NOTE:  This story is incomplete, and thus may contain spoilers, errors, incomplete thoughts, and other bits of fictional residue.  Read at your own risk.

 

by Jacksomm Trifker

"Now Tamitha," said Denise Abercrombie as she knelt down on the dining room carpet to talk to the brown-and-white cat. "Mummy has a very important dinner party tonight," she said, gently stroking the cat behind the ears. "There are going to be a lot of important people here, including all four of mummy's bosses. Everything has to be perfect, so I need you to be a very good kitty, okay?"

The cat, gave her owner a curious look. She couldn't actually understand the Edouedish words the thirtyish-year-old woman was saying, but she got the message that something important was going on. She also got the clear message that whatever was going on had something to do with the big table in the dining room, which was the source of all manner of very new and interesting smells, courtesy of a number of large trays and platters the strange men had been carrying for the past hour.

Denise noticed Tamitha glancing at the table, and snapped her fingers. "No," she said, giving the cat a stern look. "No jumping on the table. No. You stay off the table, okay? " she said.

Tamitha meowed in annoyance. She hated being lectured. She then trotted off towards the living room, pausing to flash Denise a sneer before leaving.

There is a saying that pets often look like their owners, and on Aekallia this adage is quite literal. Millennia of convergent evolution and the creeping of were DNA into the gene pool have bred a curious form of mimicry into domesticated animals. When there are no humans around, they indeed take on many physical and mental characteristics of their human owners.

As Tamitha left the dining room, her appearance seemed to change. She began walking upright on two legs, her face became more humanlike, her paws seemed to have opposable thumbs, and she took on an unmistakable aura of dominance combined with manic indecisiveness. An observer would have said that Tamitha was looking and acting rather like Denise.

She had been given the name Tamitha at her adoption, when Denise found herself unable to decide between Tabitha and Tamara and instead settled on a compromise. Tamitha had never really liked the name, and among friends, she usually just went by Tam.

Not that she had many friends, of course. She was a housecat and almost never went outside. Sure, there were a few neighbor cats she'd chat with from her window perch on those nice spring days when the windows were open, but they were acquaintances at best and rarely had anything of interest to talk about. Her only real friend was - she was a little embarrassed to admit - a mouse. Named Gerald.

Gerald lived in a spacious apartment he'd gnawed out of a hole in the baseboard behind one of Denise's bookshelves. To say that he and Tam had a tumultuous relationship over the years would put it mildly, but they were indeed friends.

He had never forgotten, of course, that Tam was originally adopted to kill him.

"Take care of him" had been Denise's actual words, but “take care of him permanently” was what she'd meant. Tamitha obeyed, and set out to hunt, catch, and kill the grey field mouse who'd getting into Denise's pantry for years.

The mouse reacted to the addition of Tamitha with a smug sense of confidence. He'd survived Tamitha's predecessors, and he was certain that he'd survive Tamitha. Though he soon found Tamitha to be a quite tenacious foe, he managed to stay one step ahead of her - evading her in marathon chases around the house and escaping through any of the series of escape tunnels he'd gnawed in every room. It was an epic battle, and for several months they were at war - Tam setting all manner of increasingly more intricate and deadly traps that Gerald easily outwitted, and Gerald violently defending himself with whatever he could get his hands on - pots, pans, hammers, broomsticks, washbuckets, even an anvil or two from Denise's extensive anvil collection.

And then, after weeks of chasing and trapping and fighting and bruising, Tam found herself victorious. Gerald had taken a wrong turn in the foyer and ended up cornered in the parlor with no weapons, no escape routes, nothing to hide behind, no chance for survival. His life flashed before his eyes as the brown cat loomed over him, claws drawn, hissing angrily.

Then their eyes met, his sad-looking black pupils connecting with her softening yellow-eyed glare. She mewed. He squeaked. She retracted her claws. He twitched his whiskers.

Then he heard her voice in his head. It was not so much a spoken voice as an emotive one, communicating in the way that all animals on Aekallia (except, frustratingly, humans) are able to use to communicate with each other. It was a language of pictures, sounds, and feelings, and it was communicating to Gerald a deep inner conflict.

