Zippered Flesh 2: More Tales of Body Enhancements Gone Bad (21 page)

“Good morning, Cat. You’re looking as ...
fine
as ever.” Joanne looked down her snub nose at Cat. After a half-dozen facelifts, her skin took on a sheen like that of an overstretched balloon. Botox had wiped every expression from her face, giving her the drooling visage of a plastic baby doll covered with an inch-thick layer of makeup. She droned on, her voice a nasal whine caused by her deviated septum, which no amount of surgery ever seemed to fix. “So you’re off for another lift, dear? You need to go easy on the Botox. You have that startled look you get from surgeons who don’t know what they’re doing.” She waved one manicured hand over her face. “I had my eyes and chin tucked. You can’t even see the scars. Jean-Pierre is so impressive. I’m only forty-five years old and I don’t look a day over thirty.”

“In dog years,” Cat muttered.

“What was that?” Joanne didn’t give Cat a chance to respond. “You really should give Jean-Pierre a call, but I know you can’t afford him. So you’ve had to settle, although I don’t think Jean-Pierre would approve of making anyone look like a cat. He’s above that sort of thing.”

Cat wished she could completely avoid Joanne, but the woman insisted upon mingling with her if only to chat about silicone versus saline and the emotional benefits of chin tucks. She walked away, calling over her shoulder, anything to give herself distance from the annoying woman. “It’s nice talking to you again, Joanne, but I must be off. Things to do and people to see.”

“TTFN!” Joanne waved her fingers as she teetered down the street on her five-inch heels, her superior attitude following close behind. Cat sighed as the woman wiggled her way down Central Avenue, marinating in her perfume as she walked.

“I hate the living ...” Cat groaned.

Cat preferred her dozens of felines to that peculiar species known as homo sapiens. Cats were honest. They didn’t ditch her at the last minute for dates, leaving her sipping dry white wine at a restaurant table in full, embarrassing view of everyone else in the place. Cats lived life on their own terms and they didn’t answer to anyone. They were selective about who they let into their lives, whether feline, animal, or human. They did not have ulterior motives, unlike her good-for-nothing uncle who cozied up to her before her wealthy mother died, hoping for a piece of the inheritance pie. When he didn’t get it, he left Cat alone at long last. She felt relieved but disappointed that yet another man let her down.

Frankie never let her down. When Cat felt lonely, Frankie made his way to her lap. When Cat needed a good cry, Frankie was there, purring and rubbing against her until the tears stopped falling. She returned the favor, and she was always there for her favorite kitty. When Frankie wanted a cuddle, he jumped in her lap. When he wanted his breakfast, he awakened her at 5:30 each morning with a tap of his claw on her face. She happily fed him the best cat food money could buy. When he wanted attention, he dropped books on her head or stood in front of her computer staring at her until she gave in to his demands. She spoiled her cats, especially Frankie, and they in turn gave her the love and attention she craved.

Cats were straightforward, unlike humans. They were also not judgmental. Her father and younger sister criticized her over her crowd of cats. They fussed about the smell and recoiled when one of the twenty kitties approached them. Her sister Prudence complained about allergies, although she owned a cat herself. No one, not even family, could talk Cat out of her horde of felines. Things were so bad between Cat and her family that they stopped coming around to visit. They stopped calling and they didn’t even bother to check in. Cat didn’t notice she received no birthday cards until her birthday had passed by four days.

No one human missed Cat, and she missed no one as well.

She hoarded the little beasts that were her only friends. She nuzzled them and talked to them and brushed their fur. The only reason Cat bought a Kindle reader over a Nook was because “kindle” was the term for a group of kittens.

But living in a houseful of cats had its problems.

