Of Cats and Other Strays

By Laura Briskin

Illustrated by Susan Matthews

I slowly drifted awake, luxuriating in the warmth of my bed and the golden morning sunlight softly illuminating my bedroom. The purring cat and I were letting our created magic slowly waft back and forth between us as she slept on my chest, her soft fur gently tickling my skin in time with her breathing. The air drifting in through my window promised a crisp end-of-summer day, but neither of us were inclined to leave the warm covers. Me, because it’s the weekend and I’m warm, so why not? The cat, well, why does a cat do anything other than because it wants to? But mostly because the gentle ebb and flow of magic between us continued to soothe all her bee stings we’d spent so long addressing last night. I rubbed behind her ears, generally content with the world.

“How long do you think she’s going to sleep for?” a high-pitched preteen voice tried to whisper but mostly whined. At least two others shushed her.

The cat purred smugly.

I cracked an eye open and looked over at the open window. Oh, I had closed that before bed last night, hadn’t I? Well, that did explain where the three girls huddling just in front of my window had come from. There was a high-pitched blonde preteen, a 13ish-year-old with midnight black hair and rich brown skin, and a probably-15-year-old with brunette hair and olive-toned skin. All of them looked like they’d been sleeping (and eating) rough for weeks, if not months. They all needed several hearty meals, a thorough bath, and to scrub their clothes. Or possibly to burn them and start over with new ones instead. By the fresh mud and cut grass on the window sill, they had recently climbed the oak tree right outside the window to get inside. The two younger ones were holding hands, and the 13-year-old was holding the eldest’s belt underneath her too-loose shirt, making skin contact that way. It left the 15-year-old’s hands free to throw magic or wield the knife she hadn’t yet drawn from her belt.

Three magic-users are the minimum to throw a major casting, two for a minor. I have never seen why I should only work with human mages. Not when various cats have found me entertaining enough to work with.

And they keep bringing me ‘presents’.

I suppose it is about time for the next coven of foster children to appear in my life.

The cat purred smugly again, radiating the calm and security of being surrounded by her colony of fellow ferals.

“Yes, I know you’re very good at slipping sideways between wards,” I murmured to the cat. “It still would have been polite to ask.”

“Our cat decided to adopt you,” the eldest girl said, resignation dripping from every word along with a hint of a Mexican Spanish accent. I recognized the shirt she had on as having been very fashionable just six months ago. “So, you’re one of us now.”

I hummed an acknowledgement before taking an enormous yawn and rubbing some of the sleep out of my face.

“Well, I’m Carinen,” I said. “Pass over the gray fabric on my chair, and we’ll all go make some pancakes. Are any of you allergic to nuts?”

“How do we know she’s the one?” The youngest whined. “She could have just stolen our cat—”

“Grey Sidles Through Shadows,” I interject softly, “Well, she says that’s close enough in Human. But you call her Dapple, Courtney.”

Given how sideways Grey came through the wards last night, her name fits her, like every name a cat gives themself (or each other). We may be underpowered just now, my cats and I, without another human, but the wards were solidly built and only need the level of reinforcement we can give them now. Meaning they should have kept Grey out of my yard.

Courtney snapped her mouth shut, a hint of a pout still dragging her lower lip down—at my proving I knew this cat, or at Grey having a different name than ‘Dapple,’ I don’t know.

“Jada or Zoe, would you please throw me the gray fabric on the chair to your left?”

The eldest, Zoe, kept her eyes on mine the whole time, but she did throw me the length of fabric like I asked. With several practiced twists, I could stand with Grey continuing to snuggle against my bare chest, comfortably swaddled inside the fabric sling like a baby.

Before I could actually test that out by standing up, the soft yoga pants I also kept on that chair sailed over to land on my head. Zoe inhaled in a squeak of dismay.

“Thank you,” I said, sliding into them as I exited the bed. Between them and the fabric sling Grey was resting in, all the important bits were covered. The girls all seemed young enough, in social relationships at least, that my beginning-to-wrinkle and turning-stout middle-aged nude self might be a bit too much for an early Saturday morning. Teenagers, after all.

I gently brushed a finger and a wisp of magic over each plant taking up every flat surface on my way from the bed out the doorway.

“You shouldn’t take Dapple’s magic for plants,” Courtney whined.

I smiled as the children all trailed like ducklings behind me out the door, past the hallway plants (which all also got a wisp of magic), and over to the oak banister downstairs.

“Oh child, truly, if Grey doesn’t want to share, there’s no power available to me which could make her.”