I can't do it, the cat's voice had said, roughly. (It is impossible to accurately translate the psychic language of animals into words, so this dialogue here is at best a rough approximation.) I'm supposed to kill you, but I cannot.

You must, the mouse replied. I am defeated. It is your duty.

Not by my paws, Tam said. I am a hunter, not a killer. Killing is a human instinct.

You will let me go? he said, nervously.

Perhaps, she said, laying down on the carpet. if we can agree to help each other.

Gerald glanced around. She had given him a wide-open escape route, but he fought his instincts and chose not to take it. Instead, he gingerly approached the cat. What did you have in mind, he asked.

Simple. You promise to stay out of sight and out of the pantry, and I promise not to harm you.

The hairless one, Gerald said, she will be angered by your disobedience.

It is not disobedient if she does not know, said the cat. Besides, she merely told me to take care of you. So I will take care of you. I will make sure you are safe, happy, and well-fed. The cat got up, looking at Gerald in a slightly mischievous way. And you will do much the same for me.

How will I do that, asked Gerald. Tamitha's front paw darted towards him, and in the blink of an eye snatched him up, holding him by the tail in front of her face. She licked her lips with a few flicks of the tongue. Oh, said Gerald, disappointedly. Must I?

The cat's eyes narrowed. You dropped an anvil on my tail, she said. It is the very least you owe me.

Oh yes, said Gerald, guiltily. Sorry. Um, how is the-

It still hurts whenever I sit down, Tamitha said, thanks for asking. With that, she clamped her jaws around the mouse's front half.

Oh, oh dear, oh, I'm - this is, oh, said Gerald, his hind legs kicking pathetically in the air.

What's the matter, little guy, she said. Don't you like it in my mouth?

To be perfectly honest, Miss, I do not, he said. Your teeth are poking me and it's dark and scary and your breath smells funny.

Well, don't worry, Tam said, You won't be there much longer. You taste fantastic, by the way.

Really? That's a surprise. I haven't cleaned myself in several hours, he said

Trust me, even dirty you're so much better than the dry and flavorless crap she usually feeds me,, she said, maneuvering the mouse's lower half into her mouth as well.

Well, thank you, I guess, he said curling himself into a ball on Tam's tongue. Ooh, it is a tight fit in here, isn't it?

You just need to relax, little guy, she said. I'll help you. With that, she began to chew, repeatedly squeezing the mouse's already confined body between her toothy jaws.

The teeth couldn't hurt him, of course. Not permanently, anyway. Mice, like all small and heavily predated creatures on Aekallia, are quite resilient creatures, able to repeatedly withstand all the abuses of the alimentary canal. Unlike the rather violent systems of digestion found on some planets, all predators on Aekallia ingest their prey whole and alive, leech needed nutrients from them, and extrude them several hours later intact, alive, and extremely bored. Thus, carnivore teeth on Aekallia are rubbery instruments designed to grip rather than rip, and carnivores use their teeth primarily to relax and subdue their prey before sending it to the stomach.

Or, in this case, to annoy the crap out of it.

Aaa - oh - ow - hey! - stop - ow - that - ow!, cried Gerald as the cruel jaws poked and mashed him.

Okay, okay, I'll stop torturing you now, she said after a few minutes of this. I'm hungry. With that, she swallowed, pulling his front half into her throat.

Oh, no, he whimpered. He hated this part.

Oh yes, she said with a laugh. She took another swallow, then another. Gerald's tail slid between her jaws like slurped spaghetti. She could feel him wriggling all the way down to her belly.

Arrrrrgh, his brain yelled as the tight esophageal muscles squeezed him deeper and deeper into Tam's body, finally depositing him in her stomach with a wet plop. It was pitch black, terribly hot, and chokingly humid. He was up to his knees in wet, squishy muck, and he could feel the stomach walls cradling him on all sides, with just a bit of headroom in the ceiling.

How do you like it in there, sweetie, she asked, vigorously licking her chops.

