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Gina CatGirl 4) Lies and Fun

Cat-ette divided her time, less for the Pride, more for the nurses, some for the street. Part of Gina's deal to become a CatGirl was to advertise for BioSyn, and she had been Tween Cat, Young Teen Cat, and just Teen Cat for their Furson pics. OK, Tween Cat had been a bit young for her, but BioSyn wanted the Cat on the Street look. Young, beautiful, underage girls had always been in fashion. Sex appeal sells, that's just the way the world is.

One day when Cat-ette visited the Lair unannounced, she saw Lion lyin' around in the fur. The fifteen-year-old Kitty was interested in Lion's bulges, and he was comfurtable enough to let her watch him. She'd noticed the door to the Jags' room was closed, so they were probably jagging off again. The Cheetahs were still friendly, and Tiger was upstairs with Tigress, Leopardess was out casing the tuna factory or something. Cat-ette and Lion were, in effect, alone together.

They decided to case each other out. Gina knew about boys, and what they wanted from her, but was unsure of what Lion wanted. Turned out, Lion wanted Cat-ette. He'd been scrolling through the newsreader, saw the BioSyn ads with Cat-ette showing a bit more fur than a fifteen- year-old girl should.

It's not the same as a human girl showing skin, it's more about the way the fur's shown, no longer the cub's innocent flash but a look in the eyes, like embers smoldering, you wonder when they'll flame. Same look that's been selling cars and appliances, the 'you know you want me, I'll be yours if you just buy this' that makes young men buy big cars to compensate for ...

And women buy for the men in their lives, an unspoken promise they'll be slinky and sexy and whatever he wants. Started out in some primitive animal region of the human brain just to keep the species alive, now twisted to sell people more material goods and lets 'em pretend they're getting something lasting.

It's amazing the lies people tell themselves, tell others, let others tell them.

Fursons used to be people so their brains work the same way. Show 'em a sexy result, people forget to be cautious and sign up for whatever you offer. Fine print says it's untested surgery, you can't sue BioSyn if you don't like it, people become fursons anyway.

Lion was buying whatever Cat-ette's pictures were selling. They were already furs so what was left? Her curves, furfrizz airbrushed out, he *was* a guy and Cat-ette was lovely, desirable, and there. He showed her what she'd been missing in life, and she was scared at first, but this big powerful adult she'd learned to respect and trust was slow and careful with her, and she grabbed him by the paws and hung on for the ride.

She never regretted it, even when Leopardess came back, because furs are friendly and self-confident and not uptight. Leopardess was the olderfur that Ms. Cheetah and Tigress had come to, girl to woman, and Mr. Cheetah and Tiger had come to, a bit embarrassed, man to woman. For the good of the Pride, Leopardess had spoken honestly to everyfur, gotten eachfur to understand a bit about the others' needs, wants, and concerns.

Now Leopardess taught Cat-ette, who didn't have a boyfriend, because she knew Lion and his interests. He was fur enough to satisfy Leopardess whenever and wherever she asked, which was frequently, since they were different species and couldn't have cubs. OK, the Cheetahs and the Tigers had to be careful. Nofur knew about the Jaguars, and they seemed to want it that way. Heck, the Jags didn't have busts, but they weren't obviously males either, maybe parts were black on black pelts, covered in black fur! Confusion was part of their stealth.

Once Cat-ette learned about Lion, she found a boyfriend outside the Pride. Sure, she joined in the furpiles when the Jags weren't around, and the Jags furpiled the others when Cat-ette was out. Horace the TomCat seemed a nice enough fellow, but the Pride kept him in the dark about their activities, just let Cat-ette have some time away from him, hush hush, and he was OK with that.

It never occured to anyfur, not even the usually astute Lion, that Horace had his own secrets, his own motives for cozying up to Cat-ette. And that was going to get them all in trouble.

* * *

Harald Acteon was an eighteen-year-old mulatto who'd grown up in a lower-middle-class neighbourhood somewhere east of the Rocky Mountains in America. His life was rather mixed-up, from his black father and white mother, to his birth before their marriage was legal, to his natural-born younger sister and adopted older one.

Harald didn't make friends easily, and the guys that came to him were, to put it bluntly, juvenile delinquents who wanted him to sneak into the cop house. He thought it was just a prank, went in, and left a back door open for them. But the desk sergeant remembered him, and in the morning the cops came to the door, searched the home, and found the duffle Harald remembered one of his new friends carrying.

Now Harald was in real trouble, because they found evidence of Harald stealing guns and weed but not the bulk of the stolen goods. That made it much worse, because the charges escalated to conspiracy, and that meant other people were involved. And if Harald didn't name names and cooperated with the cops to arrest the others, he'd bear the full punishment as an adult.

Harald didn't have much choice, but he didn't want to be a 'squealer' either. The law worked it out so they showed him a bunch of pictures, crooks they'd caught before Harald came and ones of the high school students. He reacted to the pictures of a few known delinquents and the cops found some of em trying to sell guns to and undercover ATF agent, and caught others in a vice sting.

Gunrunning and drug-dealing are Federal felonies, and the property Harald had to forfeit was his name and identity. Somewhere before their trials, his 'friends' used the weed for bribes, and the guns to 'discuss' the matter. The cops in the witness safehouse had ordered pizza and let the deliveryman in, only it was a double 9-mm, hold the teflon vests. The cops died, the gunman died, Harald was shot.

The mythical Actaeon got caught peeking at a skinny-dipping goddess and turned into a stag, killed by his own hunting dogs. Harald got caught between a cop and some hard time, and the Feds got him as far as Granite Peak (the short one) in Montana before the delinquents' contacts caught up with them.

They killed the Feds and roughed Harald up. A lot. When the Feds and their witness failed to arrive, the local cops searched and found what was left. Harald Acteon needed help fast. He could get out of his own legal trouble if he described his delinquent 'friends'. He refused, saying the cops proved they couldn't protect him. Witness Protection had failed.

FBI Special Agent Maurice Branson arranged for Biological Synthetics Incorporated to do a trans-fur-mation. Harald and Maurice looked through the BSI Furson Catalog and talked with the docs; and Harald Acteon became a handsome black-and-white American Shorthair HouseCat. He got a round head, pointy ears on top, sexy short muzzle, flat nose, whiskers, fangs. Oh, and amber eyes and a nice long tail to swish behind him.

And he changed his name. Now he was Horace TomCat.