The first sensation was a warmth, a deep, pervasive heat that seeped into his bones. Then came the smell – rich, dark, and undeniably coffee. It was a jarring, delightful intrusion on the lingering vestiges of sleep. Thomas's eyes fluttered open, slowly, reluctantly, taking in the scene with a bewildered expression.
He was lying in a position he hadn't consciously chosen, a comfortable, almost impossibly cozy arrangement. His arms were loosely positioned to his sides, and on him, nestled against his chest, was M'Sara. Her legs were stretched out, her feet casually draped over his legs, a picture of relaxed feline grace. She was deeply asleep, her dark fur radiating warmth, her breathing a soft, rhythmic murmur.
A wave of surprise, followed by a surge of something akin to amusement, washed over him. He hadn't consciously arranged himself like this, hadn't even realized he'd been lying with her. The sheer unexpectedness of the situation was... captivating.
He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb her, and felt the gentle warmth of her body against his. The scent of coffee was stronger now, emanating from a coffee maker his father had in the kitchen.
"Good morning," he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. He reached out a hand and gently stroked her fur, feeling the smooth, soft yet dense texture beneath his fingers. She didn't stir, simply started to purr softly, a low, contented vibration that seemed to resonate through his entire being.
He watched her for a moment, a strange mixture of bewilderment and affection swirling within him. The logical part of his brain struggled to comprehend the situation – a predatory feline alien, comfortably nestled on him, sleeping soundly. But the instinctive part, the part that responded to warmth, comfort, and the quiet rhythm of another being, simply accepted it, just as he did when his childhood house cat was sleeping on him.
"I guess," he said, a small smile playing on his lips, "this is how it's going to be."
Thomas continued to gently stroke M'Sara's fur, moving slowly, deliberately, as if afraid to startle her. She shifted slightly, her muscles relaxing as she began to awaken. A low rumble started in her chest, escalating into a series of strange, almost bird-like chirps and clicks – her native Katzen, a distinctly feline vocalization that was both fascinating and slightly unnerving.
She stretched, a long, luxurious extension of her body, arching her back and extending her arms in front of her, and legs out in behind her, balancing on her chest, paws flexing and unflexing. It was a purely feline movement, a display of instinctive grace and comfort. As she stretched, she let out a particularly loud "Click-chirp!" that made Thomas chuckle.
"Easy there," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "No need to announce our presence to the entire galaxy."
Once she'd fully roused herself, M'Sara gracefully slid off his chest, landing silently on the bed. She took a moment to groom herself meticulously, licking her paws and smoothing her fur with deliberate precision.
"There's coffee waiting for us in the kitchen, smells strong," Thomas announced, rising from the bed. "Just the way we like it."
M'Sara responded with a short, sharp "Chirp!".
The kitchen was bathed in the soft morning light. Fred Hauer was already seated at the small kitchen table, nursing a mug of coffee in an insulated mug – a habit Thomas had noticed and quietly adopted himself.
"Morning, dad," Thomas said, grabbing a mug and heading to the coffee maker.
Just as he was about to take his first sip, he heard the rustle of fabric and the soft padding of paws. M'Sara, now sporting a surprisingly well-fitting, dark grey jumpsuit – a standard issue garment for CAW personnel – was following him into the kitchen. The jumpsuit was a practical, utilitarian design, reinforced at the elbows and knees, and featured a discreet pocket on the thigh.
M'Sara, with a surprisingly deft movement, grabbed her own mug – a smaller, utilitarian model – and began to fill it with the dark, steaming liquid. She took a long, appreciative sip, letting out another contented "Chirp!", observing Thomas with intelligent, blue eyes.
Fred, a warm smile on his face, offered a brief nod. "Morning, Thomas, M'Sara. Good to see you're getting some rest."
Thomas took a long, satisfying gulp of his coffee, the bitterness a welcome jolt to his system. He nodded, acknowledging Fred's observation. As he enjoyed his coffee, M'Sara, having carefully surveyed the kitchen, settled down at the table, her tail curling neatly around her foot-paws.
Off we go
The RX-7, a nostalgic choice Thomas had stubbornly held onto – hummed along Highway 99, the morning sun glinting off its polished curves. The air was crisp and clean, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. Thomas gripped the steering wheel, a thoughtful frown etched on his face as he navigated the morning traffic. Beside him, M'Sara sat patiently, her dark fur contrasting sharply with the black interior with dark red seats, occasionally twitching her ears, seemingly absorbing the sounds of the passing world.
