Can you hear Tigra purring?

In the beginning, the People knew the humans would never accept them.

So they went to The Lady of Cats and they asked her for a champion. A protector. Someone who would defend them in dark times.

The Lady of Cats smiled.

“But what gifts shall I give this champion?”

And The People pondered, and they went to the greatest of the Lady’s children and asked for help.

Perceptive Leopard spoke up first. “I will give this champion my senses. My sight, my nose, and my ears.

Secretive Panther, not to be undone, said, “I will give her my stealth. She will be one with the night.

Stalwart Lynx shook off the snow and said, “I will give her my stamina, so that she may chase prey as long as needed.”

Swift Cheetah also spoke. “Then I will give her my speed, so that none shall escape her.”

Clever Jaguar purred, “I will give her my cunning, for her enemies will be legion.”

Fearless Puma also answered, saying, “I will give her my tenacity. She will never give up.”

Noble Lion’s response was wise. “I will give her my majesty. She will lead The People into the future.”

And finally, Powerful Tiger, the mightiest of all of the Lady’s children, spoke. “I will give her my strength. She will stand when others fall. And I will give her my stripes, because none shall be more beautiful than she.

Shopping with Tigra was exhausting.

Bobbi staggered after the cat girl, arms laden with bags and her feet hurting in these new ‘super cute, but ya gotta break em in, Mocky’ shoes, as described by Greer.

Greer had the attention span of a toddler on pixie sticks, and she was constantly spotting something in a window and darting off--and she wasn’t shy about grabbing Bobbi’s hand or looping her tail around her waist to tug her along. And she was STRONG, which was frustrating, because she kept piling more stuff into Bobbi’s arms rather than carry packages herself.

“Why did I agree to this again?” she managed, and Greer stopped long enough to plant her hands on her curvy hips and glare.

“Hey, of the two of us, which one has an ex-husband/current longterm boyfriend? My last relationship ended when he merged with his killer robot son.” She considered for a second. “Ok, fair enough, that isn’t all that unusual in Avenger land, but it still stung.” She turned, her tail looping around Bobbi’s wrist, and began tugging her along as she continued. “Anyway, tonight is Valentine’s eve, and I gotta get you ready. It’s a mission, really. I’m kind of a hero.”

“You’re living vicariously through me.” Bobbi observed.

“That too.”

She stopped, and Bobbi almost bumped into her, almost lost all her bags. “Oh. Em. Gee. Mocky, are you seeing this?”

She did in fact see it. ‘Sizzling Seductions’ was an adult superstore, and Tigra’s catlike eyes were wide as she took in the mannequins in fetish gear, the hanging satin negligees, the sleazy layout in general. “Greer, wait, I don’t think--”

“Come ON,” said the catgirl, and suddenly Bobbi found herself immersed in wall to wall kitschy erotic chaos, being lead by the Avenger voted ‘most likely to seduce the whole team but unable to afford cab fare.’ 

How did this happen?

Meanwhile, the cat girl was muttering in her growly, raspy voice. “Oh, this. Yes yes. This. One of these. OH, they still make this? I thought it was illegal, yes yes.”

Meanwhile she was filling a plastic basket with things Bobbi wasn’t sure she wanted to remember. Bobbi was no prude, she was a decorated shield agent, but the catgirl’s tastes went a little on the extreme side.

She’d been known to tire out Starfox!

“Ok Ok, Greer, can we slow down a bit? What are you setting me up for?”

Tigra stopped and looked back at her. Then she grinned, flashing her fangs. “I love you, Bobbi. I’m giving you options, I don’t expect you to use all of this tonight.” She dodged between the bags and pulled Bobbi close, hugging her.

“Look, I’m just glad you two are mending fences. Bobbi, I could feel how much you guys loved each other, even when you were pissed. I’m an empath and I can’t really turn it off. If I wasn’t busy degenerating into an animal I’d have been a basketcase.”

“So you’re saying...”

