S.H.H.A.

Self Pity and Cute Kitties

Click, click, click.

Light flashed across Ilene's eyes as she diligently worked away at her computer. The warmth associated with her sunshine colors chilled over, dampered by the white calico kicking up a storm over her shoulder one pace at a time. I stalked from wall to wall, each click of her custom-made, paw-designed computer mouse fueling me on.

Ilene's mountain of electronics stuffed an entire corner of my fresh-linen-scented office. One five-foot by two-foot screen in the middle hung from the wall like a television, flanked by two smaller monitors. An additional tablet-sized screen, flicked off for the time being, attached to an extendable arm flattened against the wall. Her paw-designed mouse, flower-shaped with keys on each petal, slid over the touchscreen using a magic force called transmagnetism.

In cat form, the tall-backed, black rolly chair engulfed Ilene's smaller figure. Once upon a time, I owned that chair. I'm not sure when she grabbed it for herself, but I made a mental note to take it back sometime. The only other piece of furniture in the tiny room was a low seated, purple-cushioned, wooden chair beneath the window. Comfortable, sure. However, I didn't enjoy lounging on something I could only imagine an old granny on, hunched over, knitting a sweater.

Besides Ilene's computer corner, which produced constant migraine-ensuing bright light, the single other light source was the four-paned window. Cracks spiderwebbed its robin-egg blue painted trim, and more flies died on its ledge than on any sticky tape we'd ever tried. How the blasted insects snuck in remained a mystery to me. There were only two entrances: the cat door and the seldom-used human door on the opposite wall, next to Ilene.

Since they built my office into the hillside ages ago, the cat door was merely a few feet beneath the roof. The heavy black flap, large enough to fit a coyote or medium dog, looked like the same animal doors humans used for their house pets. But, normal pet doors didn't contain S.H.H.A. watch scanners, auto lockdown safety measures, or an alarm system connected directly to Ilene's watch.

What I considered my office was actually one room in the entire office. At the bottom of the hill was a human door. I never strayed to that side. Other than for combat practice, I rarely used human form at S.H.H.A. The rest of the building, geared toward human form, felt like a ghost town. A ghost town with many good memories.

"You won't find the tabby in here. So stop trying." Ilene's sudden voice tripped my stride, and I stumbled to a halt.

Ever since my sister hung up the phone two hours earlier, I'd been taking the silent treatment from my best friend. She didn't even say "high" when I barged in, her patience still regenerating from my rants Yesterday.

Like a kitten who escaped from the vacuum, I collapsed to the floor with a childish groan unbefitting of S.H.H.A.'s leader. Ilene's disappointed glare bore into my upturned stomach, but I'd acquired immunity over the years. Frankly, she paled in comparison to her mother, the nightmare breeder herself, Daisy.

"It's no use," I said, deflated. "If you can't find anything on them, then how can I? I tried asking the solo heroes like you said, but all I received were directions to the human animal shelter. An animal shelter, Ilene! In the human level!"

"I did tell you they weren't in the human level."

"Whatever." I swiped the air above me. My claws left behind a brief red trail from my power where I imagined the massive forehead of that tapir semi-human, self-proclaimed hero.

Solo heroes and S.H.H.A. heroes had a rough relationship. Despite what the name implied, solo heroes worth the title rarely operated on their own. The term referred to any hero who didn't work under S.H.H.A. Regardless of whether or not Maxima gifted them a power.