With magic again lingering in my wake, the oak banister warmed to the touch; the carved oak-and-leaf pattern spiraling down the stairway lifted just a little to catch the eye.

The house does like having children on the grounds, and my most recent temporary placements had moved on to their families of blood and choice a few weeks ago. The two cats making this their permanent colony are sweet, good mousers, lovely comforts to displaced children, and not one-fourth as magically conductive as Grey. I had chosen to ration what magic we built between us, the cats and I, for their and the plants’ care.

The green of the riotous herb and vegetable plant life in the downstairs hallway (I truly should harvest much of this soon) gave way to the earthy wood of my kitchen. I gathered the grain-flours I wanted as I walked through the kitchen, directing the children to grab bowls from the pantry along with eggs and milk from the hulking refrigerator in the back corner – a find from the co-op grocery’s equipment upgrade ten years ago. It looked bare, but I am used to feeding packs of hungry teenagers from it. The efficiency charms on it would need to be renewed this year.

Courtney pouted and whined as I started to bring the batter together. Zoe, looking scared I’d throw them out in sheer annoyance, was tripping over herself trying to make up for it by being helpful. I mostly tuned Courtney out—no one is at their best when their stomach hurts from hunger—but sent both of them out to set the dining room table, to ease Zoe’s nerves if nothing else.

Jada watched me silently, taking in the flours and spices I mixed together almost as voraciously as I thought she would eat the results. I held an egg up to her, as silent as she was, while her two coven mates bickered in the dining room; my fingers were wide enough around the egg that she could take it without touching me. If she chose.

She touched my hand, and the gestalt between us unspooled: the parts of our individual magic, too weak to do anything on our own, twining together into something more. The feel of a warm summer day in an old-growth forest, a rippling brook somewhere just beyond sight but not sound or smell, built between us. My magic does tend to look like a glen to the mind’s eye in compatible gestalts. I thought birdsong was just about to fill the air as Jada let go.

“There’s so much,” Jada whispered, voice rough with emotion and vocal cord damage.

“And I learn more every time I form a gestalt and from everyone who wants to learn.”

Jada sniffed, then cracked the egg into the bowl before finding a paper towel and wiping her nose. I beat the egg in as she composed herself.

“Can we… make a gestalt again? Cast something?”

I held out my hand. “Let’s see what we make.”

This time I had the sense of Jada observing everything, examining each type of flour from our mind-glen as they went round the bowl. Grey sidled into the gestalt from her spot cuddled against me, perching on Jada’s shoulder in the glen only visible to her and my mind’s eye.

I nudged each spice in the bowl to Jada’s attention and waited—she turned to the spice rack on the counter behind us, moving from holding my hand to resting a finger tip lightly on my shoulder. I felt her frowning as the magic drifted away from the rack, her pleased smile as she spotted the pecans jar. She got just the right amount I wanted on her first pour, observing the ratio of dry, wet, and other ingredients as the batter rested and the pan heated.

I directed the magic to swirl the heat under the pan a little to even it out; Jada caught her lip between her teeth, and I saw a heat map of my pan. It highlighted a weak spot. I think I’ll get Maya, my eldest, to help me fix that the next time she comes over.

With my baking experience and Jada observing then layering in aids based on my knowledge, we flipped each of those pancakes at just the right moment.

“She’s just going to send us back to school or split us up into group homes!” Courtney yelled at Zoe in the dining room.

“Not without a great deal of paperwork,” I said, carrying the stack of golden pancakes out of the kitchen to the dining room. “And the foster care offices aren’t open until Monday.”

I set the platter down between the places Zoe had set. She’d put her backpack of worldly possessions down under the sideboard, partially hidden but easily grabbable if you knew it was there. Jada set the jar full of honeycomb down beside the pancakes.

“You might as well get some food and rest before running, Courtney.”

I’m certain the nutty smell of the pancakes had more to do with Courtney sitting down than anything I had said. Zoe followed me back into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” she said, taking the milk bottle and jug of orange juice I handed her. “She’s not usually so…”

“Hungry and scared?”

“Whiny when Dapple’s not cuddling with her.”

I hummed, amused; Grey nuzzled my chest, demanding more scritches behind the ear. Magic let me tickle that itch without putting down any of the glasses I carried. I got my chest sneezed on for my trouble. Ah well, cats.

