Hungry Read online

  Table of Contents

  Start

  Story Blurb

  Praise for…

  Other Titles by Raven Oak

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Hungry

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Message from GSP

  Excerpt from Amaskan’s Blood

  Join the Conspiracy

  Your cat pukes, then cries.

  Is it just a hairball or is something really wrong?

  A mad dash to the vet leads to a cat who meows when touched, but how is a veterinarian to know what’s wrong? Is it a blockage or just a terrified kitty? Even with training, sometimes even the experts don’t know.

  Or do they?

  Take an MRI of a cat’s brain when they’re hungry, and it light’s up a particular way. Take another shot while they’re in pain, and the pattern changes. Researchers believe this could lead towards a better understanding of what a cat’s meow really means.

  The folks over at Garner Tech have created the newest tech to help veterinarians and pet owners alike. Cat-Speak—the collar that translates brain patterns into simple phrases like:

  • I’m hungry

  • I’m hurt

  • I’m playful

  • I’m sleepy

  No, your cat won’t tell you it loves you, but with our handy Bluetooth collar and phone app, your cats’ meows will have research-backed meaning!

  Bestselling science fiction & fantasy author Raven Oak brings readers a short story set in the near future of unlikely cat-ownership and the snarky, harsh reality many pet owners might face in the near future.

  Praise for EPIC Awards 2016 Finalist

  Amaskan’s Blood by Raven Oak

  “An exciting epic fantasy filled with intrigue and layers upon layers of well crafted secrets and lies.”

  Stephanie Hildreth of 100 Pages a Day

  With a ferocious-yet-fragile heroine, resonant themes, and a sweepingly gorgeous backdrop, Amaskan’s Blood delivers food for thought and frank enjoyment.”

  Maia Chance, author of the Fairy Tale Fatal series

  “Holy crap, this is good!”

  Seattle Geekly

  “If George R. R. Martin wrote [Disney’s] Tangled, it might be a bit like this.”

  N. Jahangir, author of The Adventures of Some Kid

  “Oak is loquaciously talented and the writing in the book shines. [She] crafts [her] words carefully, in order to pull the reader in, and once he’s hooked, reels him in.”

  Open Book Society

  “We all enjoyed her book immensely…. Amaskan’s Blood most certainly receive[s] the Sparkle Motion stamp of approval.”

  Sparkle Motion Book Club (Special January Selection)

  Other Titles by Raven Oak

  THE BOAHIM TRILOGY

  Amaskan’s Blood (Book I)

  Amaskan’s War (Book II)*

  THE XERSIAN STRUGGLE

  The Eldest Silence (Book I)*

  Class-M Exile (Stand Alone Title)

  STAND ALONE TITLES & ANTHOLOGIES

  Joy to the Worlds: Mysterious Speculative Fiction for the Holidays

  Untethered: A Magic iPhone Anthology

  Magic Unveiled: An Anthology

  * forthcoming from Grey Sun Press

  HUNGRY

  Raven Oak

  Seattle, WA

  HUNGRY

  Raven Oak

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Raven Oak

  All rights reserved. The scanning, uploading, copying, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase authorized print or electronic editions. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials hurts everyone. Your support of the arts is appreciated. For information, address: [email protected].

  Cover art by D. L.

  Grey Sun Press

  PO Box 99412

  Seattle, WA 98139

  www.greysunpress.com

  Books by Grey Sun Press may be obtained for educational, business, or promotional purposes. For more information, please contact: Grey Sun Press, PO Box 99412, Seattle, WA 98139, or [email protected].

  This story is dedicated to ‘all the cats I’ve loved before.’

  But especially O’Riley, O’Malley, and DiNozzo.

  Get a cat, they said. You work from home, so it’ll be great, they said. Besides, with Cat-Speak 4.0, even an idiot can take care of a cat.

  But I can’t even take care of me!

  They had a thousand and one reasons and being the sucker I am, I caved. A cat owner I became.

