.”

“You mean I might get a clue as to what's happened to me?”

Sammy nodded. “Yeah. Vera's good, and I chime in too.” Sammy looked at his watch. “It's time.” He pointed, said “Two doors down,” and left.

Meg bent and scooped me up. “Let's go, Patch.”

I took a breath and gave her a major hiss. She dropped me like I was a bomb with a lit fuse. I wasn't really angry, but proper cat protocol is to ask. We're not furry baggage you can just haul around. Humph.

She said, “What's wrong?”

I glared up at her and shook my head. Actually, the orientation thing had sounded like a good idea to me, but manners are important. I walked to the doorway, then looked back at her. Would she get the message?

Meg squatted beside me. “I'd really like for us to stick together, Patch. Come with me?” She stretched a hand out to me, but made no move to grab anything feline.

I love an intelligent associate. I took in a little more air, said, “Mrrr,” and then pushed my nose against her hand. I made no protest when she took me and stood, cradling me. I believed that associates learned faster when you rewarded their efforts, so I provided a soft little purr. She gave me a scratch behind the ears and we went into a large room set up like a classroom.

A half-dozen people sat in rows of metal folding chairs facing a lectern that stood in front of a large whiteboard. Sammy and Vera stood next to the lectern, and they nodded to us when we came in. Meg went to two seats together in the front row. After she set me on a chair, something caught her attention and she said, “That little bitch.”

She strode to the other end of the row and stopped in front of a small woman. She was more of a girl than a woman, tiny, with black pigtails and an Asian face, dressed in hip-hugger jeans and a t-shirt. I thought Japanese, a fairly rare sight in a medium-sized Illinois town. Bloomburg was not known for its diversity. That was one of the cool things about cats; we had no problem with diversity. A cat's a cat. The woman shrank down in her chair when Meg stood before her.

Meg shouted, “It was you!” and stiff-armed the girl's shoulders, propelling her back. The Japanese tumbled into the chairs behind her, and I winced at the clang and bang of metal. When you have hearing as sensitive as mine, loud noises are a pain.

Vera rushed forward and grabbed Meg's arms from behind. Meg pulled against her and fought to reach the girl. “You did this to me!”

The Japanese woman struggled to her feet. She took a deep breath and sobbed, and her face twisted in an expression of crying, although no tears came out. “I'm so sorry. I couldn't help it. The pain, that awful pain . . . .”

When she said that, Meg pulled back and stopped. She glanced at me. Her scowl faded, and she looked back at the Japanese woman with a softer expression.

Vera released Meg. “You going to calm down?”

Meg nodded. “Yeah. I'm okay.” She looked at me again, then said to the Japanese girl, “I know what that pain does to you.”

No shit.

The girl nodded. Vera said to her, “What's your name, dear?”

After the girl answered, “Seiko,” Vera said, “Pick up those chairs, please, and we'll get started.”

Meg sat next to me while Vera returned to the front of the classroom. Vera said, “Does anybody here know the cause of vampirism?

Now that perked up my pointy little ears. Yes, curiosity killed the cat, but that was hardly a problem with me now, was it? No one raised a hand. Or paw.

If I'd had breath, I'd have held it.

Lester seeks revenge

Sammy said, “We'll get to that in a minute. First, a little business.”

What was this, bait and switch? Get to the good stuff. Like any cat I ever knew, I was long on curiosity and short on patience.

In that voice impossibly deep and big for such a sardine of a man, he said, “I'm president of the local chapter of the American Vampire Association. There are nine hundred twelve members here in Bloomburg, and nationwide we're the primary advocate for nearly five million Vampire Americans, the nation's fastest-growing minority group.”

Meg leaned close and whispered out the side of her mouth, “And now a word from our sponsor.”

It was too bad cats can't chuckle. There were definitely times. I gave her a soft “Mrrr” and got a scratch behind the ears in return.

Sammy said, “Our mission is to provide support for American vampires. To eliminate the need for ripping out throats in the night. To find jobs and shelter. To help Vampire Americans with the adjustment to being undead.”

Vera chimed in. “You've not only lost your life, you've lost your living—your jobs, the places you lived, your friends—I mean, you can't be hanging out when the Pain strikes; it's so rude to dine on friends. And what do you get in return for becoming undead? How many of you have noticed superpowers developing?”

I felt pretty much the same as before. I checked out the rest of the audience. Nobody moved.

She said, “Well, don't hold your breath.” Vera smiled at her incredibly feeble joke. Nobody else did. Seiko drew a breath and let out a sob. Nice work, Vera, bum us all out.

Vera shrugged. “You were only human before you were infected, and you're human now. No more, no less.” The audience sat up at that, and she nodded. She'd done this before. “That's right, infected. With a virus. If you've read vampire fiction, you know that a virus is often cited as the cause. Well, the storytellers got that part right. But they blew it on the superpowers, and the fangs part too, unless you have some glued on. No shape-shifting. No flying. No super strength. You can't eat garlic, but then you can't eat anything else, either.”

Sammy walked to a long, narrow box high on the wall behind them and pulled a big map of the planet down like a window shade. I can see how maps are a good thing for people, what with their meager sense of direction. Cats always know where we are.

He pointed at a spot in Europe. (Don't ask. I just knew.) “In the early 1700s, during a rabies epidemic among dogs and wolves in Hungary, the virus mutated.”

Rabies? That was a nasty way to go . . . except we didn't go.

Meg said, “We're rabid?”

Sammy shook his head, then he nodded, and then he shrugged. “Not exactly. Many of our symptoms are the same as rabies. For example, with rabies insomnia and night wandering are common. A quarter of victims are prone to biting. A rabies victim is supersensitive to all stimuli, including sunlight and strong odors such as garlic. And, as you well know, it's fatal.”

Meg frowned. “But it didn't exactly kill us . . . totally, that is.”

Vera said, “Until the mutation, all deadly viruses were just that—they killed their host and then died. But this mutant rabies takes over a body cell by cell and keeps it working. It needs only blood for fuel. And you now how badly it needs it.”

I didn't even want to think about the pain that came when the bloodlust hit. So that was it. Tiny little bugs.