Sitting down at the table, I snagged a couple pancakes for myself before the coven of children finished devouring them. Discreetly eyeing Courtney, I thought I might want to examine her magical channels if she gave me the chance—such irritability the second Grey wasn’t in contact with her could be a sign of what’s going on with her magic. Or she could just be possessive of ‘her’ cat.

“Lunch is just sandwiches, but I’ll be roasting a rabbit for dinner. There’re two showers available, a laundry machine, and beds, if you want to get a decent night’s sleep.”

“What’ll it cost?” Zoe asked. The wary look she turned my way spoke volumes about their past experiences, as did how quickly they all clutched each other’s hands.

“Oh, if you insist on chores,” I said lightly, “feeding the chickens and rabbits out back plus hanging the laundry on the line would let me harvest some of this riot.” I gestured at all the herbs and vegetables in pots along the walls of the dining room. “And assisting in making the beds would be welcome. But you all have guest-rights here.”

The girls looked at each other in confusion. I suppose guest-rights weren’t much invoked on the streets. And they may be falling out of fashion with the newest generation of witches. I should ask Maya.

Just then, Sweet Pea, a lovely calico queen, and Dandy (short for Dandelion given how fluffy his orange fur sticks out, but the other meaning fit too) came sauntering in from the back garden and meowed for my attention.

“Hello sweethearts,” I crooned, “come on over and say hi to our guests!”

They jumped into my lap and exchanged whatever esoteric greetings cats indulge in with Grey. Then Dandy meowed and Grey rumbled back.

I bopped Grey on the nose. “No lies around here.” Grey hissed, only a little and a bit plaintively. “Even if it makes a better story. You came investigating out of curiosity, fell off the fence, and pissed off the bees. Dandy needs to know, for the wards.”

Sweet Pea, the little stinker, sniggered and Grey turned up her nose to rest on her dignity. While cradled in a baby carrier, resting on her back.

Cats.

“You can talk to cats?” Courtney sounded as plaintive as every mundane wishing they had magic as I’ve ever encountered. I really should check her magic channels.

“Anyone can talk to cats, love. The trick is listening to what they say.”

Of course, that was when Sweet Pea decided to climb up into Zoe’s lap, launch herself at Courtney’s head, and dash out the door into the backyard, with Courtney in hot pursuit.

Zoe offered to wash the dishes and I left her to it after showing her the dishwasher inside what looked like a hacked off tree stump in the pantry. When Jada said she’d like to use those showers I mentioned, I dug through the stash of hair products and tools that had gone into storage when the previous coven of children I cared for did not include any Black kids. I wasn’t quite sure these were the best ones for Jada’s specific hair type, but she looked super happy to have them and dashed off for a shower.

A quick detour to my room let me get a bra and comfortable shirt underneath Grey’s carrier—I’m getting a bit too saggy to go a whole day without support, college rhetoric (and practice) notwithstanding. I had planned to switch the carrier into a wrap once Grey was healed enough to want out, skin contact helping speed magical healing in humans and cats alike. She doesn’t seem to want to leave anytime soon, however, no matter the state of her injuries.

I also left several outfits from the stash in the bathroom for Jada and made off with her discards and the few spares in her backpack for the laundry—with her permission. Courtney refused completely; I hoped she would stick around long enough to work through her prickly-ness. And that the other girls wouldn’t take off after her if she ran.

Zoe was reluctant to give up her spares, much less her current outfit, but offering to swap for anything she wanted from the stash worked. She was even more willing once I mentioned my neighbors three doors down were a pair of fabric witches who’d insist on showing her how to make things fit better. And that they were coming over tomorrow to trade for some of my produce.

“Do you…” She looked down at the worn-through remnants of last year’s height of teenage fashion coming out of her bag. They looked much loved and nearly see-through; someone had attempted to patch a hole in them at least once. She sighed, a little wistfully at the shirt before focusing on me. “Do you really think I can learn to alter clothes?”

“I’m certain my neighbors will insist on trying to teach you if you show the slightest interest.” I smiled. “They would desperately like to find someone they can talk fashion and magic with. And if your magic is compatible, they would love a third for their coven. Their backlog of orders is getting dire.”

I opened the top of my laundry machine, popped the ‘wait-for-me’ charm keeping last night’s load of wet clothes in there from even starting to think about mildewing, and transferred everything into a basket.

“Are you worried you can’t learn new things? There are many paths to the same, or at least similar, destinations,” I said.

Zoe didn’t look at me as she grabbed the laundry basket. She muttered, “Everything’s been making people keep away from us,” and disappeared out the door.