Not the roomiest of accommodations, I must say, he said, crinkling his nose as he sniffed the putrid air. And it smells even worse than your mouth.

Oh, well, she said. You'll get used to it eventually.

I suppose, he said, scrambling around to try and get comfortable in the tight sac that was going to be his home for the next several hours.

Ooh, that tickles, she said. Hey, I have a silly question.

What's that?

What's your name? Here I am digesting you and I don't even know what your name is.

I'm Gerald, he said. Call me Gerry.

I'm Tamitha, she said. But you can call me Tam

I'm sorry I dropped an anvil on you, Tam, he said.

That's okay. I'm sorry I tried to trap you in the oven, she said.

No problem. I'm sorry I hit you with the crock pot, he said.

Don't worry about it. I'm sorry I cut a hole in a cardboard box and wrote "Free Cheese Here" on it and then hid in the box waiting to smash you with a hammer, she said.

That's okay. I'm sorry I painted a fake catflap on the wall and got you to crash into it, he said.

Don't mention it, she said, laying down and rolling onto her back. Hey Gerry?

Yeah, Tam?, said Gerry, trying to right himself as the room suddenly turned upside-down.

I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship.

And so it was. From that day on, they enjoyed a fond, if unusual, friendship. Gerry made sure to cover his tracks when he went foraging in the pantry, and Tam made sure he got the choicest pieces of stale cheese rinds she found in the garbage. He made sure he was safely in his mouse hole whenever Denise was home, and Tam made sure Denise never found his little hole in the wall. Gerry showed Tam how to make bland cat food palatable by adding a few spices he'd swiped from the kitchen, and Tam showed Gerry how to make it palatable by adding Gerry.

In the daytime, when Denise was at work, they'd romp and play all day, though any game they came up with usually devolved into Tam chasing Gerry all over the house. Some days Gerry got away, some days he got caught. Either way, it was good exercise.

Mainly, they'd watch out for each other, and this was exactly Tamitha's intent when she went looking for Gerry in the living room. She tried scratching at his mousehole, but he wasn't in. She checked the pantry - not there either. She then spotted a little grey form sneaking down the hallway from the kitchen to the dining room, and made a mad dive for it.

NO she shouted as she threw herself at the little mouse, who dodged her easily. She scrambled to her feet and with a graceful leap managed to get herself between Gerry and the entrance to the dining room. No, Gerr, I can't let you in there! There are a lot of humans coming tonight and you can't be seen.

Oh come now, said Gerry, rolling his eyes at the large cat. She can't seriously expect to lay out all this wonderful food and expect me not to take a little nibble. It's the Gerry tax.

No please please please, said Tam, giving Gerry a wide-eyed, pleading look. I'll get you some nice scraps from the garbage tonight, just don't go in there.

Gerry sighed. Okay, fine he said, then quickly scrambled up Tamitha's leg and climbed onto her head. Give us a ride back home, will ya?.

Okay, giggled Tamitha, That'll be fun. She had barely taken a step when she felt the mouse's teeny paws speeding down her back. She felt Gerry run to the end of her tail, and launch himself off of her. HEY! she yelled, whipping around and pursuing Gerry into the dining room, where he'd just leaped onto the tablecloth and was starting to climb up. Get down from there! she yelled.

Sorry Tam, he called from just out of paws' reach. But I'm tired of living off of garbage, aren't you?

Yes, but I don't go stealing people food!

Why not? said Gerry. Maybe you should. He reached the top of the table and began salivating as he looked at the spread that was laid out before him. One one plate was a pile of cheese cubes, on another was a fanned array of crackers. Another plaet held massive fresh-cut vegetables - giant celery sticks and carrot sticks nad massive broccoli stalks. In the center of the table was a series of high-walled foil trays, all propped up on metal stands and warmed from below by a few tiny tea lights. He didn't know what was in them, but they certainly made good hiding spaces. He grabbed himself a cherry tomato and a cheese cube and hid under one of the foil pans to eat his fill. Oh, this is bliss, Tam. Are you sure you don't want anything?