The door banged open and Lester swept in, his cape flapping behind him. He stopped in the doorway and raised a hand. His other hand held a leather strap that trailed out the door behind him. “Don't listen to these gutless wonders. Your deaths have opened up a grand new life for you, a life of darkness and freedom!”

Sammy said, “Oh, Lester. Please.”

“It's Lestat, and isn't this still a democracy? Don't I still have the right to be heard?”

Sammy said to the audience, “The A.V.A.'s policy is to provide shelter for any vampire, even the . . .” He shot a look at Lester. “Disagreeable ones.”

Now here was where cats took exception to human customs. If we don't like somebody, we do our best to make them go away. The way we see it, only fools suffer fools. Makes for a much more pleasant existence.

Speaking of fools, Lester surveyed the room and his gaze settled on me. He pointed with the hand I had scratched—the scratches looked exactly the same as when I'd done the deed. “Kitty-cat, I have something for you.”

He stepped in and pulled on the leather strap. “Come here, Nosferatu.” In trotted a burly black dog. A pit bull. I wondered if Lester had gone out and created a vampire doggie just for me. How special.

While my life was in no danger, I didn't like the idea of being chewed. I stood on my chair, inhaled, and hissed. Meg got to her feet and faced Lester.

She said, “You leave Patch alone.”

Lester said, “I'm not through with you, either.”

Fido opened his mouth, bared his fangs, and tried to growl. Nothing came out. He tried again. No luck. He flapped his mouth as if he were barking. Of course, without taking in some air, nothing could come out. Dogs are such losers.

Lester bent down and coached. “Breathe, boy, breathe.” Then he took a breath and growled, as if the mutt could understand.

Like Vera said, don't hold your breath.

Lester glared at me. And then he produced a slow-motion smile, letting his artificial fangs show. This guy was very good at creepy. I suspected he practiced. He held eye contact with me while he leaned down and unsnapped the leash. He said to his doggie, “Kill him, Nosferatu.”

Ol' Nasty stopped his silent yapping and hunched his shoulders. He stalked toward me, his claws clicked on the linoleum. With no one breathing or talking, the sound echoed in the dead quiet (sorry, just couldn't resist that).

I was thinking it was high time to get out of Dodge when I noticed scars on his muzzle. Vertical rows of scars. From claws. A feline victim's last defense? Or was Ol' Nasty just a bully?

I leaped from my chair and landed inches from Nasty's nose.

I get Nasty

The son of a bitch stopped advancing and flinched back a step. I think he gulped a little, too.

I did the bristle thing, the fur on my tail and back standing out, making me look larger. Ol' Nasty glanced up at Lester as if looking for assurance. Lester made pushing notions with his hands and said, “Go on. Rip him to undead pieces.”

Nasty turned back to me and hunched his shoulders again.

I took a deep breath and let out a low, moaning caterwaul.

The dog's eyes widened. Another glance at Lester, more encouragement, then Nasty narrowed his eyes tried to growl again. If he hadn't been so huge and dangerous, it would have been funny. I had a feeling those scars on his muzzle meant that he hadn't come out on top in a previous close encounter of the kitty-cat kind.

So I sucked in some more air and, bam, I arched my back, went up on my toes, and hissed bigtime.

Nasty threw it into reverse, skidded backward, and slammed into Lester's legs. Lester reacted with a huge kick—a seven-foot vampire has a lot of leverage—and propelled Nasty straight back at me.

Meg screeched, “Patch!”

Hah. I was cool. I leaped over Nasty's head, landed on his back, and took a running jump up at Lester. I landed on his chest, and my claws dug through black cloth and into skin. Oh, boy. I climbed his front, sinking my claws in like a mountain climber driving pitons.

I glanced back and saw Nasty skid to a halt, scramble around and reverse direction—and Meg gave him a kick in the butt. He raced for the doorway, bounced off the frame, then disappeared.

Like I said—losers.

I stopped climbing when I was at Lester's head, eye to eye, my front-paw pitons in the sides of his neck. His eyes had gone beyond bulging. If he'd had any blood pressure, he'd have been about to blow a tire.

I gave his nose a big, long, rough lick.

Lester flung open his mouth like he was screaming but, just like his canine companion, no gas, no go. He hit at me with both hands and I flew back, my claws leaving artful furrows in his white flesh.

Meg snatched me out of the air and held me to her chest. She shouted, “OUT.”

Lester filled his chest with air and let out a scream of rage. He extended his arms, his fingers formed claws, and he took a giant step toward me and Meg. He looked like Boris Karloff in that old Frankenstein movie.

A folding chair slammed into his side. Seiko yelled, “OUT.” She picked up another chair.

The giant vampire hesitated.

Vera's voice was a shriek. “OUT.”

I gathered myself, put my hind paws against Meg's chest, and took a deep breath. I launched myself at Lester with a screaming yowl.

He threw up his hands, spun and ran, his cloak slapping me in the face as I arced down to where he'd been standing.

I watched the open door for a moment to make sure the creep was really gone, then turned back to Meg. The people in the room stared at me.

Then Meg grinned, came to me, squatted down and raised her hand for a high five. “Patch, my man!”

I couldn't resist. I raised a paw and gave her the five. She scooped me up into a hug. Gasps of air intake sighed around the room, and a beat later laughs and chuckles came our way.

As the audience settled into chairs, Vera and Sammy came over to us. Vera rubbed me under my chin—I lifted it, closed my eyes, and felt a purr coming on. But then, in a chilly voice, she said, “I know Lester. He's tough and dangerous. He's had to be to survive out there for two years.”

Sammy said to Meg, “He was unmarked, too, and proud of it. You're new, so maybe you don't know—vampires don't heal. Some of the older ones are pretty beat up.”

Vera gave my chin a last scratch and then a pat on my head. “Yeah, Lester's going to be real pissed next time he looks into his rearview mirror. If you weren't already a dead kitty, I'd say you would be before too long.”

Meg held me close. It was comforting, what with all this talk about me being dead. I sure didn't think of myself that way yet. Then I noticed that her body wasn't warming me, which was one of the nice things about having a human associate. She was room temperature. Come to think of it, so was I.

She said, “Maybe I should call the police. I mean, Lester's pretty hard to miss.”

