The first thing Catherine Dahlgreen did when she walked in the door was kick off her shoes. Friday evening at last! The slim brunette wasn't usually a clock-watcher, but today her boss had been more talkative than usual - was it necessary to tell the same story to everyone who walked into the store? If only they sold earplugs! But the perils of Gabby Greg were only a distant Monday threat. If it looked to be another uneventful weekend, well there was a mercy in peace and quiet.

Of course, most of her weekends were a little too peaceful these days. Almost all of Catherine's friends were married and it seemed to be a rule that married people only hung out with other couples. Maybe she just needed to get out more and let herself go wild again. After all, twenty-six wasn't too old for that.

Catherine dropped onto the couch and ran her fingers through shoulder-length black hair. She started to reach for the remote, then thought better of it. Her grey eyes closed as she leaned back and began rubbing her bare feet across the carpet. After another day of having her feet encased in unfeeling leather the stimulation was so refreshing.

Her stomach reminded her that lunch had been hours ago. She started to get up, then noticed the battered plush mouse in the center of the coffee table. It watched her with wide black eyes.

"How about it, Mousie?" she asked. "Ready for a wiiiiild weekend? Or are you getting too old for that?"

Mousie was starting to look worn, but then she'd had him since... since - oh, for a long time. Catherine had gotten him... sometime. She frowned. A present? Something twitched in her mind when she tried to remember. There was a vague impression of a cat, but she'd never had one. She was allergic to cats. It wasn't important, though.

At six o'clock she was trying to decide what to have for dinner. Pizza delivery was winning out over leftover macaroni and cheese when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"The cat wants to get out." It was a man's voice, one she didn't recognize. "Can you let her out?"

Everything felt suddenly distant, except for the phone in her hands and the stranger's voice. "I can let her out," Catherine heard herself say. The conscious part of her mind seemed to be falling away.

"Let the cat out," said the voice. "Catherine is packing her bags for a vacation at six-thirty and the cat needs to get out."

"Six-thirty", Catherine repeated. She hung up, then went into the kitchen. Inside one cabinet were two large plastic dishes, items she didn't usually notice. Each was red, with large letters on the side reading PUSSY KAT. She filled one with water and then placed both near the refrigerator.

Still in a trance, Catherine walked into her bedroom. On the top shelf of the closet was a plain red box. She placed this on the bed, then removed her blouse and slacks without ceremony. Her plain white bra unfastened easily to expose sweetly rounded breasts, the tips of which turned ever-so-slightly upwards. Last to go were a pair of white panties, which slid below a neatly-trimmed landing strip and over the curve of her thigh. They clung for a moment to one shapely knee, then plummeted to her feet.

From the box she removed a pair of white stockings, a garter belt with attached furry tail, a pair of fake cat ears and a red collar with a bell. Catherine's clothes went into the box, which was then put back on the shelf. Part of the woman would stay with them, to sleep until her vacation was over.

Without thought, she sat on the bed and began to dress - garter belt first, then stockings. Something inside began to stir as her hands moved slowly, sensuously, up her legs. The black ears followed; a sudden urge sent both hands to her breasts. A little moan - almost a purr - escaped her lips as she filled her hands and squeezed. Her eyes seemed to brighten and she reached eagerly for the collar. By the time it was fastened around her neck, "Catherine" was no longer in the room.

Pussy Kat awoke on the bed and stretched. It had a been a delicious nap, but now it was time to do something else. She decided to investigate the house again. Some of the rooms might have changed - or perhaps she might find something new to play with!

After assuring herself that the everything in the bedroom was exactly as it should be, Pussy Kat marched proudly on all fours into the living room and surveyed her realm with a queenly eye. Something caught her eye and she froze.

Mouse! Her unsuspecting prey sat on the table, facing away from her. Pussy Kat crept forward slowly, taking care to prevent her bell from jingling. There was no noise to alert the defenseless rodent. When she was only a few feet away, Pussy Kat paused.

The mouse was still unaware of her presence. Pussy Kat went into a crouch; her elegant rear began to shake as she prepared to pounce. The sudden leap struck true, one graceful paw pinning the rodent. Her swift attack had left the mouse paralyzed with fright - for was she not a fearsome predator?

Scooping up her prey in both paws, Pussy Kat rolled onto her back and gave her new plaything a friendly nibble before pushing it away. She swatted at it again, but the mouse retreated with a funny rolling motion under the couch. Chasing it seemed too much trouble, so she curled up on the floor instead.

Some time later there was a noise at the door. She opened one eye, ready to look fierce if need be. Man came in.

"Hi, Pussy Kat!" He dropped an overnight bag near the door.

Man was tall and had dark hair. It was his job to look after Pussy Kat's needs, but he had a distressing habit of not realizing what these were. She ignored the keys he was jingling in her direction but decided to give him a little attention.

"Mrrow!" That was enough. She placed her chin back on her paws and watched out of the corner of her eye as he picked up a pair of grocery bags sitting just outside the door. Those attracted her interest - there might be food or toys in them.

Man carried the bags into the kitchen and she followed. He began to remove things and put them away instead of giving them to her. Some of them looked like food. This called for a serious response.

"Mrrt!" Pussy Kat began rubbing against Man's leg, purring as she did so. He chuckled and petted her head.

"You hungry, girl? Well, don't worry - we're having fillet of flounder for dinner."

Fish? She rose up on her hind legs and rubbed her bare chest against him. Man couldn't resist that - more fish for her! Just to be sure, she nuzzled his crotch.

"Someone's, whoa!... affectionate this evening. Does that mean you missed me?" Man scratched her behind the ears, grinning as she arched her back and pressed harder against him.

Pussy Kat felt Man push back harder against her, too. No - it was just part of him.

"Oh, boy - have I missed you," said Man. He sighed. "But I need to start cooking if either of us wants to eat anytime soon. So - shoo, kitty!" He tapped her nose with one finger.

She blinked in surprise, then scurried with a jingle back into the living room. From long experience she knew that Man wouldn't give her anything while he was cooking - not even one tiny piece of food. Still, it took every ounce of her willpower to stay away when she could both hear and smell her approaching dinner. Pussy Kat licked her lips and waited as patiently as she could.

When Man finally turned off the stove, Pussy Kat was lurking in the kitchen doorway. He grinned and held up two red bowls. She knew what that meant and immediately rushed over, almost tripping him as he put the dishes in their usual place. Her water had been replaced by milk; the other bowl held fish, which Man had torn into small pieces. She began to eat happily. The little bell on her collar jingled as it swung freely beneath her, in counterpoise to her twitching tail.