Yes, YOU, she said. I want you to get down here so I can bite your little butt for this!

Hmm, tempting offer, laughed Gerry. Then a familiar noise made his ears perk up.

Will you just get down here!

Wait, said Gerry, suddenly serious. He quickly finished the cheese cube and went off in search of the noise. It seemed to be coming from one of the trays. He made himself a makeshift ladder out of a long celery stick, leaned it against the tray behind him, and climbed up. He peeked over the lip of the tray and looked in. Inside, he saw a few dozen nanos milling about in a pile of linguine, all drenched in a cream and mushroom sauce.

That wasn't it. Gerry slid down the celery stalk and carried it to the next tray.

Gerry, what are you doing? Please come down from there, please!

Shh! he said, struggling with the weight and the awkward shape of the stalk. I'm looking for something.

He propped the stalk against the next tray, climbed the celery stalk and peeked in. Nearly a hundred green lizards were splashing about awkwardly in a shallow pool of pesto sauce. That wasn't it either. He scurried down the stalk, propped it up on the next tray, and again peeked in.

This was it.

There had to be at least a hundred young mice in the tray, all covered in a thick barbecue sauce, weakly squeaking and whining as they stumbled around. Some were trying meekly to escape, but slipped on the slick metal walls. There was a strong whiff of alcohol in the air, the vodka the human chefs used to get these mice drunk and docile. Gerry grunted loudly, a mixture of anger and pity. This wasn't fair, he thought. These poor mice didn't have a chance. In a little while they'd all be devoured, slithering down the gullets of any number of awful humans, to be digested and then crapped out in an unfamiliar toilet miles from home. Friends and families would be separated for weeks, months, maybe indefinitely. And these poor bastards either have no idea what's coming, he thought, they're too drunk to care. Or, he thought with a shudder, they're used to living like this, with no roots, no home, no future. Perhaps they're just drifting through life like this, just scavenging drifters scratching around on the margins of existence, waiting for the next dog or cat or mousetrap to snatch them up.

That's not life, he thought. That's not freedom.

He had to help them. He had to do something. But what?

"Hey," he said, his voice hesitant at first. It had been a long time since he'd spoken Squeak. He cleared his throat and tried again, this time more loudly, "hey, up here!"

A few mice looked up, then a few more. He heard Tamitha mewing loudly below the table, but ignored her.

"Hey, join the party," squeaked one.

"Whoooooo" squeaked another. Tamitha's mews were getting louder and angrier.

Gerry yelled. "It's not a party, you fools!" He could hear human footsteps coming, and began to panic. "You're being served to humans. They're going to eat you, don't you care?" There were a few shrugs and murmurs from in the tray. A few mice suggested that perhaps Gerry needed a drink, and a few others just laughed at him. He tried again. "Doesn't anybody care? Don't any of you want to be free?"

He was suddenly startled by a dark shadow that fell over him. He looked up and up and up at the towering figure of Denise, finally meeting her glaring face. "HEY, GET BACK IN THERE," her voice boomed. He didn't understand the human words, but somehow knew exactly what they said. He leapt from his celery stepladder and made a dash for the edge of the table, but soon found himself unable to run. His hands and legs yanked at the tablecloth, but he couldn't budge. He looked back to see the massive thumb and forefinger that had gripped his tail tightly.

The table dropped away suddenly as he was then yanked tail-first into the air and held above the tray of mice. Not fair, he thought. How would those humans like it if I held THEM up by their coxxyxes?

"NOW YOU STAY IN THERE, LITTLE MOUSEY," she said. Suddenly the pressure on his tail released, and he felt the terrifying sensation of falling. He landed awkwardly in a thick mosh pit of drunk mice who shoved and pushed him until he managed to crawl away from them.

Frustration washed over him as he got to his feet, his fur and paws sticking in the gooey sauce. Well, fuck, he thought. Now I'm fucked. I'm going to get swallowed and taken away and I'm never going to get home. And it's such a nice home, too, he thought. I have everything I need - food, water, shelter, freedom - now it's all going to be gone. Gerry began to seriously despair when his thoughts were interrupted by a loud, whiny meow.