“Clint loves you. He’s just a hothead, and a dumbass, and desperately wants to measure up to the other Avengers. And you’re smart, you have your shit together, but you’re ridiculously stubborn.”

“So this is your way of helping?” Greer’s grin had faded to a warm smile, but she flashed it again.

“Yes, now we’ll just charge this stuff to the Avengers account and be on our way.”

Bobbi glanced at the basket and felt the blood drain from her face. “Wait, is that...?”

“I told you. Options. Clint may not be ready for that yet, but you guys can work up to it!”

“I don’t think...”

A little fic for #TigraBurningBright

This is a lost scene that happened during the early issues of the original West Coast Avengers run. There are a couple of inconsistencies with the comics, but nothing too lore-breaking.

She loved Clint. She did.

But man, her new husband was long-winded!

Bobbi sighed and took the opportunity to glance around at her new teammates. She still wasn’t quite sure she believed she, Bobbi Morse, Agent of Shield, was an actual, card-carrying AVENGER now. Sure, she supposed she was kind of a shoe-in given she was sleeping with the chairman of this newly commissioned West Coast branch, and she allowed herself a small smile at the little joke, but still.

Mockingbird. Avenger. It had a nice ring to it!

They were seated at a round table in a gorgeously appointed conference room in the main building of the new compound. Everything around her bespoke money, and lots of it. She supposed that could be laid at the feet of one of her new teammates: Tony Stark, the Invincible Iron Man. He stood impassively to one side, fully armored, the bulk of his suit incompatible with the comfortable office chairs the rest of them were in. Arms crossed and faceplate down, she didn’t think she’d actually seen his face since meeting him a few hours ago when he and Tigra first arrived.

The other woman sat across from her, long, sinuous legs curled underneath her. She was lounging rather than sitting, her body molded to the chair, her head tilted back far enough that her incredibly long hair was brushing the carpeted floor. She looked incredibly bored. Bobbi had been trying not to stare, because she knew that was rude, and she’d been around plenty of strange looking people, but Greer—her name was Greer and that alone seemed exotic—was going to be on her team.

The cat girl was covered in very fine fur, so short it looked like skin unless you were up close. Orange with black stripes, it looked exactly like an actual tiger’s, but without the white belly a normal animal had. She was curled up but her tail was dangling off the edge—she had a tail and somehow that seemed ridiculously cool to Bobbi—and the tip was twitching erratically.

From her angle Bobbi could see the bottom of one of her feet—it was padded like a cat’s, light brown, and her toes were tipped with scary looking hooked claws. The scientist in her wanted to get close and poke and prod, to see how Tigra’s unique physiology worked, to examine how the claws retracted into her fingertips, how her vertically-slit pupils functioned.

She must’ve been staring because the other woman glanced her direction. Bobbi knew she was caught staring, so she offered a quick, shy smile and returned her attention to Clint, who was droning on about some Avengers regulation. When she glanced back, Tigra was still staring, a small smile playing on her full lips.

“Tigra, are you paying attention?” Clint’s voice was sharp. Bobbi knew he was anxious to be a good leader, to follow in the footsteps of Cap and Jan.

“Not really,” the other woman commented. Her voice was deep, with a slight growling inflection that came across as raspy, and she had just a touch of an accent—Chicago if Bobbi was to guess.

“This is important, Greer,” Clint sounded exasperated.

“So is keeping me entertained, boss. If I get bored, I’ll get in trouble.” She’d turned back to face him when he addressed her, but Bobbi was watching her tail as it started lashing.

“You find my wife entertaining?” Oh Clint, don’t start getting hot on your first day…

“Have you seen her? I’m wondering why we’re having a meeting and boring me when you could be feeding her wine and chocolates back at your bungalow.” Bobbi snorted, and Tigra glanced back at her and winked.

“I…you know what, you’re not wrong.” Clint grinned. “Let’s get out on the field and just do some drills together. Stretch our legs.” Tigra stood and stretched, and Bobbi stood as well.