She culled her horde of cats over the past few weeks by digging the corpses out from beneath mountains of trash, but she ran out of room in her backyard. Since she spent so much on cosmetic surgery, she ran through her inheritance quickly. Money was tight. Toward the end of the month she ran out of cash again and couldn’t afford food, although what few dollars she did have went to pay for cat food. Her pretties would not suffer starvation! Still, her stomach rumbled endlessly, leaving her with only one option. She enjoyed their dark meat, although it was a bit stringy. It was then that she noticed the change.

Her skin felt softer and more elastic. She could swear her eyesight had improved, especially her night vision. Even her hair became more lustrous, much like a lion’s mane. Her body became more limber so she could prance about her apartment like the cat she wanted to be. She was obsessed with cats. She wanted to look like one. She wanted to
be
one.

Never again would she bury her cats. No, she ate them. After all, you are what you eat.

She stopped at a storefront and looked at the televisions in the window. They were attached to a special camera that showed her face on every screen. Twelve Cats smiled back at her. Her bosom swelled with pride at her unusual look. Her almond-shaped eyes called attention to her face. Two years ago she bought special contact lenses with slitted pupils so she would look even more feline. Whenever she wore them, people’s heads turned, but she didn’t realize she bordered on the uncanny. Her catlike appearance made people feel uncomfortable, but she thought in her delusion they admired her.

They didn’t. They mocked her behind her back. Children pointed fingers slapped away by mothers who couldn’t resist gaping themselves.

Cat saw none of this. She knew she stood out in the crowd and she would have it no other way. She liked her unusual appearance, despite not liking people. She enjoyed the reactions she received but she rarely addressed anyone who showed the slightest bit of interest. The only reason she put up with Joanne was because the woman had known her before her surgeries. Cat knew she looked better than Joanne.

And now she walked into her cosmetic surgeon’s sleazy secret room in his basement, ready for her latest feline transformation. Frankie would also become a new man, so to speak.

“I’d like to keep Frankie for the day to monitor him,” the surgeon said. “Anesthesia is a tricky thing. So much can go wrong. When Frankie is fully alert and beginning to heal, he can go home.”

“Thank you, Doctor. You take such good care of us. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

The surgeon smiled his million-dollar smile, which was no exaggeration since he earned in the seven figures.

“And now you, Cat. This surgery will finalize your slanted cat’s-eye look. The cheek implants will angle your face, making it more feline.” The surgeon clapped his hands and grinned with delight. “You are truly a work of art, my masterpiece. I rarely get an opportunity to be so creative. I am indebted to you.”

Cat knew, if anything, she was indebted to him because these surgeries were not cheap, but she wanted to look like her Frankie. She’d noticed many cat owners looked like their charges, and she wanted to take that look one step further. “Do you think I need another hairline reduction to make my forehead look bigger?”

“Not at the moment, but you will need that in a month or two. And I love the color! You and Frankie have the same beautiful auburn mane.”

“It’s called Desert Sunrise and the color blend was made especially for me.” Cat beamed with pride as she ran her fingers through her shoulder-length, layered hair. The style matched Frankie’s. She liked her thick hair. The new color was so much more alluring than her original mousy brown. She knew men and women alike envied her for her lustrous hair. Her hair got as many stares as her unusual face.

“Let’s get you prepped, put under, pulled, and tucked, my dear. You and Frankie will have much to be proud of before the day is over.” The surgeon gave Cat instructions as to how he would proceed. By the time she was in his operating room, lying on his most comfortable table, she daydreamed of accepting the Grand Prize in the next Stellar Kitties Cat Show looking so much like Frankie people’s heads would turn.

The surgeon placed a mask over her face. “Count backward from 100.”

“I smell burned toast.”

“That’s different. Most people smell pizza. The anesthesia is doing its work now. Count backward from 100.”

“100 ... 99 ... 98 ... ”

Cat dozed.

“Welcome back to the world of the living, Cat,” the surgeon said. “You did very well. Frankie is also recovering. Both of you are just fine. You’re as healthy and as strong as a lion.”

“And now I can go home with Frankie?”