Gerry perked up. Tam! he thought, trying to communicate with her. You gotta help me - I'm in the mouse tray!

That's what I'm trying to do, dumbass she said, a tinge of sarcasm in her voice. Though I don't know why. I told you not to climb up on the table.

I'm sorry, Tam. Please - I'll do anything you want. Just get me out of here.

Alright, alright, I'm trying. she said. She meowed again, more whinily this time.

"Sorry, Tamitha - you can't have any," said Denise. "I know you smell mice, but they're not for you. These are people food."

Tam meowed again, another whining plea.

"Oh, alright," said Denise, rolling her eyes. "One. You can have one."

Yes! Good job, Tam, he said, celebrating as Denise leaned over the tray and began scanning the crowd of stumbling, squirming mice.

Now was the tough part. He had to make sure he was the one Denise picked. He began squeezing and pushing his way through the crowd towards Denise's descending hand, but found himself swimming upstream. "Excuse me," he squeaked. "Coming through," he squeaked again. Most of the mice in the tray were scurrying away from the hand, not toward it. He finally pushed his way through the throng of fleeing mice just in time to see Denise's fingers clamp onto a tail immediately in front of him.

"Mmmmm," she said as she picked up the struggling mouse. "Mummy picked you a real yummy one, Tam."

Gerry heard the mouse squeaking loudly in protest as it was lowered to the floor and pounced upon by Tam.

There, thought Tam to Gerry. You owe me one.

That's not me, Tam, he said. I'm still in the tray.

I thought you tasted different. Oh, well, she said.

What, you're still going to eat it?

Her, and yes, Tam said. I am a cat, you know. We eat mice.

He grunted with envy as he listened to Tam greedily devouring the mouse that wasn't him. Well save some room for me, he said.

Oh, chill, she said. She finished with another whiny meow. I'll just get her to give me another one. Make sure you get picked this time.

"No more, Tam," said Denise. "I said one. Just one."

Tam meowed again, this time more cutesy and less whiney. I'm giving her the cutest kitten-eyes ever, Tam said. She can't resist the kitten-eyes.

"Oh, alright," said Denise in melodramatic exasperation. One more, but that's the last one. Her hand began descending towards the tray, and Gerry made a beeline for it. He began jumping and flipping and squeaking to try and get Denise's attention.

"Ooh, this one looks frisky," she said, her fingers grasping Gerry's tail. He squirmed and squeaked as Denise held him up by the tail, looking him over. Droplets of sauce flew from his nose and paws. He caught a powerful whiff of alcohol on her breath, and the purple stains on her lips and teeth confirmed that she'd been drinking rather heavily..

I think she's a little drunk, said Gerry.

When isn't she?, said Tam.

Good point, said Gerry.

"Hmm," said Denise, letting out a tiny but powerful-smelling belch in his direction. "You look too good to waste on the cat."

Huh? said Gerry.

Hey! said Tam, followed by a quick mrowr.

"Oh, here," said Denise, picking a mouse from the tray at random with her other hand and dropping it to the floor. She then turned her attention back to Gerry. "If I'm going to serve you guys to my guests, I should at least try you, right?" She lowered Gerry on to a small plate and clamped down his tail with her thumb. He peered over the edge and saw Tam viciously chowing down on the second mouse as it squealed and struggled. He looked back up at Denise, who was giving him a rather disturbing feline look.

Well, fuck, thought Gerry.

Denise belched slightly. She lifted him up by his tail and dangled him over her mouth. His legs flailed wildly as she slowly lowered him onto her lips. He tried desperately to run or jump or otherwise propel himself away from her face, but she still held him tightly by the tail. "Ooh, you are a frisky one, aren't you?" she said, his little feet falling through the chasm between her lips as they opened to speak. "I hope you're gonna be this active when you're in my tummy."

Gerry looked into the horrible red chamber of the human's mouth as she spoke, crinkling his little nose in disgust. Of all the creatures on this planet to be devoured by, indeed of all the ones he had been devoured by, Gerry thought, humans were the worst.

