http://www.asstr.org/~srb
Don't read if under 18 or illegal in your little corner of the world, like you'll listen. This 
should appear only on my site http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/srb/www/ F3, Futanari 
Palace, and at the Grey Archive, and some other places they might end up, they know 
who they are. Any websites that want to host my story must have expressed written 
consent to do so. I will list all websites that I have granted permission to list my stories 
there. If you are reading this now and find this on a new website, then please email me at 
somerandombastard (at) yahoo (dot) com

This is copyright me, so don't call it yours. Feedback can be left here. I created all the 
characters, they are all fictional, and any relevance to anyone living or dead, is incidental. 

This chapter doesn't have sex yet, but has a neko and her owner


The View From a Cat's Eye
Chapter 3,
The View From the Mistress's Eye



I still don't know what to think about that cat of mine. Perhaps I should say catgirl, or 
nekomimi, whatever that means. My son Brian calls her that on occasion. He enjoys that 
anime probably a bit too much. He's tried to get me to watch it but I can't stand the 
voices, or the animation. It's all so strange for me. But it's been tough for him, growing 
up without a father, so I let him enjoy what he likes. 

His father, or as I sometimes like to call him the worthless bastard, left me ten years ago. 
My son was four, and his father abandoned him. At least he found some comfort in the 
arms of his whore. The only pleasure I got from my divorce was that I kept the house, 
and my son. That, and of course less than two years later she divorced him too, and I 
imagine now he's living in a rat hole apartment covering child support and two alimony 
payments. And probably with another whore.

Still, I've done the best for my child and myself. And now my cat too, I suppose. These 
days I work at a laboratory. Oh no, I'm not a doctor, or a nurse, or anything that 
important. In fact before that I was doing a secretarial job at a temp agency, bouncing 
from place to place just looking for something to do. When I saw the ad in the paper I 
gave them my resume. They paid for me to take some night classes, mostly about 
containing biological dangers, which was essentially don't touch, leave, and call your 
supervisor, so he can burn it to death. That and math, pages and pages of endless math 
work.

So as of two years ago, I was hired as a laboratory assistant. It's not much of a job, and I 
don't exactly love it. But it pays well, it's nearby, and I get four weeks of vacation. And 
despite my 401K taking a dip this year, I am managing to save up for retirement, and a 
little college nest egg for Brian. And paying plenty trying to keep my cat hidden.

Speak of the devil, there she is, walking into my bedroom without as much as a knock. 
Bast, named after the Egyptian goddess of cats, it seemed an appropriate name to give 
her. She does seem to walk around the place like she owns it, my room included. But I 
don't mind her body curled up at my feet at night. Really she's the only one who has 
shared my bed in about a decade. I don't date much…

I can't really complain, and if you'll pardon the pun, I've made my bed, so I should sleep 
in it. Still I can't help but wonder why I did adopt her in the first place. Well, perhaps 
save is a better term.

At my first week at the laboratory I was mostly being trained by a coworker, Richard. But 
on Friday morning I was given my very first assignment. I expected I'd be giving rhesus 
monkeys injections to try to cure AIDS, or putting makeup on bunnies, or just doing the 
clean up work for a doctor, something like that.

No, my first job was to kill a kitten by lethal injection. Not quite the occupation I had 
envisioned. I'm not, well I guess I am a bit of a softie. I don't like watching gory horror 
movies, or seeing animals die. I'm not some PETA freak by any means, if a few monkeys 
had to die to mean the difference between curing HIV and not, it was worth it in my eyes.

But then I saw this kitten. And I don't mean a six month old cat. This cat must have been 
two weeks, at the oldest. She could fit into the palm of my hand. She was only half 
covered in black fur and had a strange look to her. Her feet and paws were like a normal 
cat, covered in black with the occasional white stripe. But the legs connected to her bald 
human-like body. Her face was an odd combination. It was mostly feline but had spots of 
humanity there as well, especially in the cheeks and forehead. There was no doubt 
though. She had whiskers, a cat nose and ears, and fangs in a feline mouth for certain. 
The meowing, the tail, the short black tufts of hair covering her body, she was for all 
purposes a cat. Or at least that's what I thought.

So I took her. Well, it wasn't that easy, of course. I gave her a sedative, but I was scared 
to death I gave her too much. I didn't know the right amount to give her so I had to 
estimate. And then she just dropped down, her heart barely beating, her little lungs hardly 
pumping air. Then I put her in my purse and put my seat rest in the incinerator, to replace 
the mass. I had to create a list of false numbers, times and weights, stuff like that, but I 
was able to get by on the report. Thanks to a little help from Richard my information all 
looked correct. I still don't know how they didn't have some kind of camera on me.

At lunchtime, which couldn't come quick enough, I took my purse and went to go outside 
for lunch. I nearly wet myself as I saw the guard standing there. A tall and powerful older 
African American stood at the shack with a wide grin, waiting for me. I wanted to turn 
back, but my boss was right there, urging me to hurry up. Where did I have to go? I put 
my purse down on the waist level counter that ran between the guard and the metal 
detector, sure that I would lose my job.