Sammy again. “Yeah, but he manages. And as far as the police know, we don't exist.”

That seemed logical to me. The undead, running around drinking blood—not grounds for a good relationship with the law.

But Meg said, “Why not? We're people, aren't we? We have rights, don't we?”

Heads turned in the audience, and all eyes focused on us. Seiko, who hadn't sat yet, came closer.

Sammy said, “I guess we do, but we're a secret.”

Meg set me down on a chair. She scanned her listeners, and her voice grew louder. “Why?”

Vera said, “Are you crazy? We're vampires.”

Meg had that tight look around her eyes of someone whose mind is racing. She said, “George said that if I was still working I'd be paying taxes. Is that right?”

Sammy said, “Yeah, but—”

She waved a hand at the room. “Do you pay taxes on all this?”

“Sure, we have to.”

“But we're a secret? We don't get police protection? We can't go down to the unemployment office and apply for a job?”

“Well, you can't do that one only because it's daytime.”

Meg's voice rose another notch. “So? We have a right to those services, don't we?” She looked at the audience for support. “All the services our tax money pays for?”

Seiko took a breath, hesitated, and then said, “It's kind of like taxation without representation.”

Meg nodded. “Damn right.”

Seiko said, “Well, there is an election coming up. For the city council.”

Sammy said, “That's nuts.”

Meg put her hands on her hips. “Is it?”

The AVA sucks

Well, wasn't my new associate the feisty one? Running for office seemed like a pretty silly idea for a vampire. Although in Illinois, especially in Chicago, dead people have been known to vote. But they didn't run for office. On the other hand, people in Missouri once voted a dead guy into the U.S. Senate.

Vera laughed. “So you want to out us?”

“There's no law against being dead, is there? They can't arrest us for just being us. That's un-American.”

Vera sobered and looked at Sammy. “Another one bites the dust.” She put a hand on Meg's arm and talked as if Meg were a two-year-old. “Why don't you sit down, honey? This vampire thing is a terrible trauma, and we can understand if you're, er, upset. Sometimes being undead really gets to people.”

Meg shrugged Vera's hand away. “I'm not crazy.”

Sammy said, “Of course you're not. We do, however, have a resident psychiatrist who helps vees adapt to our lifestyle.”

Meg turned to the people in the room. “What kind of lifestyle is this? Hiding all day. Cut off from everything we know and love. And then this. . .this. . .discrimination on top of it!”

Vera said to Sammy, “Maybe I'd better call security.”

Seiko stepped next to Meg. “Maybe you'd better. You've got two crazy vampires on your hands.”

Two men stood. I hadn't paid them much attention, but now I saw that they were twins—same round—shouldered stance, same receding hairlines, same white shirts, although the guy on the left's blue tie had stripes and the other one little white dots. These guys were clean, too, none of the dirt smudges the rest sported.

The one on the left said, “We don't think she's crazy.”

Sammy walked to the front of the room and spread his hands in a calming gesture. “You folks are new to this. You just don't understand the reality of it.”

The other twin said, “We're lawyers—I'm Tim, and he's Tom—and there's nothing illegal about being dead.”

Tom added, “Or undead.”

I recognized them from a commercial on my previous associate's television. They talked about helping people who have accidents. She'd laughed and said, “Weird. Twin ambulance chasers.”

Vera joined Sammy at the front of the room. “Maybe there aren't any laws now, but there've been a lot of ripped throats and unexplained deaths. The breathers will come after us.”

Meg looked horrified. “You're still drinking people's blood? But I thought the A.V.A.—”

Sammy said, “No, no, our members don't, we supply everyone with V1 Juice. But there are still wild vees out there, and the ones like Lester who prefer doing it the way nature intended. We'll all get the blame.”

Vera said, “Do you want to be locked in a cell when the Pain hits? Or be dragged into a courtroom when the sun is up? You'd be dead. . .ah, deader. Totally dead.”

Tim turned to Tom and said, “Do you know what I'm thinking?”

“I sure do.”

Together they said, “The Americans with Disabilities Act.”

I wondered if they did the chorus thing a lot. Could be irritating.

Tim said, “Public buildings have ramps—”

“So handicapped people have access to public services,” finished Tom. “We can't access those services—”

Tim completed the thought. “Because they're only open during the day when going out would be fatal to us.”

It was strange to think of something being fatal to dead people, but there it was. The twins had a point. It was definitely a handicap.

They dueted, “We'll sue!”

Tim added, “We're good at suing.”

Sammy said, “I'm afraid we can't allow that. You'd put us all in jeopardy.”

That sounded like a threat. I stood on my chair and bristled at Sammy. Meg bristled, too. Turning to Seiko, she said, “Do you know if candidates can still enter the city council race?”

Tim had the answer. “The deadline is five o'clock tomorrow.”

Sammy took a cell phone from his pocket and made a call. “Bruno? Get Bruce and come to the classroom. We need to, er, calm down some new vees.”

Meg said, “You can't do that. We've got rights.”

“Around here, I'm the one who decides who has rights and who doesn't.” Sammy looked like he was strutting in place. “We've got a good thing going here, and you're not going to screw it up.”

Isn't that the way it always is with runts of the litter? Trying to push other creatures around? Cats, of course, ignore the runts. For one thing, they're smaller.

Sammy's beady eyes shifted—funny, I hadn't noticed before that they were beady—to behind Meg and me. I looked, and a human being who resembled a two-legged building filled the classroom doorway.

Sammy said, “Bruno. Please come in.”

Bruno entered with a rattle of chains. One hand dangled several pairs of handcuffs. Another equally large man refilled the doorway.

Sammy said, “Bruce, you stay there and make sure folks stay put while Bruno works.” He pointed at Meg. “This one first. Poor soul, she's really confused.”

Meg glanced down at me, then leaned close and whispered, “I'm sorry it ended up this way, Patch.” She faced the brute, her little fists clenched.

So was I. So I decided that it wouldn't end up the way she was thinking. I tried to reassure her with a “Mrr,” and maybe it helped. Then I leaped from my chair and ran.

Meg shouted, “Go, Patch, go!”

Bruno tried to kick me, but I was past him before he got his foot off the ground. Bruce had time to lift a boot—yeah, thick-soled motorcycle boots—to stomp me, but I dodged with ease and flashed past him and out the door.

