The classic story of supernatural sexmagnets. (Part 1)

Chapter One: My One Night Stand is a Cat?

You and your friend Murphy stumble forcefully through the club's back door. The slow crawl of sweat and endorphines pour from your bodies and the lights and sounds dim as the doors bounce closed behind you. You release a deep sigh, unable to fade the bemused smile from your faces.

"What a night!" Murphy exclaims, her sequined tube top catching the glow of the city lights. "This place is way better than the one on Smokey Avenue. These lights are killer!"

"I guess," you smirk. "I just wish the DJ would stop thrusting in our direction."

"Girl, you know he kinda cute, though. Maybe if you shook those thunder thighs he would play one special for you."

You chuckle nervously, withholding your discomfort from view. What you wouldn't do to be lounging at home bingewatching the newest season of Orange is the New Black. You silently hope this breather is your chance to blow this popsicle stand and head home. Looking up at Murphy, your prospects look grim. She's already reaching for the door.

"What if we headed home," you peep. You managed to find the courage to protest somewhere between the idea of cheesy puffs and solitude. After all, you have danced with her all night. It's approaching 3:30am and if you don't get home soon, you'll miss the best infomercials. You see her dazzling eyes glow like the sequins on her clothes. That smirk. Nations could start wars for that smirk.

"You can go. I think I'll see if I can get that special song. Text me when you get home though."

And with that, she was gone. Ramona Murphy shines with the light of a thousand suns. You are sure by the end of the night someone will have convinced her to rope climb to the ceiling and spin like a disco ball. That, however, is an image to dream of after you smash a supersized bag of cheesy puffs. You start trudging home with purpose, trying not to linger in the dark of the twilight hour. Normally you wouldn't be caught out here in the inner city in the dark, but the drinks you had earlier had easied much of your anxiety...and survival instincts. You turn the corner of 1st and Main, when a small shadowy figure darts past you at amazing speeds, knocking a small trash can over. You jump and squeel like a small toddler. You begin to speed walk by it when you hear a soft quiet whine. It sounded so small. With every fiber of your being you wanted to keep walking but the curiosity was too overwhelming. You backtrack to the corner and hear the soft whine again. With one quick motion you slide your phone into your hand and turn the flashlight on. A little grey cat looks up at you, utterly terrified. It tries to run but it obviously was hurt. It whined loudly as it strained away. You take off your jacket, and wrap this small thing in it, trying not to get scratched or bit. Suprisingly, this small injured cat makes no attempt to fight back. You walk quickly the rest of the way home and sneak in, hoping your landlord doesn't try and foot you with a pet fee for your short term companion.

After texting Murphy goodnight, you try and feed the small thing. It was sleeping so soundly in your jacket that you decide maybe rest is best. You undress for bed and crawl into your snuggly comforter. Murphy. Disco ball. What a dream. You stir only when you feel a small fluffy body crawl under your arm and chirp. You look down at it and smile, before nodding off again. You'll check it in at the vet tomorrow.

*EHHH* *EHHH* *EHHH*Shit. You forgot to turn your alarm off for the weekend. You pick up your phone to read 7:45 am. Turning it off, you throw your head back into your pillow. Mmm breakfast... Wait why do I smell breakfast... You slowly open one eye as you process the sounds of a sizzling griddle coming from your kitchen. What do you do? It could be Murphy but if its not should you say anything? Is it a one night stand you forgot?Should you call 911? As you process these thoughts, you hear footsteps approaching hesitantly. You close your eye and pretend to sleep, heartbeat pounding against the mattress. The footsteps sound small, and after a minute you hear them recede with a quiet...chirp? How the hell did this breakfast murderer get into the house. Cereal killer? This is no time for jokes... What do you do?

With your terrified senses, you hear the sound of a plate setting down on your kitchen counter, then the window opening in your living room. After a considerable amount of time with no sound, you grab a large shirt and yank it over you. Tiptoeing to the kitchen you see a note over a still steaming breakfast. It read, "Thanks for picking me up last night. I enjoyed the ride. xoxo - Blu" . You look up to see the curtains in your living room toss in the wind. You wander to it, curiously, and see no one outside. No small feet for someone to climb down a three story apartment building that quickly.

At last, dazed, you stop to ask yourself a very important question. "What the hell was in my drinks last night?"