"Afternoon ma'am," he said, pulling my purse through to the other side of the detector, 
"Got any metal?"

"Uh, uh, my cell," I said, dropping it onto the basket before stepping through the metal 
detector.

"Just looks like some change. All set, have a good lunch," he said, tipping his hat. I could 
hear him say as I walked briskly away, "Afternoon sir."

I didn't know for some days later that Joe was always like that with the women, letting us 
go through and hassling most of the men. If I had tried the front exit, I'd probably have 
dealt with the overzealous teenage kid they have there, who would have dug through my 
change purse looking for anything. 

I put my purse down in my car, leaving the window open slightly. I was scared to death 
that my car would be stolen, or my purse, or that someone would find out. But that wasn't 
going to be the case. Everything was just as I left it when I returned at four thirty.

First thing I did was drive about five miles away. I remember I kept checking behind me, 
to see if I was being trailed. I've read in so many spy books that if you keep changing 
lanes over and over again you can elude having someone trail you. I know it's silly, but I 
was scared. As soon as I got to a McDonald's parking lot, I opened up my purse, relieved 
as the little thing began to meow groggily at me, purring at my touch. It broke my heart to 
push her little head back in the purse, but I still didn't want to be seen. 

I was scared, but I felt a giddy little thrill driving home. I had gotten away with it. I don't 
know if I was just lucky or if they were just completely incompetent or what, but I got 
away with it. I managed to get a cigarette off of some teenage kid and sucked it down 
with my adrenaline rush. How I was going to explain it to Brian was a new question.

I brought the McDonald's food in, distracting my son for just a few minutes. But I 
couldn't stifle the mewling from my purse. Brian's eyes lit up when I set her free. He had 
wanted a pet forever, but I didn't think it was right to keep an animal locked up all day, 
and outdoor animals have a much shorter lifespan. 

Still, once we got her settled in, the biggest issue became keeping her hidden inside the 
house. It wasn't that I was simply afraid about work. I mean, it's not like I worked for the 
government, or some all-powerful super conglomerate like in some bad science fiction 
movie. Unless they could prove it, it was my cat. Even if they could, what would they 
do? Break the law and come in my house to kill my kitty? There's nothing wrong with 
having a cat. But it did looked strange, and I didn't want my neighbors to comment on it. 
Keeping a cat out of a window is like keeping a baby from crying. It's near impossible.

At first, she was just like a normal kitten. She meowed, got into some trouble, wanted to 
be pet all the time, and generally was adorable, even with the bare midrift. If anything it 
made her even cuter, because she had such a soft underbelly between the patches of fur. 
She looked almost human, but there was nothing especially strange about her at first.

Except that she grew fast. Far too fast. After three months she was the size of a toddler. 
Not a normal cat, but the size of a human toddler. At first I just thought it was a big cat. 
But she kept growing.

I couldn't ignore the look on her face either. With every day it seemed to become more 
and more human, while the rest of her body stayed specifically feline. In fact she 
appeared to be like a child, or to be more accurate, like a child approximate to the age of 
her body. She was about the size of four year old, and had the same appearance. Except 
for the thin whiskers, the small nose, the ears, the furry tufts of black around the back of 
her face, and of course the big eyes.

It was then that she scared me shitless. She spoke! Now it doesn't seem like much to me, 
but at the time it was unbelievable. A talking cat! And it was no mere parlor trick, I 
assure you. She was actually saying a real, honest to god word.

Brian was the first person to get used to it. He was only twelve, and thought it was cool. I 
didn't explain everything to him about Bast, not that I knew everything. I'm sure he 
figured out that things weren't quite normal with the cat long beforehand.

Of course, it didn't help that the only word she spoke for a month was "food". In fact, the 
cat would scream and shout food morning noon and night. I can't tell you how many 
times she woke me up to tell me "food". Finally I had it one night, and decided to put her 
in her plastic cat transport. Of course by then I needed one to serve the largest dog 
possible. That's when she started saying other words. Well, one other word.

Mom. At first she called me mom, after all that's what Brian calls me, and he was the 
only other person she had ever seen. It eased my heart to hear her say that. I told you I'm 
a bit of a softie. I tried to explain to her that I wasn't her mom, but I did my best to avoid 
the details about her family. It was late at night, but Brian who was still awake and had 
come down to see who I was talking to, explained I was her master. When I corrected her 
that master is a man and I would be her mistress, well, she took to the word. Especially 
exaggerating the 's', making it sound more like 'misssstresss'. At first I thought it was 
just a funny joke, something to laugh off. I'm not some kind of bondage enthusiast. But 
as time went by it's become my name. I sometimes wonder if mom would have been 
better.

Teaching her how to talk became a small obsession of mine. I wanted to see how far this 
could possibly go. Would she learn as a parrot did, a vocabulary of about a hundred and 
fifty words? Would it be like a normal cat, understanding a few hundred, but in her 
special case actually able to speak them? Or would she develop a near human mastery of 
the language? 