Poor kid. I made a note to myself to talk with her about the difference between building to a goal versus trying a lot of seeds to see what flourishes. And to give her plenty of opportunities to try new things.

I would also need to see if Jada joining a gestalt with me and Zoe would help—her magic affinity felt like learning from the leader and making utility connections between pieces of information. Perhaps a narrow affinity, but very flexibly applicable, if managed right. And she felt ferociously smart in our earlier gestalt. It might help Zoe learn faster. Or the habit of magic with Jada for safety might hold her back. We would have to see.

I followed Zoe to the door to my backyard and just observed for a moment. Past the small patio just outside the door and stretching the width of the backyard, Sweet Pea and Dandy were trading off teasing Courtney into chasing them through the meadow plants carpeting the ground. To my right, at the clothesline perched over a third of the patio, Zoe was examining the clothespins like she had never seen any before. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if that was true. But it looked like she would figure them out eventually. The rabbits in their hutch and outdoor space along the left of the yard looked content, or well, as relaxed as the flighty things get. The chickens in their run along the back fence were making their usual noise searching for bugs and other tasty treats. The bramble bushes delineating my space from my two neighbors on either side were twined through the fencing and happily ripening the berries that weren’t quite ready for harvest last week. The high privacy fence delineating the back edge of my property from those neighbors isn’t high enough to keep the bees from their hive under the old oak tree along that back edge out of that yard, much to those neighbors’ annoyance. We have all learned to live with our mutual annoyances though.

I headed back inside to the riot of greens and herbs in the dining room—now that there was magic in the house again, I needed to harvest them and get a new set started before the plants realized. They’d take over, well, everywhere if they could. Luckily the preservation and space-conservation charms on both my harvesting basket and the refrigerator were still holding up—there would be room even if I did manage to harvest everything throughout the house. And I would be able to do all my canning, jamming, and other preserving work at a reasonable pace.

After Jada finished up her shower and hair care, she headed out back to feed the chickens and rabbits. Zoe had finished hanging everything, even the heavy blankets, without asking for help and was resting in the cool grass when I followed Jada out. Courtney ignored everyone, beyond dodging around us while chasing Dandy. Zoe pulled herself up to help, obviously dragging herself up for something she thought she had to do. I shooed her inside to take her own shower instead.

The chickens could sense it was Jada’s first encounter with them (other than on a dinner plate) and seemed hell bent on reclaiming their saurian heritage. Or taking revenge for all their eaten brethren. Either way, Jada was obviously unused to animals and completely intimidated by my birds. She reached for my hand the second she noticed me.

“Oh no, sweetheart. Never let chickens have access to magic.” I glared at the lone rooster of the coop, throwing my shoulders back for good measure. “Chickens are all about body language.”

It took a few tries, but she got the attitude down. Feeding the rabbits was much easier, and I left her to it. The rest of the house plants did need attention after all.

Lunch was, as I told the children earlier, simple sandwiches. Honestly, many days I forget to eat lunch—never when there’s hungry teenagers in the house though. Courtney was half asleep over her sandwich and afterwards she zonked out into a deep nap on the couch. Zoe followed Jada out into the backyard, Jada happily showing her everything she’d learned about the birds and rabbits earlier. They seemed like they’d be fine—they’d even given the beehives in the far back corner the respectful space the bees wanted; the queens and I had an understanding. I headed upstairs to the greenhouse.

By mid-afternoon, I managed to harvest the greenhouse on the top floor as well as all three upstairs bedrooms and the office. Grey spent 90% of her time sleeping in the sling I made for her and the other 10% demanding food and ear scritches. But even if I couldn’t get to anything else on the first floor, this had more than restocked my pantry. And my usual pace of processing after my day job will restock the bartering pantry.

I love this neighborhood—there are so many witches of varying specialties.

When I got back to the first floor, Courtney was still napping. Jada was observing the beehive from a safe distance and Zoe was petting one of the rabbits through the side of the hutch. She looked happy, standing there petting something alive and soft. Jada looked happy too, in an abstracted observational way. I was just about to ask them both if they’d like to learn about the plants throughout the first floor, when I felt Maya and her cat, Inkberry, bump the wards.

I threw open the door and Maya, laughing and ignoring Grey’s yowling protest, lifted me up in a hug. She spun us around on the porch, the two of us laughing like loons.

“Welcome back, love!” I exclaimed. “This is a delightful surprise! Come in, come in.”

We were chatting in the kitchen while brewing tea by the time Jada and Zoe came looking for what all the ruckus was about.