Sammy's voice came after me. “Forget the cat, we'll get him when the Pain hits. Take those two.”

I heard lawyer Tim—or was it lawyer Tom—say, “This is not legal.”

“Take them, too.”

Okay, I was free. Now what?

Me to the rescue

I got stares as I trotted along, but no one tried to catch me. The scent of warm blood drew me into the break room, but no one was there, so I continued on. I came to the elevator doors and tried leaping for the down button. I missed and fell hard. Thinking of all the talk about permanent wounds, I didn't want to break a leg that would never heal. Enough of that. The buildings people make are not cat friendly, and I resented that more than ever now.

I butted a door marked “Exit” with my head, but it didn't budge. I hated it when I needed human help to do things. Like escape from crazed vampires.

I trotted back to the classroom. Peeking between Bruce's treelike legs, I saw Meg and Seiko backed into a corner by Bruno. Sammy fidgeted behind him. “Just grab one of them.”

He turned to the others in the room and spread his hands apologetically. “Sorry about this, folks. Sometimes new vees are a little unhinged by the experience.”

Meg said, “I'd like to unhinge you.”

Like I said, feisty. I liked that in an associate.

Tim—or was it Tom—took a step forward and said, “I protest. They are clearly not violent.”

Bruno grabbed for Meg's wrist, but she clasped her hands behind her and pressed against the wall. Seiko did the same.

Pointing at Seiko, Sammy said, “That one was throwing chairs.”

Tom—or was it Tim—joined his brother. “Only to stop a true madman.” He called to Meg. “Miss, do you want legal representation?”

Sammy said, “You guys shut up or you're next.”

Okay, Sam was the man, giving the orders. If you've ever tried to tell a cat what to do, you know we don't take orders well, and why should we? We can just walk away and live off the land.

If, that is, somebody opens the door for us.

I needed to get Bruno away from Meg, but he wasn't going to move.

Unless Sammy told him to.

I charged between Bruce's legs and dashed straight at Sammy. Bruce yelled, “It's the kitty-cat!”

You should have seen Sammy's eyes bulge when he saw me coming at him. I guessed he didn't want permanent scratches like I'd left on Lester because he ran from me, circling the lectern. I pursued, but I skidded on the linoleum floor and slid into the wall. Bouncing off, I launched myself in Sammy's direction.

He climbed up on a chair, which promptly folded and he fell to the floor. “Get the cat! Get the cat!”

Perfect. Bruno lumbered after me. I leaped over Sammy—well, not exactly over. I just happened to plant a paw on his nose on the way. He squealed.

I ran under chairs, and Bruno followed, plowing through them like an icebreaker at the North Pole. At the doorway, Bruce squatted, hands out, ready for a grab.

Throwing a quick glance back, I saw that Meg still stood in the corner. I doubled back and ran in her direction. Bruno followed in a wide turn that had him slamming into a wall.

Meg held her arms out for me, but I ran behind her, turned, and butted her leg with my head.

Bruno rushed us.

She said, “I got it, Patch.” With a “Come on.” to Seiko, she darted around Bruno. I flashed past him and ran straight at Bruce in the doorway.

Sammy, now crouched on top of the lectern, screeched, “Get the cat!”

Tim—or was it Tom—stuck out a foot and tripped Bruno, who fell on top of folding chairs and went down with a clatter.

I threw a fake to the left, Bruce lunged, I zigged, he fell on his belly, and I zagged past him. I glanced back and saw Meg run at Bruce, plant a foot on his butt, and leap over him. Seiko did the same, and I saw Tim and Tom follow on the run.

I stopped outside the doorway and Meg ran past me, toward the elevators, followed by Seiko and the twin lawyers. Sammy's screech continued, “Get the cat!” I had seriously upset the little feller.

At last Bruno and Bruce burst out of the room, wildly scanning the office. Bruno said, “We'll never find it in all these cubicles.” These guys needed help. I took a breath and hissed. Luckily, Bruno had a couple of brain cells to rub together—he located the sound (Not hard. I was only ten feet away.) and lurched in my direction. Bruce followed.

Then I ran into the cubicle maze, darting left and right, from one aisle to another. The boys did their best, but they were not equipped for quick pursuit and sharp turns. I heard a crash, followed by a curse from a woman. “You broke my goddam cubicle!”

Using my infallible sense of direction, I ran for the elevator, only to see the doors close. Going to the exit door, I put my head against it and shoved with everything I had. Didn't budge.

I heard footsteps and spun, but it was just a vampire worker. Pacing in front of the door, I breathed in and mewed plaintively. How humiliating. But the worker obliged and opened the door for me. I plunged down the stairs for the parking level under the building.

Naturally, the big, metal door at the bottom that led to the parking garage was closed, but I had some luck. A big blue button with a handicapped icon on it was on the wall, a couple of feet above the floor. I figured I was handicapped in my own special way, so I jumped and easily hit it.

The door opened, and I ran into the parking garage. About twenty feet dead ahead (yeah, I know), I saw a big black van idling. Tim/Tom was at the wheel, and Meg stood beside the open sliding side door. “Patch!”

I slowed to a walk. Whew. I gotta tell you, I was getting a little weary of the constant chase scene.

And then I heard a growl.

Lester stepped between me and the van, Nasty the dog at his side. He growled again.

Lester, that is, not the dog.

That wacky Lester

The raw, red-black slashes from my claws on both sides of Lester’s neck looked pretty gruesome. Perhaps I had been a little too aggressive in dealing with him. I had to escape again, but now he’d seen my best moves. He was starting to irritate me, though, so I growled back at him.

Lester flashed his fangs in a smile and said, “Good kitty.”

What? I checked behind me to see if some other cat was there. But there was just me. I noticed his hearse parked nearby.

Lester looked down at Nasty. His voice dripping with derision, he said, “See that, Nasferatu? He didn’t even flinch when I growled. And he knows how to growl back.”

Nasty hung his head. While I doubted he understood the words, even a dog couldn’t miss the tone. Personally, I thought it was about time a cat was held up as an example to a dog.

