Part Two: The Exile

Chapter Twelve

I rolled out of bed—as was my custom with one night stands—and began to leave. Mac gently caught my arm, "Don't go."

I turned back to look at him, surprised. Never had I spent the night with any of my previous conquests. I could tell by his awkward manner that neither had he. He gave a soft smile, "Stay. Get some sleep."

I gave a nervous smile and slid back into the warm covers. I curled up beside him, putting my head on his chest. I could hear his heart beating, steady as a drum. I felt him playing his fingers lightly through the fur on my head. After a thoughtful pause, he spoke, his voice low and gravelly, "You know, Red, you're not like any cat I've ever met."

Of all the compliments I had heard over the years, this was by far the best. I snuggled closer to him, feeling his strength, "Neither are you, Mac."

Another pause. I could tell he still had something on his mind, but I quietly waited for him to speak again.

"Perhaps I could see you again," he said, his tone betraying his hopefulness. I hid a smile, "I would like that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

I felt him give a sigh of relief. And then gently--ever so gently--he kissed the top of my head. I smiled and felt a rush of warmth flood my soul. Suddenly I knew that this was more than just a fling. It held that intangible promise of something deeper, something lasting. And for once, I did not run away.

~*~

Being with Macavity was a truly spiritual experience. As a kit, I had heard that he was a conjuror, a cat with mystical powers, and now I knew it must be true—for what he did to my body was truly magical. Breathlessly, wondrously magical.

I was known in certain circles as a very creative cat, but Mac blew my mind with his ingenuity. I reached new heights never before known to feline. Perhaps this was because he knew exactly which buttons to push. Perhaps it was because my attraction to Mac was developing into something deeper. Something stronger. Something that once scared me, but now I welcomed it with open arms. Love.

It was true. Bombalurina the Unconquerable had finally fallen. Within a few short months, I was certifiably crazy about this cat. Some thought I was blissfully unaware of his criminal activities, but to be honest, I was just blissful. I knew what Mac did in the darkest hours of the night; I knew he was so much more than a humble businesscat. He never tried to hide the darker side of his life from me—he would even tell me stories of his escapades as we lay in bed at night; at which I would giggle like a kit and kiss his crooked grin. I didn't care what the world thought of him. He was mine and I was his.

As rosy as this sounds, it wasn't a typical romance. Sometimes I think we stayed together simply because we could not find anyone else who understood us better. We could play our cruel little games without hurting each other; we still competed with each other in many ways. I still drove the toms crazy, just to see the flash of anger in Macavity's eyes. Sometimes I would disappear for days at a time, just to see if he would worry. Macavity somehow felt that I was not totally his; he still felt the need to seduce me. Whenever we were in public, he still played mind-games with me. He could enrage me one moment, only to touch me and turn me into a defenseless sap the next, melting into his arms with the placidity of a dove. He would at turns patronize and condescend, causing me to spin into a whirlwind of a temper, which would always resolve itself in the dusky blue hues of his bedroom. He wasn't much on displaying his affection—he rarely touched me outside his room. But when he did touch me, it was always full of tenderness. He loved me to a fault, as I loved him. That was all that mattered.

Oh, how foolish I was to think that would be enough.