“Absolutely. You’re my best patients. Always recovering quickly and you’re repeat customers who pay cash, the best kind.”

Of course, the
repeat customers who pay cash
part was most important. “Thank you so much, doctor. I’ll rest a bit and head home. May I have a mirror?”

“Of course.” He handed Cat a large hand mirror. “You are stunning.”

Angry purple bruises encircled her eyes and colored her cheeks, but she knew they would fade in a day or two. Her face had swollen more than usual but, like the bruises, the swelling would diminish in time. Her surgeon was a genius with extraordinary, talented hands. She hated driving to the bad part of town and hiding in a small, dark room in his basement for her surgeries, but he was the only cosmetic surgeon in the region who was willing to perform her transformation. Her eyes angled upward even more sharply than before, enhancing her catlike and intense expression. Her cheekbones, fuller and broader, gave her the heart-shaped face she wanted so much but didn’t have until now. Her bee-stung lips smiled above her pointed chin, pleased at what she saw gazing back at her from the mirror. Her transformation into a cat was almost complete.

Cat couldn’t rush home fast enough. When she passed a butcher, her stomach rumbled. If only she had enough money to afford a steak! But no, she was broke again until next week. Her brood would bask in the light of her evolving beauty and she would treat them to their favorite Mariner’s Catch cat food. Two declawed legs marinating in a ginger-tamarind sauce awaited her. Pickings were slim but they would have to do. This one died only a day ago so it was relatively fresh. She would broil it until the skin was crisp, just the way she liked it. She worried the flea medicine she gave her cats a week ago would taint the taste of the meat, but they tasted like chicken.

Cat walked through the door to her apartment with Frankie in tow in his cat carrier. Her clowder of cats perched all about—on the couch, on the rug, out of sight on her bed, in the bathtub playing with a spider, under the kitchen table, in the sink waiting for Cat to turn on the tap so it could drink. The ones out of sight ran into the living room when they heard the door open and close. When they spotted her, their hackles rose. Bodies tensed and tails fluffed as they backed away from her.

She opened the cat carrier and Frankie sauntered out. He looked up at his mistress, recoiled, and hissed.

“Frankie, what’s wrong?” She reached out to smooth his ruffled coat, and he lashed out with one paw, slashing her wrist. She cried out in pain, cradling her hand close to her chest. Frankie moved backward slowly, body rigid and tense, and hissed again as if he saw something—or someone—unfamiliar.

That’s when Cat noticed the silence. The purring that was a constant hum around her had ceased. Twenty cats stared at her, eyes wide, as if they didn’t know what they saw. Teeth bared, they slowly approached her, in a pack, backing her into a corner.

They didn’t recognize her.

In one great big wave, they leapt upon her, yowling and hissing their distress. They protected their territory as only cats can. Claws lashed out, tearing tender skin amid shrieks of pain. Teeth tore at her flesh. The coppery tang of blood filled the air. By the time her cats had finished with her, she was even more unrecognizable than she already was.

Years of surgical perfection had been wiped away with a sweep of claws and gnashing of teeth. Frankie had gnawed off her perfect nose. New cheek implants exposed to the air beneath torn flesh. Pointed earlobes that cost $500 sported teeth marks. In the end, Cat became part of her cacophonous cats in ways she never imagined. But, unlike her cats, she had only one life.

SEEDS

BY L.L. SOARES

After Roberta Maxwell stabbed her husband, Walter, five times with an ice pick, she went about with the methodical process of wrapping him in black garbage bags, placing him in a little-used closet on the first floor that had already been prepared for him, and then cleaning up the kitchen floor and counter.

She did all this with a calm, determined demeanor. No one would be looking for Walter so soon, and she had all the time in the world, at least for tonight, to make sure things were done correctly. Once the mess Walter had left behind was cleaned, Roberta went upstairs and took a shower. She changed into clean clothes, and put the ones she had worn during the assault in another garbage bag.