It would up being somewhere in between. It was the middle of summer vacation, and my 
boy had the break off. During that first summer we had her, my son spent most of his 
time with her trying to teach her to speak while I was at work. Unfortunately, my son 
isn't a grammar teacher. And English isn't his strong suit, math is actually, he gets about 
a C in his literature courses, and that's thanks mostly to his reading skills. Most of what 
she learned to speak was from television. And let's just say that my son doesn't exactly 
watch TLC and the Discovery Channel all day. In fact I'd be happy if he were simply 
watching Disney cartoons. When I came home and my cat was speaking broken 
Japanese, I took matters into my own hands.

I downloaded some learning to speak videos off of some torrent website. I was scared 
back then, hell, I'm still scared now to have things look too obvious and actually 
purchase them. At times it was trying, especially when she wanted something she 
couldn't say, but even more so than teaching my children it was an enjoyable experience. 
And by the end of the summer my cat could speak the English language decently. 

That was the least of my problems. You see, this year I tried putting Brian in camp, even 
though he doesn't like it. I'm still concerned about Bast. I love my boy, but he's that age 
where he's noticing women, and Bast is…well, cat or not, she's a female. With large 
breasts and a round behind, and she doesn't seem to be too concerned about modesty. As 
I said, her legs and arms are tail are all catlike, and her face partly feline, but 
downstairs…she's all human. 

And near the end of that summer, she started to go into heat. My thirteen year old son 
stuck in a house all day with a catgirl who looked like she was about his age, who was in 
heat, and had no moral quandaries about running around naked all day. In fact I had to 
force her to wear clothes about that time. And she kept conveniently forgetting, 
especially when she was in heat, especially when it was hot. I couldn't help but look, 
heck I couldn't blame my son for being curious.

What were my options? Let my son and my cat find out about sexuality together? I 
simply can't be around all day to keep an eye on the two of them. That's when I gave my 
cat an, ahem, marital aid, and had to…show her how to use it. It wasn't my proudest 
moment, but it worked, and solved that problem. I even removed the adult blocking 
software from my son's computer. Well, I'm sure he got around it somehow, looking at 
all those strange terms. But he's not the coolest kid at school, and there's nothing wrong 
with exploring one's body. I just would like it if he would have a girl doing it for 
him…well, maybe not that far. He IS only fourteen. But I can wish for my son to have a 
girlfriend.

"Misstress…can I have s'more turkey?" Bast asks lazily, rubbing against my feet. When 
a cat is small it's cute, but this little klutz just knocked my foot off the bed. Bet she did it 
on purpose too.

"You had at least a pound of turkey, and the drumstick. I think that's more than enough 
for today," At times she's like a daughter, other times like an impudent child, most of the 
time she's an indignant but energetic cat, and still other times she's like my best friend. 

"Oh poop. And I'm still hungry. Wanna watch some you tubes?" she asks, so playful 
tonight. 

"Okay," I'm just reading something on my laptop anyway. I can load up Firefox and 
check out some new ones. It only takes me a second to get Youtube up, and even less to 
find the videos…that's funny, Brian must be playing some MMO tonight. Usually he's 
downloading enough to make the speed worse than dial up. 

"I don't like the lawl cats," she pouts. It's my homepage. I know I'm a dork. I thought 
she of anyone would find it amusing. "I don't want cheeseburgers. I want chicken, and 
turkey, and haddock."

"I know, I know, but there's a couple of new ones…never mind, I'll look at them later. 
Here we go." It never amazes me how much she likes these videos. In her own way it's 
almost like an outlet for her to see other animals. I don't know how well she'd take to any 
other pets, and I don't know if I should try. She's too big for another cat, and I'd be afraid 
she'd try to eat fish, or a bird. And I don't see her getting along too well with a dog.

Oh, she's fallen asleep again. I better set her back at the foot of the bed. Even though 
she's tall, and full of lean muscle, she's surprisingly light. It takes a lot of effort, but I can 
move her down from the head of the bed to the foot, and even do it without waking her. 
Or waking her enough to move or stop me.

I think I'll call it a night too, just one more day until the weekend. Just have to shut the 
computer off. I'll leave the fan on tonight. It feels like it's ninety, even in my little 
nightie. I don't think Bast will mind if I go a little saucy tonight. She's probably going to 
wake up in a half hour to check her food dish again. 

"Night my cute widdle goddess," I say, petting under her chin as she purrs in her sleep. 



(This file was created by SomeRandomBastard (at) yahoo (dot) com, so send all flames 
there. Don't use without permission, and don't claim it's yours. You are allowed to send 
this file to others via email. However posting this story, or any portion therein without 
expressed consent of the author is prohibited. This includes on BBS/Forums, websites, 
torrents, peer2peer and any other kind of file transmission. I check my email daily, so if 
you want to post the story you are able to ask and get a response easily.)

A critique, comments, flames, any responses are welcome, if they are pro, and then I'll 
consider making more. Don't be a jerk; send me a simple 2-minute or less message 
saying, hey, this was good. Thanks. Wow, so hard.
http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/srb/www/