"Okay," Thomas said, his voice a little tight with the planning ahead of them. "Let's run through this. I've got the tent, the backpack... but we're going to need a serious upgrade for a multi-day hike. Specifically, we're talking about water purification, a decent first-aid kit – preferably with some advanced CAW-issued meds – and some proper navigation tools. GPS is good, but a topographical map and compass are essential, just in case."
M'Sara let out a low, rumbling chirp, as if agreeing with his assessment. She shifted slightly, her tail swishing back and forth.
"We'll need a good sleeping bag, obviously," Thomas continued, pulling out his phone to access a CAW supply catalog. "Something rated for temperatures down to, say, five degrees Celsius. And a headlamp for me – essential for navigating in the dark. Plus, some extra layers of clothing. Mountain weather can change in an instant. I was thinking of a folding camp stove, and a portable water filter. And, of course, plenty of high-energy food – protein bars, dehydrated meals... you know, the essentials."
"That sounds logical. Is that not a local retailer that would have those supplies?" M'Sara interjected, pointing a hand-paw towards a brightly lit storefront across the street while they sat at a stop light – "Gear Up!" – a specialist outdoor equipment retailer.
Thomas glanced over, a small smile playing on his lips. "You're right. Let's see what they've got. I'm betting they have some advanced survival gear." He shifted the RX-7 into gear, pulling onto the turn lane of the highway to navigate the bustling traffic. "This is going to be a good hike, I think."
The bell above the door of "Gear Up!" jingled a surprisingly cheerful tune as Thomas and M'Sara entered. The store was a meticulously organized haven of outdoor gear – ropes, tents, hiking boots, climbing equipment – all gleaming under bright fluorescent lights. But the only person present was a man named Silas, the store manager, a wiry fellow with perpetually damp hair and a skeptical expression. He was meticulously polishing a pair of carabiners when Thomas and M'Sara walked in. His eyes widened, his polishing cloth frozen mid-swipe. He stared, genuinely stunned, at M'Sara.
"Uh... hello?" Silas stammered, his voice a little high-pitched. "I... I've never seen a... a Katzen in person before." He took a hesitant step back, nearly knocking over a display of trekking poles. "Are you... are you alright? Can I help you?"
Thomas, ever the friendly one, offered a reassuring smile. "We're fine, really. Just looking for some supplies for a hike." He gestured towards the camping section. "M'Sara here is... enthusiastic about seeing the great outdoors of Earth."
M'Sara, sensing Thomas's slight discomfort with the manager's obvious surprise, immediately began to move, her movements surprisingly graceful and efficient. She followed Thomas as he browsed the sleeping bags, carefully examining the materials and construction. When he picked up a lightweight backpacking one, she gently nudged it with her hand-paw, as if offering her approval.
"This one looks good," Thomas said, pulling out his CAW personal device to scan the bag's specifications. "Lightweight, durable, good ventilation. Let's get it."
As Thomas wrestled with the bag's packaging, M'Sara began to assist, her powerful muscles surprisingly delicate as she carefully folded the fabric. She expertly maneuvered it into a carrying basket, then, noticing Thomas struggling with a heavy backpack, she gently took it from his hands.
"Here, let me help," she said, her voice a low rumble. She effortlessly hoisted the backpack onto her shoulders, distributing the weight evenly. As they moved through the store, M'Sara continued to assist, retrieving items, carrying bags, and occasionally offering a reassuring chirp when Thomas paused to consider a particular piece of equipment.
"This first-aid kit is impressive," she commented, examining the advanced med-scanner. "CAW-issued, I presume?"
Silas, still visibly bewildered, watched them with a mixture of fascination and apprehension. "You... you know about CAW? Wait... of course you do, you're a Katzen..." he asked, his voice regaining a little confidence.
The checkout process was a surprisingly chaotic affair, largely due to Silas's sheer excitement. He fumbled with the scanner, occasionally letting out a small gasp of delight as it registered each item. "Wow, this is... incredible! A real, live Katzen! I've read about you all, of course, but to actually see one... it's... it's a dream come true!" He kept glancing at M'Sara, his eyes wide with a childlike wonder that was both endearing and slightly unnerving.
Thomas, used to Silas's enthusiasm, simply chuckled and patiently waited for the total to appear on the screen. "It's alright, Silas. We appreciate your excitement. Just trying to get some supplies for a trip."
As the final tally – $347.89 – flashed on the screen, Thomas swiped his debit card, typed in his PIN. The transaction completed with a quiet beep, and Silas practically vibrated with excitement.
M'Sara, meanwhile, was calmly observing the store's layout, her keen senses taking in every detail – the scent of nylon and leather, the arrangement of the shelving, the subtle shifts in the lighting. She occasionally offered a low rumble of approval, a sign of her satisfaction.