“Jada, Zoe, this is my eldest, Maya! Maya, Jada and Zoe. There’s also Courtney, who is, I believe, still napping on the couch under Sweet Pea and Dandy.”

“I wondered where the little stinkers were!” Maya turned to look at the cat on her shoulder and gently booped Inkberry’s nose. I hoped Inkberry and Grey would get along; two strongly magical cats in a turf war makes for an unpleasant household. “Don’t wake up the new kid while you are re-exploring the house, okay?”

Inkberry churred and hopped down. I bet I’ll find her upstairs in the office later, it has her favorite window ledge from when the two of them still lived here.

“Um…” Jada said, eyes darting back and forth between Maya’s lithe six feet (and change) to my stout five feet (and nothing). Between her deep golden-brown skin and my wrinkling and freckled pale beige. From her rows of braids chiming just below her shoulder blades from the gold and jet and green beads and amulets throughout to my greying russet hair one can only charitably describe as ‘braided’. To say nothing of Maya’s spring-green lipstick—I think Jada was envious of that one.

Maya grinned hugely. “First adopted, but neither first nor last fostered. Possibly longest in the house though.”

“Well,” I murmured, “you did come as an emergency foster at two days old; it gave you a bit of an advantage.”

“Grab every one you can!” Maya laughed. “You kids remade beds for yourselves yet?”

Zoe and Jada looked at each other before mutely shaking their heads no.

“Come on,” Maya exclaimed holding her hands out to them, “those beds are old friends, I bet we can have the whole room done up how you like by dinner time!”

“I’ll get Courtney up and join you all in a bit!” I called after them as Maya bounded out of the kitchen for the upstairs, Zoe and Jada following a touch more sedately. I had missed Maya’s energy since she left for college. Although I did hope she wouldn’t slide down the bannister for dinner again. She really shouldn’t teach the new kids bad habits on the first day.

Courtney was burrowed under two different fuzzy blankets on the couch in the living room, afternoon sunlight completely blocked from touching her head. Sweet Pea and Dandy looked up as I came in, yawned in unison, stood stretching their considerable lengths, and trotted off upstairs. Grey rumbled as I sat next to Courtney—I rather suspect Grey’s a true feral who never learned vocalization.

“Courtney, sweetheart. If you want a say in how the beds are arranged, it’s time to get up now.”

I very firmly bit the inside of my cheek to keep from giggling at the fluffy blonde halo of bedhead Courtney emerged with.

She blearily looked around before asking why it mattered where a mattress was pitched.

“No hon, we’re going to remake them. With magic. Might get bunk beds or—”

“They’re going to do magic without me?!”

“Only if you don’t want to. Run on—”

Courtney bolted out the living room before I could finish. Knowing the house as well as I do meant I rejoined everyone upstairs just as Courtney forcibly inserted herself between Zoe and Jada. Observing from the back I saw Jada flinch as Courtney grabbed her hand—I don’t think anyone else noticed, especially not Courtney. I need to figure out what’s going on with Courtney’s magic before she and Jada grow incompatible, magically speaking.

Holding Maya’s hand, I slipped into the gestalt myself and descended into chaos. Maya offered metaphorical hammers, nails, and hard hats to the girls to enter her construction site. But Courtney’s magic was swirling and sparking, blocking the entrance Zoe was trying to juggle her popping firecrackers through. Firecrackers flew faster and exploded quicker the longer Courtney grabbed for her coven mates. Jada was trying to match up her observational equipment with Maya’s construction site, but kept getting distracted by Zoe and Courtney’s chaos.

My magic twined through Maya’s as easy as breathing before I’d finished observing the girls. The two of us ‘grew’ the entrance to let Jada in, then turned towards Zoe and Courtney. Maya hummed, then threw nets of our magic over Zoe’s explosions, guiding them to light the (now existent) path up to the entrance.

Chamomile sprang up underneath Courtney’s feet, trees covered in moss popping in to absorb the sparks and corral the swirling. Stronger sparks shot off when she noticed Zoe entering the gestalt; Grey, Inkberry, Sweet Pea, and Dandy suddenly popped in, rubbing against my shins before winding their way through Courtney’s mist of magic. Grey bapped her hand, claws out.

With a sniffle, Courtney’s magic pulled in and she sat down heavily on the bedroom floor. Taking her hand, the two of us dropped into our own smaller gestalt. All four cats piled onto her lap as the mind-glen we created between us rippled out around her, quietly crying. I hummed softly, a short little piece my mother sang to me that I’ve never learned the words to, as I hugged her.