“Now you’re speaking my language, boss,” the cat girl said

***

Bobbi was good. She knew that, had supreme confidence in her fighting skills, but they were putting her through a workout.

Wonderman was on Thor’s level in terms of strength and was, for all intents and purposes, indestructible. He was serving as their practice dummy, and she’d done several combos on him and just had sore arms for her trouble. Still, she and Tigra worked well together, and though she wouldn’t be giving the Hulk any sleepless nights, Greer was strong enough to bench press a dump truck herself, and could actually take Simon off his feet.

“Ok, I’ll hit him high, keep him distracted, you hit his legs,” she’d panted, and Tigra nodded. Up close, Bobbi’d decided Tigra was legitimately beautiful, tilted, exotic eyes, thick lashes, full lips, model cheekbones.

“You got it Mocky. He’s going down!” The cat girl grinned, and so Bobbi rushed Simon.

Wonder Man stood, hands on his hips and a smug grin on his face. “You’re spending a lot of energy here, Mockingbird. Maybe you should just concede this one. I could use a lemonade.”

“Oh, no you didn’t,” she growled, her sticks flying in a blur. It felt like hitting a pillar of concrete. He laughed…and then he made a sound that, if she were to try and describe it, would be ‘ULP’ because Greer had snuck up behind and kicked his legs out from under him.

Bobbi let out a ‘Whoop!’ and Greer slugged Simon three times in rapid succession before bouncing away. Simon rose with a roar before Clint stepped in.

“Alright, alright, good job, ladies. That’s a good lesson, no matter how tough an opponent is, teamwork can overcome—”

Simon interrupted him. “Except for the fact that her punches felt like tickles to me and it was only a matter of time before I’d catch one of them and turn them to paste.”

Bobbi inwardly rolled her eyes and gave Greer a quick high five.

“Well, someone’s butthurt he got owned,” Tigra observed.

“You were awesome,” Bobbi whispered back as Clint and Simon fell to arguing.

“Maybe, but you really impress me, Mocky. You don’t have any powers and you’re so good…”

“Lots of practice. Lots of it.” Greer was smiling, flashing her fangs. “You know, after dinner, if you want, we could meet up and practice. You’re so fast I think a little training would make you unstoppable.”

Tigra tilted her head in thought. “I like the sound of being unstoppable. Ok.”

***

She circled to her right, away from Tigra’s right side. She’d learned Greer liked to lead with it.

It’d been several weeks since she’d offered to show Greer ‘some moves,’ and she was starting to think she’d created a monster. Tigra learned quickly, and combined with her speed and strength the extra skill at hand to hand was rapidly turning her into a scary prospect to spar with.

Tigra came in an orange blur, so fast Bobbi couldn’t follow it. Rather than trying to keep up with her, she stepped sideways and used her battle staves to create a web of blurring metal. In these private sparring sessions, Greer never used her claws or fangs, but Bobbi’d learned even taking a half strength punch could shut her down for the night. Best not to get hit at all.

Greer reversed direction and Bobbi shifted again, taking a half-hearted swing at the retreating feline form but she knew, to Greer, her strikes looked like they were in slow motion. The best way to land a hit on Greer was to lure her into committing to a leap or a pounce and strike while she was in the air. So Bobbi withdrew, poking just enough to keep Greer on her toes and baiting her to leap.

Sure enough, she saw Greer gather herself, and when she leaped, Bobbi threw herself down and went to thrust up—but Greer had used her tail to arrest her momentum, and with a sickening feeling Bobbi realized, for once, Greer had baited her, and suddenly she was on her back, Tigra straddling her, and the cat girl was pinning her wrists with one hand above her head.

Her eyes were blazing, and feral, and when she lunged for Bobbi’s throat for a half second of bladder emptying panic Bobbi though she was going to actually rip her throat out. Her eyes were squeezed shut when Greer growled in her ear, “Oh em gee I got you for once!”