It wasn't so much the horrid conditions inside them - a digestive system was a digestive system, after all. It was the arrogance. Other predators at least gave you a shred of respect, of basic animal decency. Humans - they just seemed to think that every other creature on the planet was there to serve them. Even though nature's laws had them smack in the middle, they apparently placed themselves at the top of the food chain. As if opposable thumbs, toolmaking abilities, and a mobile hyoid province was some sort of license to oppress everything around them.

Gerry huffed and cringed as the slobbery tongue licked at his face and paws. Come on, Tam, help! he said. There's gotta be something you can do.

Are you kidding? she said. This is so entertaining. You should see how cute you look up there.

Tam!

Well it's true!

Denise had begun nibbling on one of Gerry's front paws when there was a loud ringing noise. He felt her tug on his tail and lift him away her mouth.

"Damn," she said. "The guests are here." She then lowered him back into the tray. "Don't go anywhere - I'm not finished with you. We're gonna play later," she scolded, then turned to quickly answer the door.

Tam, help! I'm up here!

Okay, okay, said the cat as she jumped up on a chair and then hopped up on the table. Where are you, she asked.

I'm in the mouse tray he said. Hurry!

There was a sudden flurry of activity as Tam's head peeked over the rim of the tray. Mice scurried in all directions to get away from their most feared predator.

Tam's eyes widened as she looked over the vast tray of mice. Yummy, delicious mice. Dozens of them. She began to salivate.

Tam! Come on, hurry up and get me out of here!

I- um... Which one are you? she said.

You - you don't recognize me?

I, um - of course I do, silly, she said, leaning down and plucking a random mouse headfirst out of the tray with her jaws. I got you!, she said. The mouse's hind legs kicked wildly in the air, its front half packed tightly in Tam's mouth.

THAT'S NOT ME! he said.

Oh, sorry, she said, quickly tossing the mouse to the back of her throat and swallowing. She leaned down and picked up another mouse which shrieked in terror as it was lifted feet-first from the tray. Tam maneuvered the mouse's hindquarters deeper into her mouth and held it there for a bit, its little head and front paws peeking out pathetically from the toothy feline snout. The mouse was held too tightly to move, and just squeaked and squealed in sheer terror.

Still not me.

Oh, my bad, she said. She quickly swallowed the shrieking mouse and tried again. This time she spied a petrified mouse on the floor of the tray, paralyzed with fear amid the chaotic mass of fleeing rodents. In a swift, fluid motion, she leaned in, engulfed the petrified mouse in her jaws, and swallowed. By the time she lifted her head, the mouse was already in her stomach. Was that you?

You're doing this on purpose, aren't you? he said.

Whatever do you mean, she said, chasing a scurrying mouse into the corner of the tray and then cruelly biting and nipping at the cornered rodent.

Tam, that's enough!.

Awwww, one more. I'm hungry.

"TAMITHA!" came a yell from the door as Denise came back into the room. Tam's head darted quickly into the tray, grabbed Gerry, and disappeared from view as the panicked mice in the tray scurried in all directions, wailing over their missing comrades.

Tam ran from the dining room and dashed up the stairs, carrying Gerry in her mouth.

Ow, watch the teeth said Gerry as she ran.

Relax she said. Her stomach was now feeling a bit bloated from its new occupants, who were crawling and squirming around in the tight space. Ughh, I have to stop she said when she got to the upstairs hallway. She let Gerry drop from her mouth and rolled onto her side, whining meekly.

Are you alright, he asked.

Ohhhh my dinner isn't agreeing with me, she said. There were some muffled squeaks and squeals emerging from under the white fur of her belly. Small bulges appeared here and there as the digesting mice shifted around..

Well, that's what you get for eating so many mice, you glutton, he said angrily.

Gerry I need you to calm them down for me. Please?

And how do you propose I do that?

Go down and talk to them, of course. You speak Squeak, I don't. And they're all too panicked to connect with my mind.

You can not be serious. There's no room for me in there.