"Thank you for your business," Silas said, practically beaming. "I... I'm going to tell everyone! This is going to be the talk of the store!" He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "Do you... do you have any recommendations for a good hiking trail around here?"
Thomas, ever the helpful one, pulled out his personal device and began to search for local trails, while M'Sara subtly scanned the store's inventory, her gaze lingering on a selection of high-performance climbing ropes. As they were about to leave, Silas rushed forward, grabbing a small, brightly colored bandana from a display.
"Here," he said, handing it to M'Sara. "A little something for your travels. A token of our appreciation."
M'Sara took the bandana with a delicate touch, examining it briefly before offering a soft chirp, a slow swish of her tail – a gesture of polite acceptance. As they exited the store, the bell jingled once more, and Thomas and M'Sara continued their journey, leaving behind a slightly bewildered but undeniably thrilled store manager and a lingering sense of wonder.
As Thomas closed the hatch, the new camping and hiking supplies stored away, turned to M'Sara, "You were trying to impress Silas by using Katzen instead of English."
M'Sara gazed back at him but said nothing, amusement showing in her features, her tail swishing behind her.
The rain had finally begun to let up, leaving the asphalt slick and reflecting the neon glow of 'Gear Up!' in a distorted, shimmering haze. Thomas and M'Sara just turning from the hatch now closed, to walk to the doors of the RX-7, when the sound cut through the ambient noise – a harsh, gravelly laugh.
"Well, well, well... look what we have here," a voice drawled, thick with a distinctly unpleasant accent. Five figures emerged from the shadows of an alleyway, their faces obscured by the low-brimmed hats they wore. They were a rough-looking bunch, clad in worn leather jackets and sporting a disconcerting mix of tattoos – a dull grey tattoo at the base of one man's neck, a blue light tattoo sleeve on the arm of another.
The leader, a man with a scarred face and a predatory glint in his eyes, stepped forward. "A boy and his cat. Seems like we've stumbled onto something interesting." He gestured with a hand that sported a heavily modified knife. "You wouldn't happen to be carrying anything valuable, would you?"
Thomas, instantly recognizing the threat, instinctively stepped in front of M'Sara. "Leave us alone," he said, his voice firm despite the sudden adrenaline surge. "We're just leaving."
The leader chuckled again, a dry, unsettling sound. "Oh, I don't think so. Let's just take a closer look, shall we? This little feline looks awfully... exotic. And you, son, you look like you could be worth a little something too." He gestured towards the CAW personal device still clutched in Thomas's hand. "That's a nice piece. A little pricey, I'd wager."
M'Sara, sensing the shift in atmosphere, immediately tensed. Her ears flattened against her head, and a low growl rumbled in her chest. She shifted her weight, her foot-paw claws digging into the blacktop, a clear signal of her readiness. Her eyes, normally a warm blue, narrowed to slits, reflecting the neon lights with an unnerving intensity.
"Don't bother, kid," another of the thugs sneered, taking a step closer. "We want to make trouble. But we're curious. What's a fancy tiny alien cat doing with a boy like you?"
M'Sara let out a short, sharp growl, a sound that seemed to vibrate with contained fury. She took a deliberate step forward, her muscles coiled, a clear warning. The rain, which had been holding off, suddenly intensified, a brief, torrential downpour that seemed to underscore the tension in the parking lot.
Thomas gripped his personal device tighter, his mind racing. He knew he could be outmatched. He needed a plan, and fast. "We don't want any trouble," he said, his voice low and steady, "and I don't appreciate being threatened. I suggest going on your way, or M'Sara may not be able to hold back."
The laughter of the thugs was a grating, unpleasant sound, amplified by the sudden, sharp growl emanating from M'Sara. It wasn't a roar, not yet, but a low, guttural rumble that vibrated through the air, punctuated by the flattening of her ears and the subtle, almost imperceptible twitch of her tail.
"Oh, look at that, little kitty's getting a bit... agitated," the leader guffawed, taking a step closer, his hand still hovering near his knife. "Playing tough, are we? What's it going to do? Hiss at us?"
And that's when M'Sara did it. Not a full-blown long growl, her visible fur puffing out, her tail waved back and forth quickly.
"Woah, easy there, little fella," the leader said, his voice now laced with sarcasm. "Didn't mean to spook you. Just... Want all his money." He gestured with his knife, a nervous habit.
M'Sara didn't respond to his words. She remained motionless, her eyes fixed on the leader, her body a coiled spring of contained aggression. The rain continued to fall, washing the unwashed scent of the thugs from the pavement, but the impression remained.
