Cattitude Read online

  Cattitude

  Title Page

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  EPILOGUE

  “Cattitude is a magical tale that you won’t soon forget. Edie Ramer has a writing voice that charms, and she pulls the reader right into Belle’s amazing world.” -Cynthia Eden, New York Times bestselling author

  It’s all in the Cattitude...

  After Belle the cat switches bodies with a psychic on the run from a murderer, she wants her perfect cat body back instead of this furless human one. But she doesn’t count on falling in love with her former owner. Or that a CEO and a beauty queen want to use up her nine lives. Now is her chance to prove anything a human can do, a cat can do better.

  CATTITUDE

  Edie Ramer

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2010 by Edie Ramer

  All rights reserved by author

  Excerpt from Must Worship Cats

  Copyright © 2012, 2010 by Edie Ramer

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, are coincidental and not intended by the authors.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including the Internet, without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Published by Blue Walrus Books

  ISBN: 978-0-985643-73-7

  CHAPTER 1

  A muffled shriek from the office next door rudely jerked Belle awake. Curled on the desktop, she recognized the voice, yawned, and settled back down to finish her nap. Less than a tail length away, Max continued typing, his human hearing inferior to hers. A moment later, footsteps tapped toward their office, fast and angry.

  Belle opened her eyes to a slit. This was her castle and she needed to be vigilant.

  A tall, blond woman entered, carrying the hot drink that she and Max shared a liking for. She shot Belle a glare, then plastered a smile on her face and her walk changed, her body swaying catlike, steam snaking up from the drink.

  Max didn’t turn from his computer, but the fur on Belle’s spine lifted. Caroline’s poor-widowed-me demeanor didn’t fool Belle. Beneath the flowery perfume, she detected the stench of a predator.

  “I brought you coffee.” The woman’s chirpy voice reminded Belle of a bird—a bird she wanted to catch and bite its head off. Ignoring her, Caroline set down the mug and hovered over Max.

  Frowning at his computer screen, he thanked her. Only when she leaned her hip against the desk did he turn his head.

  Belle sat, her claws extending.

  “Your cat’s giving me the evil eye.”

  That wasn’t all Belle wanted to give her.

  Max reached past Caroline’s hip to stroke Belle’s ear in the perfect spot. She meowed and pushed the top of her head against his palm, stamping his skin with her scent. Peering at Caroline through slitted eyes, she conveyed her thought: He’s mine. Leave him alone.

  If Max found someone to love who loved him back, she wouldn’t mind. But his cousin’s widow wasn’t worthy of him. In Belle’s four years with Max, he hadn’t brought home one woman worth a bowl of sour milk.

  “Belle doesn’t give the evil eye. She’s a sweetheart, aren’t you, Belle?”

  Belle purred her agreement, her body rumbling and vibrating. She dropped onto the desk and rolled over, exposing her belly, her vulnerable spot.

  I’m a sweetheart with people I like.

  “That’s my baby.”

  Yes, I’m your baby.

  Caroline sighed and looked sad, with her eyebrows and shoulders drooping. “Max, you know I don’t like to complain—especially after all I owe you—but your baby peed on my new book of fabric samples.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “Belle? She’s never had a pissing problem before.”

  “Then she’s doing it on purpose.” Caroline’s voice sharpened. “The last time it was a hairball on my scarf.”

  Belle rolled onto her belly in order to keep an eye on her enemy, this woman who invaded her castle and was a liar. Not about the peeing and the hairball, but Belle suspected she lied about something much worse.

  “It’s not anything I’ve done to her.” Caroline flipped her hair behind her shoulder and arched her back, reminding Belle of a strutting turkey spreading its tail feathers. “Animals love me.”

  Dumb animals, Belle thought, her whiskers twitching. Animals like dogs and Max’s dead cousin Emery.

  “I’ll pay for the samples.” Max’s tone was clipped and his eyebrows drew together.

  Caroline recoiled, then flapped her hands as if she wanted to fly backward in time and swallow her words. “You’ve done too much already. I won’t take another penny from you. You’ve been my guardian angel since Emery’s accident. Without you, I don’t know what I’d do.”

  Belle knew. Find another man to take care of her. A man who wasn’t Max.

  “Forget about it. It’s no big deal.” Max stroked his fingers along Belle’s jaw.

  Her body rumbled with purrs and she rubbed her teeth against his fingers. More, more. I want more.

  “You spoil that cat.”

  “We all deserve a little spoiling.” Max stopped petting Belle to gesture at the coffee. “You don’t have to do this. You’re decorating the house, not waiting on me.”

  Caroline set both buttocks on the desk, and Belle’s claws extended again. This was her desk to sit on. No one else’s.

  The blond leaned toward Max and gazed at him beneath lowered eyelids. “Next time I’ll remember not to bring you any.”

  Smelling stray pheromones, Belle hissed.

  “Eeek!” Caroline jerked off the desk.