  What they hadn’t said was how toddler-esque a cat would be, how utterly time-consuming said cat would be, or how being owned by a cat would result in picking up the ball, throwing the ball, and then pleading with the cat to go get the damn ball.

  Pantone peers at me over my laptop, his charcoal eyes unblinking in their silent plea, and I groan. Cat ownership might be new to me, but not that look; it’s the same one my mother uses every time I stave off going home for the holidays.

  When I tap his white-splotched rear, Pantone hops off my desk with a light chirp that his collar fails to interpret.

  My stylus moves across the touch-screen, adding droplets of color to the website logo. The mock-ups are due to Garner Tech in three hours, but I still have two to go this afternoon.

  Pantone meows, and the collar translates in a slightly-flat digi-voice: I’M HUNGRY.

  “You’re always hungry. Besides, it’s not even four,” I say, and Pantone cocks his head.

  My email pings. Twice. I ignore it and continue working on the logo’s capital G, whose curve is less semi-circle and more angular. Does Garner Tech want something smooth and soothing? Or hardier—edgier…like a computer chip?

  I’M HUNGRY.

  Working from home had sounded like a good idea at the time. An incoming call message pops up on my screen. Probably my roommate calling to gripe about being a sardine on the rail home. I flick it off-screen to the mailbox.

  Pantone hops up on my desk, and I give his ears a quick scritch, which he misreads as consent or approval.

  I’M HUNGRY.

  Red…is it too bloody looking? No one wants to associate a tech company with blood. Not after the latest child labor allegations. No, let’s try something richer. Garnet maybe? Nope. Way too newb and cliché.

  I’M HUNGRY.

  “Enough, Pantone.”

  The garnet bleeds into the black outline too much for my tastes. “Undo,” I say, and the mess is removed. Maybe green is a better idea. A tuft of orange fur and claws reach around my screen to bat at my stylus.

  One black streak slashes the capital G. “Undo,” I growl. Pantone hooks the stylus’s clip with a single claw and flings it at me where it bounces off my nose.

  I’M HUNGRY.

  Irritated as I am, it is sort of cute…. I growl as he bats the stylus off my desk. All fifteen pounds of him follow it to the floor. A few trills and purrs follow as he rakes it with his rear legs, and I sigh. “Turn off Cat-Speak translations until 5 PM.”

  I’M —purr, purr, chirrup.

  I fetch the stylus to a rumble of purrs and earn myself a scratch across three fingers. Maybe red wil work better than green….

  When three minutes of exposed belly doesn’t elicit the desired belly-scritches, Pantone leaps onto my desk with a scolding chirp. He rubs his muzzle, half-white and half-red, across the touch-screen’s monitor like maybe it will feed him if he just rubs it hard enough. If I could afford the app, it would. I shake my
head at the distraction.

  I touch my stylus to his muzzle to capture the color. There. A nice orangey-red for the logo. Perfect.

  Pantone’s vocalizations accelerate the closer it grows to five. The closer it gets to my deadline.

  Why did I agree to take him in? Oh yeah, because he’s cute. Sometimes.

  The front door opens and closes in rapid succession. My peripheral vision confirms the presence of my roommate as I work on colorizing a sketch. As she enters the kitchen, she calls out, “Oooooo! Who’s the admirer?“

  I wave my stylus in her direction. “Garner sent ‘em. I think they’re hoping to woo me with flowers.”

  Joanie laughs. “Apparently they don’t know about your black thumb. The last flora that arrived is still here. It’s dead but has decided to pay rent.” She sets the lily’s vase on the dilapidated kitchen scanner. Its misaligned laser scans the vase and the alarm sounds. I close my eyes at the flash of light, and wish I could close my ears as well.

  WARNING: SCANNER IS IN NEED OF REPAIR. GARNER TECH IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR INJURY FROM MISUSE. PLEASE CALL A CERTIFIED TECH—

  “Silence warning!” I shout from my living room desk. The sink’s faucet releases a perfectly measured amount of water and tops off the vase.

  “Thanks,” Joanie says. “Any idea when the repairman is coming?”

