Okay, so this is a very odd idea for a story. Comes of reading too many odd fantasy novels. It's only a small part written, although it's going fast and will probably be a fairly short story. I just wanted to see what people thought before I went too far with it, as it's a bit... unorthodox. Well, you'll see.
It had been a lousy day. Starting with a lousy morning, complete with lousy coffee, lousy doughnuts, and lousy sources. Then filled with lousy stories that went nowhere and a lousy computer that kept beeping at her every time she backspaced. To finish the day off with a lousy cab driver and pouring rain was the absolute last straw.
Coming home to see a cat sitting on her sofa was not exactly the kind of relaxing evening Lois had had in mind.
"Shoo," she said, waving a hand at the cat.
"Shoo, yourself," the cat said. "I was here first."
Lois's jaw dropped. "You... speak?"
The cat gave her a look, then lifted a paw and began washing it. "Isn't hearing animals speaking to you one of the first signs of insanity? You might want to get that checked out."
Lois dropped her purse on the floor and continued to stare at the cat. "You're really speaking."
"Yeah, yeah, just don't have a heart attack on me, all right? You wouldn't believe how hard it is to dial 9-1-1 with paws."
"Look, I am perfectly justified in being shocked. You're a cat. Cats don't talk. And will you *please* get off my sofa? You're getting hair all over the place!"
The cat stood up slowly and stretched, as if this was entirely his own idea. "Well, since you did ask nicely," he said, jumping to the floor. "Don't suppose you have any fish lying around? Steak? Pork chops? Cat food?"
"Brown lettuce and chocolate ice cream," she told him.
"Ice cream will do."
"You are not getting any of my ice cream. It's for emergencies." Lois couldn't believe that she was still talking to a... talking cat.
"Come on, like this isn't an emergency? There's a stray cat in your apartment--which you keep admirably well-locked, by the way, except for the window. Is there a reason you have five locks on your door but none on your window? Anyway, back to the stray cat--it also happens to talk. This seems like a time for ice cream if there ever was one. And, maybe if you share ice cream with the cat, it will tell you how it got in."
"Will you?"
The cat shrugged, at least to the extent that a large four-legged orange-striped cat can shrug. "Probably not. But you never know. Is it Breyer's ice cream? I like Breyer's."
The thought of calling Clark crossed Lois's mind, not for the first time since the cat had begun to speak. But what if Clark couldn't hear the cat? He'd think she was utterly insane--and she might agree. The cat obviously did, but then, what did the cat know?
"Look, just because you can speak doesn't mean I'm going to let you stay here," Lois told the cat as she headed into the kitchen. "I don't like cats."
"Don't worry, we don't like you either," the cat assured her.
She scooped ice cream into two bowls. Before she could lift one to the floor, the cat had jumped onto the counter and sunk his face into the ice cream.
"Hey!" she shouted. "Get off the counter! Cats eat on the floor."
"Talking cats eat on the counter," he said, lifting his face from the bowl and licking his whiskers.
She sighed and sat down at the table. "I guess you're not going to leave me alone, are you?" she asked, spooning ice cream into her mouth.
"Wow, I can see how you became a prize-winning investigative reporter, Lois," the cat said, pretending to look impressed.
"You--wait a minute. How do you know who I am?"
"You don't actually think I turned up in your apartment by chance, do you?"
"Why, then?"
"Why do cats who are lying peacefully on a couch one minute suddenly leap into the air, zoom through several rooms of the house, then lie back down on the couch and go back to sleep?"
"For exercise?"
The cat lapped up the last of his ice cream. "Because we're perverse."
"So you decided to show up at my apartment because you're perverse?"
"Your leaps of logic astound me. Truly you are the greatest investigative reporter in Metropolis. I don't suppose your partner is coming over tonight, is he?"
"Clark?" Lois asked, surprised. "Why?"
"He's hot. I've love to meet him."
"He's WHAT?"
"Hot. Sexy. You know. I'd love to curl up in *his* lap."
This was all getting too much for Lois. "How do you know so much about my partner and me? And why does a cat think that *Clark* is sexy? Aren't you attracted to other cats?"
The cat leaped from the counter to the table, stretched, and curled himself into a ball. "Talking cats read the newspaper. And Clark's attractiveness... well, let's just say it transcends species. And while we're at it, will you please take the hint that I am a female cat, and stop thinking of me as a male? It hurts my feelings."
"If I keep referring to you as male, will you get insulted enough to leave?"
"No. Only enough to claw your curtains, shred your pillows, have hairballs on your couch and throw up in your shoes."
No such luck. Lois sighed and stood up to put the bowls in the dishwasher. "Is there a reason you're here, then?"
"I already told you. Because cats are perverse. You know how our favorite people are always the cat-haters or the people allergic to cats?"
"And I'm the former?"
"Sort of. Although if I sleep on your face, maybe one of the latter."
"No. Sorry. N-O. You are not sleeping on my face, bed, or even in my bedroom. You can have the couch."
"Okay!" the cat said. "That's fine. There's a phone out here unattended, so if I get bored I can just call Clark and pretend to be you. You do call him 'Clarkie,' right?" She leaped onto the couch and reached over the arm towards the phone.
Lois snatched the cat around the middle and carried her, protesting, into the bedroom, where she immediately disconnected the phone jack. "You can sleep over there," she said, pointing to the corner by the closet.
"Nah," the cat said, jumping onto the bed. "I like here better. Do you want the right side or the left?"
Lois refused to dignify the cat's question with a response. She changed into her nightgown, brushed her teeth, and then climbed into bed, giving the cat a good shove towards the foot of the bed. "Go sleep down there," she muttered.
The cat ignored her request and walked across Lois, stepping on several sensitive spots, until she reached her neck. Then she curled up next to her face. Lois was about to shove her away when she realized how comforting her soft purr was.
All right, she could stay there. But just for the night.
To be continued...
(Oh, and don't worry. Clark will be in it... trust me.