  Max chuckled.

  “See! She’s jealous.” Caroline glared at Max. “And you encourage her.”

  He stopped laughing with his mouth, but his shoulders shook. “Sorry.”

  She opened her mouth, then gave Belle the same glare as when she entered the room, pressed her lips together and stomped away.

  Belle butted Max’s arm to show her approval. A bug scurrying across the floor caught her attention. She leapt off the desktop in a long arc and landed a foot from the door. The many-legged insect scuttled into the office Caroline was using, inconveniently located next to Max’s.

  Belle followed the bug. Though it was going into the enemy’s camp, she was fearless.

  “Stay away from me, you damn cat,” Caroline said in a low voice. She was bending over a large desk covered with swatches of material. Her gaze darted to the doorway, as if to make sure Max was out of si
ght and earshot. “Come any closer and you’ll be road kill.”

  Belle turned her attention from the bug to the bigger and more dangerous being.

  “That’s a good idea.” A small smile formed on Caroline’s face. “Road kill cat. It’s what you deserve for using my office as your litter box.” The smile disappeared, her features hardening. “And for coming between me and Max every time I’m making headway. If you wandered outside and something happened, who would think of blaming me?”

  They didn’t blame you when Emery fell off the trail while you were hiking. Belle’s stare held Caroline’s gaze. Did they? When Caroline didn’t say anything, she repeated the mental command. Did they?

  “After all,” Caroline murmured, “no one suspected me when I pushed Emery off the trail.”

  Adrenaline surged through Belle. She knew it! She swiveled her neck one hundred eighty degrees, but Max wasn’t there. If only he understood cat talk. Of course, if people understood cat talk, then cats would be queens and kings of the world and life would be orderly and sane.

  “Why did I tell you that?” Scowling, Caroline grabbed a stapler and waved it in the air. “Get out or I’ll staple you to the wall.”

  The bug landed on the desk in front of Caroline. She made a sound like a squeaky door and slammed the stapler on it.

  Belle zipped out of the room, quivering with triumph. Her curiosity was satisfied. Once again she’d been right.

  If she suspected that Caroline would hurt Max, she would have to do something about it. But what Caroline wanted from Max, he wasn’t going to give her. No matter how much coffee she brought Max, he loved Belle more than Caroline.

  Which was just as it should be.

  The door to the main house was open, and she dashed through it. Late last night, she’d heard Ted, Max’s brother, clomping into the house. He worked in a bar, whatever that meant. Humans did odd things.

  She’d see if Ted was awake. Next to Max, Ted gave the best back rubs.

  Her tail swaying in the air, she padded along the hall, past the kitchen and the big room where they watched TV, past the bedroom Max’s sister Tory used when she visited. The rest of the time, the bed belonged to Belle.

  Wasn’t every soft place in the house a potential napping spot for her?

  Ted’s bedroom door was open a couple inches. She stuck her nose into the room. His scent wafted to her nostrils and she heard the creak of the bedsprings. She nudged the door open wider and flowed through, then took a flying leap, landing on the bed with a thump.

  The lump beneath the covers didn’t stir. Only Ted’s neck and head stuck out, facing the wall. She sniffed the back of his head. Yesterday morning, she smelled a woman on him, but not this morning. In the four years she’d been with Max, she’d smelled a lot of different women on Ted. Once in a while, she smelled one on Max too.

  She didn’t mind sharing—much—but if she smelled Caroline on him she’d have to do something. Caroline might push him off a trail too, and who else knew how to massage her on the perfect spot?

  Ted turned over and opened his eyes. “Hey, Belle girl.”

  She meowed. Anticipating his caresses, she kneaded the blanket with her front paws, her purr reverberating. He laughed and reached out.

  “Ted!” Max called from the hall.

  “What?” Ted’s hand stilled.

  Yes, what? She cocked her head as Max strode into the bedroom. Ted pulled his hand from her back and pushed to a sitting position.

  “It’s Mom. Her car broke down. She’s on 45, just past the truck stop.”

  Groaning, Ted threw the cover aside, on top of Belle. “Shit. That’s the second time this month. On her next birthday, I’m enrolling her in AAA.”

  Belle wiggled out from under the cover in time to see him pulling on his jeans. She needed to see everything. She needed to know everything.

  “You think she’ll use it? With two sons nearby?”

  Ted smacked his forehead. “What the hell was I thinking? The smart thing to do is be like Tory and move a thousand miles away.”

  “I moved into the next county.” Max’s voice sounded dry to Belle with her ultra-sensitive hearing. “She followed me.”

  “You’re the oldest.” Ted shoved his feet into his tennis shoes.

  “Yeah.” Max’s voice lowered to a rumble that reminded Belle of far away thunder before the storm. “The oldest.”

  Belle jumped off the bed and rubbed her cheek against his pant legs. Rose, Max’s mother, was always calling him to ask for help. Last week it was her toilet, the week before her condo roof was leaking.