The towering vampire took a step toward me. I backed up, and he stopped. He said, “Don’t be afraid, kitty-cat. I’ve changed my mind about you.”

Meg called from the van. “Lester, leave him alone.”

He paid her no mind and took another step toward me. I held my ground, although it hurt the back of my neck to look up at him. He said, “I’ve realized that I asked the wrong one to join me when I first met you and that female. You’re the bold one. You’re the one to be at my side, stalking hapless victims and then plunging our fangs into soft flesh.” Lester stretched his arm out, his black cape flashing crimson lining, and pointed to his hearse. “Come with me and know the joy of striking terror in the night.”

Where did he get his dialogue? I have to admit, though, that the idea of striking terror in the night was appealing. When you’re less than a foot tall and weigh only fifteen pounds, you feel like there’s a target painted on you for your whole life. I’ve had more than one kick aimed at me, and a few that connected. The idea of creating fear instead of feeling it was tempting. But to have to listen to Lester yammer about the Dark Path. . .

Meg left the van and came to us, though she went wide of Lester and Nasty by a few yards. Nasty turned his head and opened his yap as if to growl. Nothing. He still didn’t get it. Dogs.

She said, “Patch, Tim and Tom want us to come with them to their townhouse. We’ll be safe there.”

What need did a bold beast such as I, a terror of the night, have for safety? Damn, I was starting to sound like Lester.

“They have plenty of room, and we could be comfortable.”

On the other paw, comfort is a big thing with cats, mainly because we sleep so much. I started toward her.

Lester moved to cut me off, but he tripped over Nasty, toppled like a felled tree and belly-flopped on the concrete floor. Meg reached out to me and said, “Let’s go.”

Give old Lester credit, he was determined. He scrambled to his feet and surprised me by lunging at Meg instead of me. He wrapped an arm around her neck and said, “I’m tired of your interference.” He looked at me. “I wonder how your kitty-cat would feel seeing his friend with a broken neck, her head flopping around like a rag doll.”

Darned if he wasn’t threatening me with harm to Meg. Lester had unsuspected depths—very few people get how much we cats really understand. Despite that, what he was doing pretty much decided me against going with him. It’s not good to be around someone that large who has anger management issues. But what to do now?

Tim—or was it Tom—got out of the car and approached Lester. “You’re opening yourself up to a big lawsuit. And I’ll warn you, we win all of our cases.”

Lester laughed. “In what court?”

Tom—or was it Tim—looked to his brother, who shrugged. Taking out a cell phone, Tom/Tim said, “I’ll call the police.”

“Go ahead. I’ll just snap her neck and leave. Then you can explain to them what happened. They love it when people start babbling about vampires.”

Tim—or was it Tom—sighed at Meg and pocketed his phone.

Okay, it was up to me. Figuring it wouldn’t be all that hard to escape from Lester at some point, I started toward his hearse. Lester went ahead of me, hauling Meg with him, his arm still around her neck. He opened the passenger-side door for me.

Nasty started for the door, but Lester stuck a foot out to block him. “Our friend the cat first.” The look Nasty gave me as I approached suggested that escaping sooner rather than later would be a damn fine idea.

I jumped up on the front seat, sat, and looked up at Lester. But he didn’t release Meg.

He clamped his huge hands on the sides of her head like a vise. She grabbed his wrists and pulled. He laughed. She tried to kick his shins with her heels, but he just lifted her clear of the ground and her legs flailed helplessly. He said to her, “You’ve been rude to me ever since we met, you stiff-necked little bitch. I’d like to see how you act when your cervical vertebrae are fragments and the only thing you’ll ever look directly at again are your toes.”

The bastard! I sprang toward him, hoping to hook into one of his arms. Maybe Meg could break free. But Lester had anticipated me; he lifted a foot the size of a litter box and I smacked into it in midair. I slammed back into the hearse, and he kicked the door shut.

Paws on the window, I watched Lester brace to twist Meg’s neck. I scratched at the glass, hoping to distract him, anything to stop him.

With a booming clang, the stairwell door burst open and crashed into the wall, and Bruno rushed out. He pulled up short when he saw what was going on, then stumbled forward when Sammy ran into him from behind. Sammy shouted, “Where’s the cat? Get the cat!” Excitable little guy.

I jumped to the driver’s seat and honked the horn, then ran back to the window.

Bruno, bless his two active brain cells, pointed at me and said, “The kitty!” He took off in a run toward the hearse.

Lester shoved Meg and propelled her at Bruno, which was like throwing a Nerf ball at a locomotive. She ricocheted off of him and hurtled toward the hearse to flatten against the passenger door, eye to eye with me.

Her hand went down and the door opened. I jumped out and found Lester rushing at me from one side, arms outstretched, and Bruno doing the same from the other side. I slowed just a little. . .they closed. . .I slowed. . .they lunged. . .I put on a burst of speed.

I looked back to see a wonderful collision. The two humongous vampires grappled on the concrete floor. Meg ran toward the van, where Tom—or was it Tim—stood by the open door, urging her on. She cried, “Patch!”

Then a hand caught me by the tail and lifted. Damn, that hurt. Hanging by my tail several feet off the floor, I swiveled around and found myself face to face with Sammy. He grinned.

“Gotcha.”

From frying pan to fire?

Sammy pulled out his switchblade, clicked it open, and held the blade against the base of my tail. “I think this would make a nice souvenir to remember you by.”

“Helpless” gives only the palest hint of how it feels to be dangled in the air by your tail. Having it cut off would avoid that problem in the future, but I hoped a less radical solution would come along. Soon.

Meg called out, “Hold it.”

Sammy and I looked her way. She strode toward us, digging into her purse. “Hold it right there.” She pulled out a cell phone and stopped a few feet away. She opened the phone, aimed it at us, and said, “Say cheese.” She pushed a button, examined the phone’s screen, and said, “That ought to do it.”

She folded the phone and held it up. “This little snapshot, friend Sammy, will soon be emailed to the Bloomburg Humane Society and the police department. The email will include your name and the address of the AVA.”

Sammy yelled, “Bruno!”

Bruno’s voice was smothered because he had Lester’s forearm in his mouth as Lester tried to choke him from behind, but I thought he said, “Coming, Boss.”