Thomas, watching the scene unfold, felt a surge of adrenaline. He knew he couldn't afford to let his guard down. He subtly shifted his weight, preparing to move if the situation escalated. He glanced at his personal device, considering his options – a distress signal, a silent alarm... but he hesitated. Engaging them directly could be a fatal mistake.
The world seemed to slow for a heartbeat. One moment, the thug leader, a greasy, sweating man named Rex, was looming over Thomas, a predatory grin plastered across his face. The next, M'Sara was a blur of motion. A low growl, a flash of dark fur, and then – thwack! – her hand-paw, tipped with gleaming, retractable claws, slammed into Rex's wrist, ripping the knife from his grasp. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, a brief, shocking counterpoint to the steady rain.
Before anyone could fully process what had happened – before Thomas could even shout a warning – M'Sara spun with breathtaking speed. Using her powerful hind legs, she launched herself upwards, propelling herself off Rex's body with a controlled burst of energy. She landed gracefully, a perfect, almost impossibly fluid motion, beside Thomas, her tail twitching with contained energy.
Rex let out a surprised yelp, a strangled cry of pain and disbelief as he stumbled backwards, losing his balance entirely. He crashed to the ground with a resounding thud, sprawling amongst the slick, muddy roots of a giant redwood.
The rest of the thugs, initially frozen in stunned silence, erupted in a cacophony of shouts and curses. "What the hell was that?!" one yelled, scrambling to regain his footing. "She's a freakin' predator!" Another lunged forward, brandishing a rusty pipe. "Don't let her get to you!"
The air crackled with tension. The rain continued to fall, now seeming to wash away the initial bravado of the thugs, replaced by a palpable fear. M'Sara, her eyes narrowed, remained poised, a silent, formidable presence. She wasn't smiling, of course. Katzen don't smile like humans do. But her posture radiated an undeniable confidence, a clear message: she was in control.
The sudden shift in momentum, the raw, instinctive response of M'Sara, solidified something within Thomas, he put his pocket device where it belonged. Years of Taekwondo training, honed by his sparring with M'Sara, his need for self-defense, kicked in. He instinctively adopted a fighting stance – a low, balanced position with his hands up, ready to block or strike. It was a practiced move, a silent acknowledgment that this wasn't a situation for polite conversation.
Before he could even fully commit to a verbal warning, M'Sara moved again. A blur of dark fur and flashing claws. It was a lightning-fast strike, a precise, devastating maneuver. The thug wielding the rusty pipe was completely unprepared. He barely registered the movement before M'Sara's hand-paw, tipped with razor-sharp claws, ripped the pipe from his grasp. The metal screeched against her claws, a brief, jarring sound, and then the pipe, bounced off the pavement as M'Sara bounced off the thug's chest, sending him sprawling to the ground with a yelp of pain. Blood bloomed on his ripped shirt sleeve, a stark crimson against the blacktop.
The effect was immediate and disorienting. The remaining thugs, already shaken by M'Sara's initial attack, froze, their bravado completely evaporated. The rain seemed to intensify, washing away the scent of their aggression, replaced by the metallic tang of blood and the undeniable reality of their predicament.
Thomas, seizing the opportunity, moved forward, his movements fluid and controlled. He delivered a swift, precise kick to the one on the left thug's knee, sending him stumbling. The remaining thugs, seeing their leader incapacitated and their companions falling, began to back away, their initial confidence replaced by a primal fear.
"Let's go! This is not worth it!" one shouted, and the group quickly dispersed, melting back into the shadows of the ally they came out of, leaving behind a scene of chaos and two rapidly bleeding thugs.
Thomas, breathing heavily, quickly checked on M'Sara, gently examining her hand-paw. "You alright, M'Sara?"
She simply flicked her tail, a subtle acknowledgement. She didn't need to reassure him. Her actions had spoken volumes. The fight, it seemed, was over.
The rain continued to fall, a cold, insistent drumming against the pavement. M'Sara, having assessed her hand-paw, gently placed it on Thomas's chest, a brief, reassuring touch. The warmth of her fur, the subtle pressure of her hand-paw, was surprisingly grounding.
"I'm fine," she murmured, her voice a low rumble, the words laced with a quiet confidence. "The blood is all theirs." Her ears, normally held in a neutral position, twitched subtly, analyzing the ambient sounds.
Then, a new sound cut through the rain and the lingering fear – the distant wail of police sirens. M'Sara's ears rotated, focusing on the approaching sound, confirming her assessment. "Police sirens," she stated, her voice clipped and efficient. "They are coming."