  Belle purred her understanding. It was too bad the rest of the world wasn’t as resourceful as her.

  He bent to pet her. “At least Tory only wants money from me. That’s easy.”

  Ted snorted and sat on the bed to tie his shoes. “Easy for you.”

  “Tips lousy last night?”

  “Don’t start. It’s better than doing a job I hate.”

  “One college degree wasted.” Max straightened. “Come and work for me. Don’t make me ask again.”

  Ted stood. “You mean leech off you, like everyone else. No thanks.”

  “This isn’t a pity job. I need you.”

  “Later, okay? After we take care of Mom and I’ve gulped down a gallon of coffee.”

  They strode into the hall, Max first. Belle thought about following. Instead, she lifted her back leg in the air and groomed herself. Satisfied with her cleanliness and beauty, she put down her leg and stretched. Time for a nap.

  She jumped on Ted’s bed again, his scent still fresh, the sheets still warm. After circling once, she curled into a ball, her head on his pillow, her eyes closed. Eating, drinking, purring, bathing, exploring, playing, putting her scent on anything that moved and didn’t move and, finally, uncovering murderers. She’d had a full morning and needed her rest for the afternoon.

  Anything could happen, and someone had to watch over her house and her humans.

  ***

  Even though the car’s heater blew full blast, cold crept into the pores of Sorcha Ander’s skin. “Blackmailing Deavers? Are you nuts?”

  Fletcher turned the eight-year-old Taurus with the dented right front fender onto a street lined with narrow duplexes and yellow-green lawns. The northwest Milwaukee neighborhood looked as dreary as Sorcha felt inside. The early morning sun hit Fletcher’s thin face, showing his white teeth in a crooked grin and his dark brown hair tumbling onto his forehead.

  He looked like a poet. Sensitive, troubled and doomed.

  “The whole fucking world believes Deavers is the genius of the hotel industry.” His short laugh grated on her ears. “If they only knew the truth. Just think of the half mill as our share of Deavers’ big stock bonus. It’s not like he’ll miss it. I bet his wife spends more on shoes every year.”

  They pulled into the narrow driveway, slowing for cracks the size of a Sumo wrestler’s arm. Their landlord’s car blocked the garage. Biting her lip, Sorcha glanced at Fletcher. He swore, then shrugged, emotion flashing on his face, hot and cold.

  Sorcha touched his arm. He was a fool, but he was her fool. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You can’t con me, baby. You never get premonitions about yourself. The only thing that’s going to happen is we’ll get a few bucks in our pockets. Deavers is lucky I went to him instead of the tabloids. He’d be laughed out of town if we told them he buys hotels on the advice of a psychic."

  “It’s not wise to put the squeeze on Deavers,” she insisted.

  “He’s just a man.” Fletcher’s voice thinned with irritation. “If it weren’t for his daddy and granddaddy, he wouldn’t be any higher up the money chain than you or me.”

  He got out of the car, slammed the door, and stomped toward the back of the house.

  Sorcha rubbed her arms, her jacket sleeves riding up. Now he was pissed at her. With a sigh, she slid out of the car and grabbed the paper bag
filled with groceries from the back seat. Hugging the bag to her chest, she started down the driveway. A shiver ran through her, even though the weather was warming. About time.

  She frowned at a brown patch of grass. It was April, and she wanted spring. Spring always chipped away a little at her depression. The SAD disease, the doctors called it. The most appropriate medical term she’d ever heard.

  A popping sound, as if a balloon burst, came from the back of the house. Her forehead scrunched. Had Fletcher fallen? He never watched where he was going, and the landlord’s kids never picked up anything. A lawsuit waiting to happen, Fletcher liked to say with a laugh. But getting hurt didn’t amuse Sorcha.

  “Fletch, are you okay?” she called. The bag was slipping, and she hefted it up. It was heavy, potatoes and cans on the bottom, eggs, bananas and bread on the top.

  Fletcher didn’t answer. If he were hurt, he’d be swearing by now. Sorcha hadn’t heard the door slam, so he must be waiting for her, his anger already evaporated. She hurried around the back of the house—and tripped over something lying across the sidewalk.

  Her hands parted as she fell forward, the grocery bag dropping and she heard the plops and thuds of the food items she’d carefully chosen. Dammit, the eggs were going to break.

  Her knees connected with softness instead of concrete. Her palms hit the sidewalk and slid, the cold cement stinging her skin.

  “Don’t scream.”

  Instead of glancing up at the muffled voice, Sorcha looked beneath her jean-covered knees. Oh God, she was kneeling on Fletcher. His soulful brown eyes open, he stared past her without blinking. And what was that leaking from his head? Oh God oh God oh God.

  She scrambled backward.

  “Don’t move.”

  She peered up at the man in front of her. He wore black slacks, black sweater and a black ski mask.

  “Mr. Deavers,” she whispered, recognizing his medium height and build and the pouch over his belt buckle.