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Today I thought I’d do an excerpt from my book, Cat and Mouse, which will be releasing from Freya’s Bower on October 20!  Check it out.  This is a scene from chapter three, where the heroine, Kitty, is changing into a were-cat.  Kitty is a substandard were, unable to control her changes from human to cat and back.

Not being able to control the change has been a never-ending issue for me.  And by the change I don’t mean hot flashes and estrogen pills.  Sometimes I’ve had to flee a briefing because I was turning into a freaking cat.  At those moments, I usually used something like bad sushi as an excuse.  In this case, I didn’t use anything.  I turned on my heel and ran.

Sam would be confused. Jeanette would be mad at me. And Lisa would have a ball gossiping about this to anyone who would listen.  But I didn’t have time to come up with some clever explanation. I ran for the nearest empty room—a conference room on the same side of the hotel the reunion used.

I tried to get the dress off, but it had too many buttons.  I dropped onto the floor on my hands and knees and prayed no one had tried to follow me.

Changing didn’t exactly hurt, but it didn’t feel good either.  My skin crawled and my insides were in knots.

Teeth gritted, I fisted my hands until they became paws and pulled in my body until it became sleek and compact.  I had to fight my way out of the tangle of clothes and move away from my dress.  Now, I couldn’t leave the hotel until I changed back.

I examined my dress and realized the smooth fabric had been pulled, probably by the rough wall.  I meowed under my breath.  That dress had cost me two hundred and ten dollars, and what’s more, I’d liked it.  But then again, the pleasure in wearing it had paled in comparison to the pleasure of Sam trying to remove it.

Purring without meaning to at the memory, I stepped around the dress and headed for the open window.

The long prevailing idea that weres can’t control their behavior in their animal form is so many kinds of untrue.  Like the myth that telemarketers have a “Do Not Call” list.  It just isn’t real.  I have always been perfectly aware of my every moment in either form, and, as I might have mentioned, I’m not even a good cat.  So, imagine the control the others have.  Well, except were-wolves.  They actually couldn’t control themselves, which is why there aren’t any now.

But I was perfectly aware the whole time.  The thing is, being a cat isn’t interesting.  I can clean myself, which does hold a certain novelty, let’s be honest.  I can sleep for fourteen hours straight.

Or I can chase mice.

I personally prefer to chase mice.  I would never eat them.  That’s disgusting.  But I do like to chase them, give them a little scare, and go on about my business.  Well, and sometimes I do lick them.  I am a cat, after all.

Once I’d climbed out the window, I looked for some sign of what time it was, but it turned out to be a hopeless task.  I’d lost track of time making out with Sam like we were teenagers again.  But no teenager had ever had that smoothly muscled, hard body.  Heck, most lawyers didn’t either.  He must have had one hell of a workout routine to get a body like that.

So here I sat with no clue how long I’d be a cat this time.  I hoped it was not going to be more than an hour because if the conference room closed up before I turned human again, I would be going home naked.

I sniffed the ground but my nose didn’t work any better in cat form.  Cursed allergies.  Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a movement low to the ground behind a nearby bush.  Maybe a lizard.  Lizards weren’t quite as fun to chase as mice, but one would do in a pinch, and I did have time to kill.

I slinked under the bush and saw the little shadow run out the other side.  Ah, it was a mouse.  Imagine the luck.  If I could keep the little brat in my range for a couple of hours the time would just fly by.  That’s how I’d been killing my evenings as a cat back in D.C.

There was a clever little mouse, too clever in my opinion, and I’d been chasing the little guy for weeks.

In fact, it was so smart I started to suspect it for a shifter.  I hadn’t had the time in the last few weeks to go smelling around all my new neighbors to see if I detected mouse, but this one remained, by far, the smartest one I’d encountered.

The little mouse in front of me now was quick, but so was I.  I would have to be cautious so I wouldn’t get hit by a car.  A nice field sat to the right to the side of the hotel, and if I chased the mouse there it could be hours of fun had by all.  Or by me, anyway.

But mousey had his own rules.  I don’t know why I decided he was a boy.  Maybe because most frustrating things are male.  He headed right back for the revolving doors to the hotel.  Hissing, I took off after him.

We sped through, and the doorman backed up so fast he almost fell over.  We threaded through the feet of all the people in the lobby, and I sincerely hoped I could chase mousey out of the hotel before someone called the pound on me.  Otherwise, I would have to give up and make an exit while I still had the chance.

Mr. Mouse headed for the back of the hotel, dodging behind racks of luggage and potted plants.  I stayed right behind him.  For the most part, people didn’t notice us.  A few squealed and moved away.  Right before the casino theater I caught up with him and slapped my paw down on his long black tail.

He was black and white just like the mouse in D.C. which gave me a little thrill.  Even if I couldn’t catch that creature, at least I could catch this one.  He turned and looked at me, his little nose twitching.  He didn’t look scared.  In fact, he looked amused.  Stupid freaking mouse.

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