Meg turned and, with an underhanded throw, tossed the phone to Tim—or was it Tom, who stood beside the van’s passenger door. He caught it easily and passed it inside to his brother. She turned back to Sammy and said, “I believe it’s time you let my friend Patch go.”

Sammy dropped me, and I landed easily on all four feet. I turned to face him, and he pointed his knife down at me. Backing up a step, he said, “I let him go, but I won’t be responsible for what happens if he attacks me.”

Behind him, Bruno and Lester disentangled, rolled apart, and lumbered to their feet. Lester surveyed us and said, “Bah!” He aimed a long forefinger at Meg and then turned it on me. “You will live to. . .er, come to regret crossing the vampire Lestat. I have eternity to collect my revenge.”

He strode to his hearse, got in and slammed the door, then gunned the engine and backed toward Meg, who scooted out of the way. She gave his rear fender a kick, and he peeled out with more burning rubber.

I went to Meg and rubbed against her leg to thank her from saving me from mutilation. She leaned down and ran a hand over my back. “I owed you one, Patch.” She gestured at the van. “Shall we?”

I ran ahead and leaped into the van, then onto the seat next to Seiko. She smiled at me, and Tom—or was it Tim—said from the driver’s seat, “Patch, you may not have nine lives any more, but you do pretty well.”

Meg sat beside me and closed the side door. “Now what, Tim?”

As he pulled away, the driver turned back to us—I was so relieved to have their identities straight—and said, “To our place. I think it’s time for a midnight snack.” I made a mental note; Tim was the striped tie.

Now that I was no longer threatened with dismemberment, I noticed that the burn in my belly had rekindled. Imagine the sensation of being hungry, that neediness that fills your stomach like a gas, and then set fire to it.

Luckily, their townhouse was only a few minutes away. A garage door opened on the ground floor level and we cruised in. Upstairs, Tom led us to a huge kitchen. Like the AVA headquarters, their windows were all covered with heavy-looking black curtains.

He took five bottles of V1 from a stack of cases of the stuff in a pantry and heated them in a microwave. This time I got a whole bottle in a bowl, and I managed to down it all. What a rush. Being a cat, I  relaxed and enjoyed it.

Meg chugged her bottle, but looked a little nauseated. She said to Tim, "Uh, this blood. . .are they killing. . .I mean, where. . ."

Tim said, "Oh, this isn't human blood. Lordy, we're not uncivilized. This is a product of a vampire-owned slaughterhouse. We have them all over the country. This is from animals."

That sounded good to me, it being what came naturally.  Meg said, "I can live with that."

My heart was still beating and I was still purring when Meg picked me up, cradled me in her arms, and followed the lawyers to a den, where she sat in a leather chair with me in her lap. “Well, there goes my job.”

Tom—polka-dot tie—said, “Maybe there’s another one waiting for you.” He exchanged glances with Tim. Now that I knew which was who, I noticed that Tim had a little mole on his cheek that Tom didn’t.

Tim said, “Yes. We’ve been thinking—“ He looked to Tom. “Haven’t we, Tom?”

“Yes, indeedy. About the idea of--”

Tim said, “Running for city council. You’d make a fine candidate, and we’ve got the money to finance you.”

Meg said, “Oh, I didn’t really mean that. I was just pissed off at Sammy’s attitude.” She paused, then said, “Really? Out the vampires?”

Seiko said, “Do it, Meg. You were right, we have rights, we’re citizens.”

“But how. . .I mean, there’s this little problem of the sun coming up every day.”

Tim said, “We can get around that. We have a paralegal surrogate—a breather—who does things for us in the daytime. He can sign you up. We can use radio and television to get the word out, and you can have rallies after dark.”

Tom said, “And we’ll also sue the state for twenty-four hour access to all public services--”

Tim finished, “Under the Americans with Disabilities Act. And we’re good at suing.”

My heart stopped again and my purr died down. I looked up at Meg. A little smile curved her lips. She was going to do it. I wasn’t so sure it was a good idea. I mean, people are scared of vampires, and with good reason. When people are scared of things, they get mad. Not like cats. We run away. In our lexicon, “scaredy-cat” is the same as “smart kitty.”

The villager mob scene from the old Frankenstein movie came to mind, the whole town storming the castle with torches in the foggy night. Then I imagined them in front of the townhouse.

First chance I got I thought I’d see if the twins had a pet door. Preferably with a view of the back yard.

I get nominated

Tim said, “It isn’t all that late—”

Tom finished, “So let’s get started.” They sat at two big oak desks that faced each other. My cat sense of order approved of how each was tidy, with neat stacks of papers and folders. Tim reached for the phone and dialed a number, and Tom cranked up his computer.

Tim said to the phone, “Can you come over? We’ve got some work to do.” He hung up and told Tom, “On his way.”

Tom typed and clicked and scrolled and then said, “I was right, there’s still time to enter the city council race.”

I’ll be honest, this was not a thrill a minute for me. Not that I wanted any more excitement after having bested Lester, and then Sammy’s thugs, and then almost having my tail cut off. With my bloodlust satisfied, I was thinking a good nap was in order. I also thought people were a little nuts about the whole election thing. You’ll never see a herd of cats.

Except for sex or maybe a little mutual grooming, there aren’t any reasons for cats to get together, much less organize. We’re focused on the stuff of life--enough to eat, a warm place to nap, and a human associate to take care of opening doors and cans of cat food and things like that. Cats don’t have a word for “society,” and I’d always found it a difficult concept.

So I napped in Meg’s lap while Tom and Tim got papers out and made plans, their talk bouncing back and forth across the gap between their desks like ping pong balls. Meg joined the murmur now and then, but I was content to doze. People lucky enough to be a cat’s associate know that we don’t sleep deeply—they’re not called “cat naps” for nothing. We relax almost totally, but there’s a little part of our minds that stays alert even though we look like we’re sleeping, tuning our ears to sounds like furry sonar scanners.

A doorbell brought me out of my nap, and Tim left his desk to answer the door. He returned with a short black man. Tim said, “Meg, Seiko, this is Igor Slovinski.”

Igor’s voice was musical and his smile bright-white and warm. “Pleased to meet you.” His gaze settled on me. “Ooo, a kitty-cat, too.”

