thick,
tawny fur was warm and soft against his bare skin, and all he was likely to do was earn himself a cuff to the
head, so he behaved himself. He’d not been taken to the upper floors yet—to him, this house was enormous,
but then everything was, built to the scale of residents whose adults were four metres high and where even
the children overtopped him. Only the fact that they didn’t seem to use chairs of any kind meant Temin could
see over the tops of tables and desks here.
Up to now, he’d been forced to sleep either in the kitchen or in a store room next to it, on an
admittedly luxurious fur covered cushion, but he’d still been far from warm or comfortable. He’d never seen
any of the private quarters, so despite his general depression at his situation, he was curious to see something
new. It turned out to be a spacious, airy room, the walls, like all those on the lower floor, intricately and
brightly decorated with images of the cat people and their world. Filtered light came through long banks of
glass bricks in the ceiling—ventilation, as downstairs, was through slits in the wall, and here, in the roof,
though the vents seemed to be closed for the moment. To one side stood a polished reddish wood desk with
the usual cushion in front of it, and a low bed that looked nearly the size of a podpod, covered with furs, with
a carved headboard that looked very old. There were a couple of furry bolsters, but no pillows, sheets or
blankets—Temin hadn’t seen cloth of any kind the whole time he’d been captive, but since the cat people
didn’t wear clothes, maybe that wasn’t surprising. They used soft leather for towels and wiping things down,
which meant there was very little Temin could steal and use as a replacement for his missing clothing.
He might find something in this male’s quarters, though. Maybe if he acted like a perfectly well-
behaved pet, this one might trust him enough to let him off the leash. The feel of it around his throat had
made him want to vomit from fear and disgust at first, and though he was getting used to it, he still hated it.
He was set down once the door was closed, though the male kept a firm paw on Temin’s leash,
talking to Temin the whole time, or at least, vocalising, much as Temin would do himself to a pet cat. The
irony that he was supposed to be reassured that the giant predator with the knife-like claws wouldn’t hurt
him, didn’t escape him. But the male wasn’t threatening him, and was in fact paying him a lot of apparently
well-meant attention.
There was a low table at the far end of the room where the male set the bowl of food, and now he
tugged Temin over to sit, apparently expecting him to wait with him while he ate. Temin’s leash was tied
securely around one of the short legs but with enough play for him to move around if he needed to. Temin
reluctantly sat on the cold floor, which meant the top of his head was about level with the table. The male
stared at him for a moment or so, then made an odd noise and stood up to fetch the cushion from in front of
the desk. Temin, shocked by this sudden consideration, was urged to stand and the cushion placed where he
could sit on it.
The relief from the stone floor was immediate—and now he was high enough to at least see what was
on the table instead of just its edge. Temin stared at the male who was vocalising at him again—maybe
asking if he liked it. Temin smiled and patted the cushion, hoping that conveyed some of his gratitude. At
least it seemed to satisfy the male who sat down on his own cushion, his long, thick-furred tail coiled neatly
around him.
A plate and knife was retrieved from a drawer under the table—a real bachelor set up if Temin had
ever seen one—and then the cooked food was doled out onto the plate. At least the male wasn’t eating raw
meat, which was about half of what the cat people ate from what Temin could tell. They’d tried to make him
eat
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