I’m no healer (although I can magically support one), but I’ll be darned in cat-tangled-yarn if this isn’t an obvious case of magic channel blockage. Almost certainly from overexertion.

Good thing there’s a healing coven down the road. I hope they’ll make a house call instead of having to trek out to their clinic. Courtney’s too big for my two-person bicycle, I don’t have an extra bike or helmet for her yet, and the bus stops are very inconvenient relative to the clinic.

It didn’t take long for Courtney to calm down enough for us to see what the gestalt had done. The old queen-sized bed had been popped apart into its constituent pieces, most likely Zoe’s contribution via Maya’s direction. As we watched, Jada’s hand twitched as if she was sketching something, and Maya’s eyes scanned the blank wall across from them. The pieces started reassembling themselves, rolling across the floor to their new location, as I slipped my hand back into Maya’s. A little plant magic and the wooden bed sprouted what it needed, growing together solidly. I do hope my fabric-witch neighbors can improve the mattresses—it’s not their specialty, but between the three of us we could make something a little better. Perhaps they’d take some of my backyard brambleberry jam I made last week for it.

Between Maya’s boisterous energy and going to the trouble of magic-ing them up some beds, the girls seemed more convinced I wasn’t going to snatch away my offer of food and a place to sleep. I could tell because dinner was the least guarded affair yet. Jada and Courtney were even comfortable enough to be upset when Maya mentioned tonight’s main course had once lived in the rabbit hutches in the backyard. Zoe just shrugged and kept eating, pointing out to her coven-mates that my yard was a lot nicer on the rabbit than cows ever got and they’d never yet turned down a hamburger when they could get it.

Dinner, chores, and cajoling teenagers into brushing their teeth before bed completed, I joined Maya lounging on the patio overlooking the backyard. The chickens and rabbits had snuggled down in their coops and hutches; the hive was quiet for the night. Sweet Pea, Dandy, and Inkberry were chasing each other through the trampled meadow plants of the backyard, their way lit up by fireflies flitting through the air several feet above them. The air promised cooler weather to come, so enjoy the warmth.

“Oooooh, the good stuff,” Maya said, carefully taking the tumbler of whiskey I handed her before sitting on the other lounger. Grey finally climbed out of the carrier she’d lounged in all day and arranged herself over my shoulders as I settled down.

“A surprise visit; I had the sense this would either be celebratory or commiseration whiskey.”

Maya grinned at me over the top of her tumbler, savoring the smell. “Celebratory. We did it.”

“The abandoned gas well project? Your coven figured out how to close them up?!”

“Not only did we figure it out, but we also tested it. The state let us try at an old well; they did all the testing afterwards to document it worked, and then… they got a whole bunch of other state officials to come watch us demo it. The Oklahoma folks offered us a contract on the spot and kicked off a little bidding war with Texas. We talked it over, the whole commune, not just the witches, and we’re going to take it.” She abruptly looked down at her tumbler and swirled the whiskey around, a little sad. “Mama, we gotta move to Oklahoma for it.”

I reached over and grasped her hand. “I am so, so proud of you.”

We spent the rest of that warm evening sipping our whiskey and talking as the fireflies danced their mating dance over the cats’ revels. Whisky finished, Maya eased my heart by staying the night in the downstairs guest room. Upstairs, I closed the window the girls had slipped in through this morning and slid under the covers of my own bed. Grey plopped herself on top of the covers, leaning against me on one side and the pillows above her. I took the hint that someone else would most likely be using the other half of the bed and didn’t try to shift her.

Sure enough, not much later, Courtney silently padded into the room and curled up next to Grey on top of the covers herself. I kept myself from smiling and let her pretend I’d already fallen asleep when she came in. Once she was asleep, I pulled a blanket over her and drifted off to the susurration of the wind in the trees and the gentle breathing of these two new strays.

Laura Briskin-Limehouse lives on the East Coast of the USA with their partner, child, cat, and puppy. When not cataloging manuscripts in their day job, they write, edit TTRPGs, cook, record with their podcast crew Technical Difficulties Gaming Podcast, and sometimes even get to read more books. They have writing credits in table-top role-playing games Eclipse Phase, Hard Wired Island, and Red Markets, in addition to editorial credits in several other table-top role-playing games. Their first published poem “Hope Is” appeared in Breath & Shadow in 2025. They are proud to partner with Roses & Wildflowers to publish their first short story, “Of Cats and Other Strays.”