Meg said, “Patch, meet Igor.” Good girl, she instinctively knew that the proper protocol was that the cat always comes first.

He came to us and extended a hand toward me, and then paused, his fingers poised as if about to play a melody in the air. Even though my smeller still seemed to be operating at half power, I caught a subtle scent I used to get from a gay Persian who lived on my street. Yeah, it’s built in, as far as we cats can tell. Who cares? He said to Meg, “Can I pet him?”

“It’s up to him.”

Cats never turn down a good petting, so I gave him full eye contact. He got the message and did a few gentle runs down my back.

Tim said, “Can you get our friend Meg here registered as a candidate for City Council?”

Igor’s eyebrows tried to meet up with his hairline. He stepped away and studied Meg. “Nice looking, professional, young. But isn’t she. . .isn’t she. . .”

Meg says, “Vampire. God, I’m beginning to hate that word.”

I had to hand it to Igor. Here he was, in a roomful of people who had the occasional uncontrollable need to drink blood, and he was cool.

Seiko raised a hand. “Uh, isn’t it a problem that people think vampires are bloodthirsty, murderous monsters?”

Meg laughed. “Listen, if the President’s spin machine can pull off making a majority of voters think he’s a strong leader, getting them to vote for a vampire should be a day at the beach. Give me a decent media budget and I can do it.”

Shaking her head, Seiko said, “You really think people will vote for a dead person?”

Meg: “That’s undead. We’re not corpses.”

“Still, it’s a problem. How far can you get with the necrophilia vote?”

Her shoulders dropped. “Yeah, I know.” She immediately straightened, little fighter that she was. “On the bright side, we’d get all the vampire votes, too. And the outcasts—we could be big with the homeless. I bet criminals would support us.”

Igor fluttered a hand. “All the ostracized. You’re going to get a bunch of the gay vote, too.”

Tim said, “Maybe so, but we need something to humanize her.”

Meg crossed her arms and legs. “I am human.”

“Okay, then, unmonsterize you.”

Tom snapped his fingers. “Yes! Maybe if you had--”

“--a running mate,” Tim said. I began to wonder if Tim or Tom ever had a complete thought all by himself.

Igor clapped his hands together. “Brilliant!”

Seiko said what I would have said. “How are two vampires better than one?”

“When one of them is a kitty-cat.”

Oh, no. I didn’t want any part of this. I hopped off of Meg’s lap and, not wanting to signal my intent to scram, did a stretch. Front paws out, tail end high, stre-e-etch my back. M-m-m-m. Not a bad performance, and it felt great, too.Then, walking as if I was going nowhere in particular, I ambled for the door. Igor, the rat, ambled ahead of me and nudged it closed with his foot.

I hate doors.

Meg was on her feet and pacing. “This is good. If Patch will go along with this. . .”

I didn’t think so.

“. . .we’ll get all the pet lovers, too.” She stopped. “I can see it now. I’m sitting in front of a fireplace, Patch curled up in my lap. . .”

Okay, that part sounded good.

“. . .and I talk passionately about freedom from tyranny.”

Seiko chimed in. “Don’t wear red.”

Meg came to me and squatted down to pet me. I yielded and lifted my chin for a scratch. She said, “Patch, you’ll help us change the image of vampires from bats, which are basically rats with wings, to something warm and fuzzy.”

Great. Now I was going to be the poster pet for bloodsucking fiends. What would my mother have said?

Igor said to Meg, “I’ll register you first thing in the morning.”

Tim stood. “We’re on our way.”

Yeah, but to what? I imagined a throng of happy voters at a vampire rally. They were dancing and chanting “Patch. Patch. Patch. And Meg.”

But then the picture darkened and morphed into the crazed villagers from the Frankenstein movie chanting “Burn. Burn. Burn.”

We're on our way out

They made plans with hours of boring talk. I wished someone would turn on the television and find a good movie like The Cat in the Hat, or maybe That Darn Cat. Meg sat in another chair with a pad of paper and wrote commercials while I napped. Finally she came up with something I could okay. Admittedly, it did star me, but I like to think it was just a good idea anyway.

I was dozing when I heard Meg say, “Patch, listen to this. We open with old news footage of black people marching in the South during the civil rights movement. My voiceover says, ‘Americans fought for the rights of this minority, and won.’”

A nice sentiment, but when did we get to me?

Seiko said, “I like that. You’re going after the black vote right away.”

“But that’s not the point. We dissolve to footage of that paraplegic man, George Lane, who crawled up courthouse steps in Tennessee to protest inaccessibility. My VO says something like, ‘Americans also fought for the rights of this minority and made public buildings accessible.’”

“Good, good, another part of our coalition.”

“Then we dissolve to a shot of Patch.”

My ears tuned in on her at that point and I sat up on my chair, the big leather one. In my view, it had been too long since a cat was a star on television. I wondered if I would get fan letters.

Seiko said, “But cats aren’t a minority.”

Damn. I hate it when reality puts the brakes on.

Meg came to me. Putting her pad on the lamp table beside the chair, she picked me up. I was cool with that. She sat in my chair and cuddled me on her lap, stroking my back. She said, “This one is. We show Patch and I say, ‘But there’s a new minority that is denied the rights other citizens enjoy.’ We pull back and reveal that Patch is in my lap.”

Papers rustled as Tim stirred. “I like it so far, but wouldn’t it be more leader-like for you to stand?”

“Maybe later, but I think this is less threatening when we get to the vampire part.”

“Good point.”

“Then I say, ‘There are citizens of Bloomburg who, through no fault of their own, because of a tragic illness, can only go out when it’s dark.”

Seiko clapped her hands together. “You’re good, Meg. Going for the sympathy vote, too.”

“Hey, it’s all true. So I say, ‘I can’t take my cat to the vet because he can’t go out in daylight, and that’s the only time they’re open.’”

I lifted my head. Vet? I hate vets. They treat you like an animal. And there was nothing wrong with me. Except for having no pulse. Meg looked down at me and patted my head. “Don’t worry, Patch. We’re not going to the vet. That’s just an example.”

I relaxed. Of course. Silly me.

“Then the camera goes in for a close-up of Patch and I say, ‘You see, Patch is a vampire kitty-cat.’”