I'm sure I can squeeze you in, sweetie. Besides, you need to socialize more with your own kind. You're forgetting how to be a mouse.

What? What are you talking about?

Tam quickly rolled to her feet. Her head darted towards Gerry, mouth wide open. At the last moment he turned to run, but had barely begun his turn when the mouth was on him. He felt the jaws snap shut around his midsection and lift him into the air. His head and one paw poked out from the right side of Tam's mouth, his hind legs and tail dangled weakly from the left side.

That's what I'm talking about, she said. You don't even try to get away anymore. With her tongue she flicked his head into her mouth and began to chew on his front half. You just let me eat you.

That's not-, he began. I don't-, he sighed, trying to get comfortable in the cramped and shifting confines of Tam's mouth. The strong smell of mouse fur and barbecue sauce wafted up from her depths. He had to grudgingly admit that what she said was somewhat true. He had perhaps grown a bit... accustomed to feeding Tam. On occasion. Once or twice a week, tops.

Even now, she said, You're not even fighting me.

Well there's not much point, is there? he said. I mean, you said you wanted my help with your stomach problems, so I'm letting you put me in your stomach. No big deal.

Uh-huh, she said, shifting Gerry's head closer to her throat and pulling the rest of his body onto her tongue. His little feet scrambled for her lower jaw and pushed him even deeper into Tam's mouth. You know, an outside observer might conclude that you rather enjoy being eaten by me, she said.

That's ridiculous, he said. Utter nonsense. He shifted himself around a bit so one of her incisors would land on an itchy patch of his lower back that had been bugging him since this morning. Sensing what he was doing, Tam cupped her tongue and began rubbing his back against her teeth Oh, thank you, he said. That's wonderful. Anyway, what was I saying?

Something about utter nonsense, she said. Feeling his body grow limp and pliant as the tooth massage relaxed him.

Right, he said, It's not a matter of enjoying it per se, I just accept the fact that in this grand game of cat and mouse, sometimes I win, sometimes I lose.

I see, said Tam, flipping Gerry onto his back and rolling him around on her tongue. So the other day when you tried to crawl into my mouth while I was sleeping - was that a win or loss?

I was cold, okay?, he said. Denise forgot to leave the heat on when she left for work.

Uh-huh, she said. And what about all those times you've tripped while I was chasing you?

I'm just clumsy, I guess.

Right, she said, flipping him back onto his feet and pushing his nose into her throat. She lifted her head slightly and swallowed, sinking his head and chest deep into her esophagus.

Awww, not yet he whined.

Yes yet she said, a bit testily. You are food, you know.

Oh, fine, he said as another swallow pulled him fully into the tight tube. He felt a gentle muscular push at his behind slide him though the rubbery, slippery tube and shove him deeper into the hot darkness. He felt his tail slide gently between Tam's teeth and over her raspy tongue and finally follow him down the tube.

Now tell your little friends to behave themselves, she said.

My friends Gerry thought, then remembered. Oh right he said. Shit. He'd forgotten. He wasn't going to be alone. Tam's belly was going to be rather crowded tonight. He sighed.

Have fun in there, Tam giggled, smugly.

Gerry felt the esophagus end and felt his head pressed through a tight rubbery ring. His head popped through the sphincter, but was then stopped by the ribcage of another mouse that was blocking the entrance.

"Aww, come on," squeaked the mouse in an infuriated-sounding masculine voice somewhere above and in front of him. "Not another one. There's too many in here already."

"Sorry," squeaked Gerry as the esophageal muscles pushed him in through the sphincter. "But if you could just squeeze over to your left a bit."

"I've got nowhere to squeeze, Mac!" the masculine voice said.

"Aggh," squeaked a wailing feminine voice from just below Gerry. "We're all going to suffocate"

"Let us out of here!" yelled another feminine voice, this one sounding even more panicked.

"Get your foot off my ear!" yelled a fourth voice, a high-pitched feminine one from deeper in the chamber, somewhere to Gerry's left.

'You stop pinching my tail first!" yelled a masculine voice next to the feminine one.