  With a sigh, I set aside my stylus, which Pantone stretches a paw toward. “When I get paid.”

  “So this Garner gig might be more than a temporary freelance?”

  I follow Joanie’s gaze to Pantone, expecting my stylus to be a casualty on the floor, but it remains beside him as he watches me. The orange ring is but a sliver next to his wide pupils pooling with…it isn’t hunger. No, something else. Sadness? Argh, cats don’t get sad. They’re just cats. Damn collar’s turned off. No wonder I have no idea what he wants.

  I shake my head and say, “Maybe. But not if I don’t finish these designs.”

  Joanie mimes zipping her lips and sets the lily on the counter. Pantone watches her retreat to the bathroom without comment.

  “You okay, bud?” I whisper and dangle the stylus over his head. His eyes follow it a moment before he rests his head on his front paws. “Moping won’t get you fed any faster. It didn’t get Puss-In-Boots fed any faster either, no matter what those old movies say.”

  Pantone closes his eyes.

  I’m halfway through the last design when Pantone leans his shoulder into my laptop and the screen tilts forty-five degrees. He sets his paw on its metal shell and shuts my laptop with a snap. The wall-clock chimes as he purrs. Five o’clock.

  The LED light on his collar flips to green as Cat-Speak 4.0 turns itself on. Pantone blinks slowly at me and opens his mouth. I HURT.

  “I know you’re hungry—wait, what?”

  Pantone stares at me but doesn’t say anything else. “You hurt? Where?” I push my laptop aside to better reach him and run my hands across his back. No response. I gently massage his belly and hips as I’ve seen the vet do on television. Other than some squirming, nothing.

  Is that good or bad? Has the collar malfunctioned?

  I pull out the treat bag from my desk drawer. Rather than slink around my ankles, he remains still, and when I toss two treats on the desk, he only sniffs them.

  “You love tuna-treats,” I say and shake the bag. He continues to stare at me.

  I pop open my laptop. “Call Dr. Bruester.”

  The video call connects and the regular receptionist is packing up her poodle-shaped purse. “Sunset Veterinary Clinic—this is Stacey. How may I help you, Melana?” She waves at Pantone as he drapes himself across my keyboard. His tail, which usually wags with trouble, lies still.

  “Pantone’s collar.. well, it translated something a minute ago, and I’m really not sure what to do. Or if there’s anything actually wrong… ”

  “What did Pantone say?” she asks.

  “He said, ‘I hurt.’ Does he really? I mean, earlier he was just fine. What’s wrong with him?” Stacey frowns as she sets her purse on the counter. “Occasionally Cat-Speak 4.0 will mix up expressions of contentment or enjoyment, but its pain sensors are very sophisticated. If he says he hurts, he’s feeling pain. I would recommend you bring him in so Dr. Bruester can examine him.”

  I glance to the left of the call screen where a reminder flashes angry red letters at me. The designs are due in twenty minutes. No designs means no paycheck. No paycheck…well, that means no vet visit at a minimum.

  She must have sensed my hesitation and says, “Dr. Bruester’s about to leave, but if you bring Pantone into the clinic now, I’m sure he’d be willing to cut you an after-hours deal. It’s probably nothing, but better to be sure. Better to do what’s best for Pantone.”

  But what about what’s best for me? I have to eat, too.

  Pantone meows. I HURT…A LOT.

  Shit. Double shit. This is why I don’t like pets. Pantone headbutts me in the forehead, and I find myself saying, “We’ll be there shortly.”

  Stacey ends the call as Pantone lets loose a raspy-hurried purr. I HURT.

  I give his ears a careful scratch before setting off in search of the cat carrier. Maybe Garner Tech really does use child labor. I’d be doing the world a favor by not giving them a flashy new logo.

  My cat lays on his side, very still.

  Pantone buries his head in the crook of my elbow. A brief knock announces Dr. Bruester’s return, and Pantone trembles in my arms.

  Two hundred dollars. The cost of a brief exam and blood draw. Another three hundred for a quick bio-scan. My doctor appointments are cheaper than my cat’s, and I frown.