They remained motionless, standing shoulder to waist, a silent tableau of contained adrenaline and wary observation. Thomas, still slightly shaken, scanned the alleyway, his eyes narrowed, taking in every detail. M'Sara's ears continued to rotate, tracking the approaching sirens, estimating their distance and direction.
The sirens grew louder, closer, Thomas could hear them now, a mechanical chorus of impending authority. The rain seemed to intensify, washing away the last vestiges of the thugs' presence, leaving behind only the slick, dark pavement and the lingering scent of blood, except the two that were left behind, the leader and another holding their arms, blood dripping down them.
Finally, the flashing blue and red lights of the police cruisers appeared around the corner, illuminating the parking lot in a stark, dramatic fashion. Two officers, clad in rain gear, quickly assessed the scene, their expressions grim.
One of the officers said, his voice authoritative. "Everyone, stay where you are. We're going to need a statement."
Thomas and M'Sara remained still, standing as a unit, Thomas' arm around M'Sara's shoulder, M'Sara's arm around Thomas' waist, a silent testament to the unexpected encounter, the raw display of power, and the quiet reassurance of a bond forged in adrenaline and shared survival. The rain continued to fall, washing away the evidence, but the memory of the fight, and the profound connection between a human and a Katzen, would linger long after the last drops disappeared.
The bell above the door of 'Gear Up!' chimed a hesitant, watery note as Silas, the store clerk, emerged, his face pale and slick with rain. He was the one who'd initiated the call, his voice a frantic, high-pitched plea for assistance when he saw the altercation in the parking lot through the windows. He clutched a computer tablet, scrolling through the store's security footage, a grim expression etched on his face.
"Officer, you need to see this," he said, gesturing towards the screen. Officer Reynolds, a seasoned veteran with a weary but steady gaze, joined Silas in front of the store, his boots splashing through the puddles. He paused, watching the grainy footage – the chaotic brawl, the thugs' brutal assault on Thomas and M'Sara, the desperate struggle for survival.
"Impressive," Reynolds said, his voice laced with a professional detachment. He pointed to the screen, focusing on the discarded weapons: a sleek, knife glinting in the dim light, and a rusty pipe, clearly designed for close-quarters combat. "These are the instruments they used." He then turned his attention to Thomas, his eyes widening slightly as he took in M'Sara. "I've seen photos, of course, but... I've never actually seen a Katzen in person."
Thomas, still slightly shaky, pointed a hand towards the ground, indicating the discarded weapons. "Those are theirs. They used those to attack us. We are fine." He gestured again, emphasizing the scene.
Reynolds, after a moment of observation, addressed the situation with practiced efficiency. "Alright, let's get this sorted. Medical assistance for the injured. Backup is on its way." He activated his comm-link. "Dispatch, this is Officer Reynolds. Requesting immediate medical assistance for two subjects located at Gear Up! Requesting backup units to respond. ETA, five minutes."
As the dispatcher confirmed the request, Reynolds turned back to the thugs, who were still sitting on the ground, nursing their wounds, their faces contorted in pain. "I have an ambulance on its way for these two. And more backup units are arriving. This situation is escalating. We will look for the others shown in the video. No one assaults a Katzen on my watch."
M'Sara, her tail swishing back and forth with a rhythmic motion showing she is still agitated, tightened her grip on Thomas's arm, a silent expression of gratitude directed towards Officer Reynolds. "Thank you, Officer," she said, her voice a low rumble, her chest subtly rising and falling with her breath. "Your assistance is appreciated."
Reynolds offered a curt nod. "Let's get your identification. Standard procedure." He gestured towards a small, portable scanner on his belt. "CAW ID, please."
Thomas and M'Sara inserted their IDs, the holographic displays shimmering briefly before settling into their designated slots. Reynolds scanned the IDs, his expression unchanging as he processed the information. "Interesting," he muttered, tapping a few commands into his scanner. "Starship Engineer Team. What are you doing on Earth?"
Thomas, still a little rattled, stepped forward. "I'm visiting my parents," he explained, his voice steady despite the lingering adrenaline. "I'm on a three-month leave before I start my tour. It's a standard procedure for new recruits." He paused, a small smile playing on his lips. "They've been... enthusiastic about my arrival."
Reynolds studied Thomas for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. "A family visit, and you brought your Katzen partner. That's... unexpected. Well, it's good to see you're taking care of your personal affairs. Let's get you both out of here. We will contact you if we have any questions, if you are no longer on Earth and we need you to testify, it will be via a remote video call. Dispatch has confirmed the arrival of backup units. They'll be taking the thugs over there into custody." He glanced back at the scene – the bruised and bloody thugs, the discarded weapons, the lingering chaos. "This is going to be a long day."