“Great,” Seiko said. “The cat-lover vote.”

I’m thinking about which is my best side. Will I need makeup? Maybe touch up my orange spots a little?

“Then the then the camera cuts to me and I say, ‘Afflicted by the same tragic disease, I can no longer work at my day job. I can’t even go to the unemployment office because it’s only open during the day. Yes, I’m a vampire too, and we are prisoners of the night.”

Tom said, “Wow, you managed to use ‘tragic’ twice. If I could cry I’d be sobbing by now.”

Meg glanced at her script. When was she going to get back to me? She read, “There are too many minorities neglected by society, and that’s why I want your vote. With me. . .” She looked down at me. ‘. . .and my kitty-cat partner on your side, all minorities will have a voice in Bloomburg.”

Being a minority of one, that sounded like a good thing to me.

She said, “We will open the doors of city hall to all, from vampires to. . .”

She trailed off. “Uh, I haven’t got that last bit down yet.” Then she sat straight and hugged me to her chest. “But here’s the finish.” She smiled and looked straight ahead, as if at an imaginary camera. “A vote for Meg and Patch…” She glanced down at me and scratched behind my ears. “…is a vote for freedom.”

It was enough to make you meow. Mom, apple pie, kitty-cats, vampires, and the American way. I did my best to smile for the imaginary camera, which meant I didn’t really have to do anything since cats have a built-in smile. I didn’t open my mouth, of course, because when you’re coming out as a vampire it’s probably not a good idea to show fangs.

Seiko sat with her mouth open. She snapped out of her fascination and said, “You’ve got my vote.”

Hey, you’ve got to hand it to kitty-cat power.

Igor stood and stretched. “I think it’s amazing.” He looked at his watch. “Goodness, it’s almost dawn. I’ve got to get a little sleep so I can get things going when the courthouse opens. And I’ll call the TV stations and the newspaper.” He gave Tim/Tom a sassy salute and sashayed out the door.

Energized by runaway fantasies about being the powerful associate of a powerful city councilwoman, I eased myself out of Meg’s lap. If it was near dawn, I wondered if the stories about the effect of sunlight were true. All the black curtains suggested they were.

I headed for the window. It had been a while since I’d seen the night sky, and I had a need for a glimpse. At the window I stood, poking my head under the curtain while I found the windowsill with my front paws.

The stars were faint because of city lights, but it was good to see them. Movement in front of the house attracted my gaze--Igor, getting into his car. After he drove away, something tall and dark stepped from the shrubbery by the front walk. The figure turned toward the window, and Lester’s pale face looked my way. I don’t think he saw me, which made it even creepier when he smiled, his fangs almost luminescent.

I become an ass

By dawn everyone was pretty much dragging, including me. The lawyer brothers served up another helping of V1 juice to get us through the day and showed us to guest rooms, one for Seiko and one for Meg and me. Their condo was more like a “manso,” with a half-dozen bedrooms and accompanying baths. Ambulance chasing must pay well. The showers were a big hit with the ladies, and Meg came out smiling after hers. In lieu of nightclothes, Tim stopped by with t-shirts for Seiko and Meg. Since Seiko was tiny and Meg was small, they made fine nightshirts. Meg’s shirt had a Grateful Dead logo on it, and Seiko’s was a Black Sabbath shirt. Ha.

With the windows covered by black curtains, I couldn’t tell when the sun actually came up, but my eyes and the skin on my nose itched when I passed by the window. Tim warned us. “Don’t open the curtain unless you’re sure it’s dark. Tom peeked on our first day as vampires, and it took him two nights to get over the shock.”

So Meg curled up in the center of a king-sized bed and I did the same on a well-padded chair. I like to sleep with my associates, but I’ve found that it’s a good idea to first learn whether or not they toss and turn.

Night had come again by the time the bloodlust started up in my belly and burned its way through an enjoyable dream about that little Siamese that I’d been on the way to visit when Meg grabbed me. Meg was moaning, so I leaped onto the bed and nudged her hand with my nose—somebody had to open the door and then a bottle of vampire juice.

Her eyes opened and then the corners crinkled when she gave me a grin. “Hey, Patch.” She reached to stroke me, but I gave her a short “Mrrrf,” hopped to the floor, went to the door, and looked back at her.

She sat up, and then frowned and put a hand to her stomach. “Ouch.” She scrambled out of the bed and led the way down to the kitchen without bothering to dress, her bare legs flashing and the t-shirt billowing. I had to trot to keep up.

The brothers were already up and fully dressed. Green was the tie color of the day, but this time Tom went for stripes and Tim sported a natty checked pattern. Seiko wasn’t there yet. After a bowl of blood got my heart to pumping and my purr to humming, I lounged on a rug while they planned their day—er, night.

After a first gulp, Meg took her time, sipping her blood from a coffee cup. She told the twins, “I dreamed about making a speech, and then this mob came after me with torches. It was like the villagers in that old Frankenstein movie.” She frowned. “Are we really going to do this?”

A shiver went down my spine. Her, too?

Tim took the lead. “Not to worry, this is a civilized country. Igor emailed me. We’ve got a press conference here at nine o’clock, including WTBQ, which should get us good exposure for the ten o’clock news. The sun doesn’t set soon enough to do anything for the evening time slot.”

“But,” Tom added, “We’ll own the morning paper. I’m sure vampires in Bloomburg will be the buzz for a few days.”

“Half of getting elected is name recognition, Meg, and you and Patch will be all over the place.”

Meg put a hand to her heart. “Oh, no. My parents. They can’t learn about me being a vampire from the news.” She looked to the brothers. “I have to go see them first.”

“Sure,” Tim said. “Take one of the cars.” He pointed to the door that led from the kitchen down to the garage. Three sets of keys hung on hooks beside it. “Try the Porsche.”

She looked down at her t-shirt. “I only have one thing to wear, and I’ve been in it for a week, including in and out of the ground.”

“You haven’t been home?”

“With the pain drove me to feed, well, I wasn’t very good at attacking people, so I had to find animals, and I was never able to get back home before dawn.”

“You won’t have that problem any more.” He went to a drawer and took out two small cylinders wrapped in red paper. He handed them to her. �