  Dr. Bruester’s furrowed brows and squared shoulders make me regret it already. Something is wrong, and wrong usually spirals into expensive. Too expensive…I might have to put Pantone down.

  This is why I didn’t want a pet to begin with. I can barely afford me.

  The metal table between the doctor and me is littered with cat hair, which he brushes off before taking a seat. He pops his tablet into its stand and swivels it so I can see. Numbers and squiggles scroll across its screen—not that they make any sense to me.

  “Melana, has Pantone ingested anything unusual or odd in the last few hours?”

  His question throws me, and I shuffle through the afternoon’s memories. Pantone had complained he was hungry. I’d finished the second design. He’d complained again. I’d continued working. Joanie had arrived home. Pantone had complained.

  In fact, he’d complained all the way up until I’d silenced the collar, and after that, he’d continued to vocalize until around four. Where’d he been at four? I frown. Had he been with me, or had he wandered off to another portion of the condo?

  “Um, I’m not sure. He’s been very vocal about his hunger all day. I had to silence the collar to get some work done….”

  Dr. Bruester purses his lips into a tight circle. “Was there anything odd laying around the house he could have ingested? Any garlic left over from food preparation? Houseplants? New Furniture?”

  Pantone’s damp paws leave furry prints across the examination table as he approaches the vet. I HURT.

  “No,” I say and shake my head. Pantone slinks back to me and head-butts me in the arm. “Nothing like that. I barely have the money in my account for this appointment, let alone new stuff. Why’d you bring it up? What’s wrong with Pantone?”

  “He’s ingested something toxic. The blood work doesn’t give me a clear picture of what, only that it’s causing acute kidney failure. You said he was hungry, so I assume he’s eaten something he shouldn’t have. Though the scan didn’t show any blockages. Any chance he got into the garbage compactor or the garage?”

  “The garbage compactor is emptied hourly, and Pantone’s never left the condo. Our building doesn’t even have a parking garage. The only plant I had died last—well, it died. I’m—I’m not good with living things.” I glance at Pantone and frown. “It’s why I got the collar. You kno
w, so I could know what he needed.”

  Something tickles my brain, but Dr. Bruester interrupts when he asks, “What kind of plant was it?”

  Pantone coughs, then vomits a mix of stomach acid and pink… something. “Is that chewing gum?” I ask as I point.

  “Doubtful.” Dr. Bruester scrapes some into a plastic dish. “I’ll scan this in a moment and see what it is. Since money is an issue, we’ll need to administer charcoal and get Pantone on IV fluids to flush the kidneys. He’ll remain with us in the hospital for a day or two to see if the treatment takes. Of course, we’d be more successful if we knew what he got a hold of. Maybe look around your condo for clues.”

  My brain buzzes like the Cat-Speak 4.0 collar when wet. “Dr. Bruester, how much is all of this going to cost? I mean, I want Pantone to be okay and all, but money’s tight right now. I don’t know if I can afford two days in the cat hospital.”

  He pets Pantone on the head as he levels his gaze on me. “I’ll fetch the total for you, but I would highly encourage you to agree to the treatment. Without it, Pantone could die.”

  As if my now unfinished (and unpaid for) designs aren’t sucker-punching me enough, Dr. Bruester’s words claw their way into my gut where they duke it out with my guilt. If I had money, they’d just synthesize a new kidney or something, I’m sure. And if I’d fed Pantone earlier, maybe he wouldn’t have gone searching for something else to eat. My first pet and of course I’ve fucked it up. He’s gone and eaten—Oh god. The lily.

  “I think I figured it out!” I say, and Dr. Bruester pauses in his scan of the pink goo. “I landed a last minute design gig this week, and they sent me flowers. Well, lilies really. It was—” I glance at Pantone as he vomits up spittle and a wad of petal, “—pink. Are they bad for kitties? I didn’t think he’d actually eat it.”

  “They’re toxic to most cats and dogs. And you’d be surprised at what cats will eat. We’ll confirm the lily with our sample here to ensure he didn’t ingest anything else.”