"All of you shut up, just shut up," squeaked a panicking but muffled feminine voice somewhere near the bottom of the pile. "I was here first, you jerks. All of you just shut it and quit stepping on my head!"

"Sorry, folks," squeaked Gerry as his hindquarters were pushed through the sphincter. He arched his back and tried to slide himself along the side wall of the stomach. The mice around him whined and groaned as he tried to squeeze his legs anywhere they'd fit in the mass of mouse parts and stomach folds and the occasional slimy glob of what was presumably dry cat food earlier in the day. Peristaltic muscles groaned all around as they strained to find a place for Gerry in the mass of digesting mice.

Finally, the groaning and pushing stopped. He was in complete and utter darkness. The heat was stifling and the few pockets of air were stale and putrid - the gastric gas had only just begun to trickle in, and Tam's stomach wasn't used to so many occupants. Claustrophobia unlike any he'd ever experienced set in quickly. Tam, you need to swallow some air he said. It's really bad down here

Aww, but that gets me all gassy and bloaty she whined.

Do it, Tam, please? We can't breathe.

Alright, alright she said. There was a series of loud bloopy noises, each accompanied by a slight lessening of the pressure all around them. When the noises stopped, there was just enough room for the mice to move around a bit, though still not much place for them to go. There, now tell your little friends to be quiet so I can take a nap.

Yeah, I'll get right on that, Gerry said. "Is everybody okay," he said, turning to the mice and speaking Squeak.

"We're jammed inside a fuggin cat," said the masculine voice above him . "Define 'okay' given that situational parameter, eh?"

"Good point" said Gerry, trying to wipe a blob of half-digested sludge off of his paw. .

---

Denise shut the door behind the last guest to leave the party, then turned around to survey the mess, her head swimming in a thick fog of gloom and red wine.

The party hadn't exactly gone according to plan. First, she spilled wine all over her boss' wife. That didn't make a good impression. And then she completely mispronounced the Deputy Senior VP's name (how was she supposed to know that "Shithead" was pronounced shy-THEED?)

And then it turned out that the VPs were all vegetarians. Or at least, the Senior VP was a vegetarian and the rest were all ass-kissers. EIther way, she was left with a damn mountain of mice and nanos and snakes that were just going to go bad.

It was an expensive mountain, too. That was almost Å300 worth of food, wasted. Well, not completely wasted - she'd been chowing down all night, despite the scornful looks from her vegetarian colleagues, and had barely made a dent. She'd either have to let the rest go or feed them, and she was not about to start feeding freaking food. She already had a pet. Where was Tamitha, anyway?

She topped off her wineglass and meandered over to the buffet table. Looking into the nano tray, she huffed loudly. About four dozen naked nanos were sitting or lying down among now-cold linguine doodles and congealing cream sauce.

"Hey, great party," laughed a dark-skinned nano with a burly goatee in the corner of the tray. "No, really. It's been a blast."

"Ah, shut it," said Denise.

"Um, if you're not going to be eating me," said a young blonde nano woman near the front of the tray, "could you please let me go? I have a brunch to do at noon tomorrow."

"Yeah, me too," said another nano, a skinny guy lying sprawled on a swirl of pasta. "If we're not eaten or returned uneaten by six tomorrow, there's a Å40 leftover charge. It's in the contract."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," said Denise,

A few hands went up from the nanos in the tray. "Really?" she said, a bit baffled.

 

"Yeah, it's really cold in here," said a shivering young nano who had wrapped some strands of linguini around her body for warmth.

"Oh, well okay then." said Denise, picking up the shivering nano. She wasn't sure how many more she could fit, given the growing discomfort she was feeling in her belly. But she'd give it her best shot, she thought as she placed the linguini-wrapped nano on her tongue. After the evening

"Oh, thank you miss," said the nano as Denise closed her mouth.

---

Tamitha's stomach had become a much more comfortable place in the hours since Gerry had first been extruded into it. Gastric gas had lulled most of the mice to sleep, and had inflated the organ so they had a bit more room to stretch out.