Relieved, Bobbi opened her eyes. Greer was nose to nose with her, her thick red hair spilling down around them both. Her eyes were twinkling with mischief.

“You did great, Tee. The tail trick was brilliant.”

Greer’s grin had faded. Suddenly, the air was thick with…something. Bobbi realized her pulse was racing, and Tigra was looking down at her with something else in her eyes. Something hungry. She was suddenly hyper aware of being pinned, helpless, the other woman’s body stretched out of hers.

And then Tigra kissed her.

It shocked her. Surprised, she responded instinctively to the feel of Greer’s soft lips on hers, opening her mouth. Tigra’s tongue was rough and ticklish, and she was purring now—a deep, rumbling vibration that seemed to shake Bobbi’s entire body. Bobbi couldn’t free her hands, Greer was too strong, but she wriggled underneath the other woman, partly to try to break the kiss because it was…wrong. Wasn’t it?

Partly to get more, to feel more.

She felt horrified. She thought of Clint.

Just as suddenly as it had started, Greer broke the kiss and jumped off her, one hand going to cover her mouth, her eyes wide.

“Bobbi, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Bobbi was trembling, her legs weak. The sudden rush of desire left her confused. “N-no, it’s ok. Greer, it’s ok, I know—”

Tigra started rambling, clearly close to panic. “I—I’m empathic. I can sense things. I could feel that you interested in me, but I mis-read it. And you’re married. I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad, it won’t happen again. Sometimes I can’t control myself, and—”

“Tee, it’s ok.” She took Tigra’s hand, pulling away from her mouth. “We’re friends. I’m not mad or offended.”

“I don’t…I don’t even know if you swing that way, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” She was smiling, trying to convince herself as well as Greer. “This is no big deal.”

There was a hug. Greer calmed down. They were ok. This was ok.

Wasn’t it?

***

Clint was drowsy next to her, satisfied with the last few minutes of lovemaking. She loved him, and she was enjoying a few minutes of well-earned afterglow.

His voice was lethargic. “So, how are those sparring sessions with Greer going?”

She thought for a long moment about that searing kiss, the feel of the other woman’s silky fur and lithe body pressed against hers. Something that would never happen again.

“We’re making progress.”

Here’s a quick excerpt for a storyline we were talking about on Twitter

“No, hey, Tigra, NO, you can’t do this.” Behind his mask, she could hear the tremor in Pete’s voice, his heartbeat racing.

“Forget it, Peter.” She was through with secret identities. Through with all the ritual surrounding being a super hero. She couldn’t get the look of surprise frozen on what was left of Tony’s face, the smell of Tony’s blood and burned flesh out of her nose. She knew that would haunt her the rest of her days. “You can’t talk me out of this. Osborn has it coming.”

Next to him, MJ was hugging herself, her beautiful eyes haunted, and she bit her lip as Peter continued trying to argue. “Look, no one has more reason to hate the guy than me. He’s been ruining my life for years, and I--”

“Tony. Is. Dead.” She whirled on him, the growl in her voice making everyone flinch. She was sounding less like a pissed off woman and more like an agitated Tiger by the minute. 

“Yeah, I know, I get it, He was my friend too, but Greer--”

Unable to stop herself, she advanced on him, aggressively enough that he took a reflexive step back and put a protective arm between MJ and herself, which only served to piss her off more. As though she would ever harm either one of them.

“Take off your mask, Peter.” She was face to face with him, eyeball to giant spider eye.

“Wh-what?”

“Take it off, I want to look you in the eye.”

Slowly, clearly reluctantly, he reached up and pulled the mask off his head. He looked tired, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, a day’s growth of stubble on his cheeks, his hair mussed.

“Now understand me. I’m going to kill Norman Osborn. For what he did to Tony. For what he did to me. For what he’s done to you. I’m going to chase him down and rip his throat out, and I’m going to look him in the eye as he dies.” She advanced another step, her claws flexed and out, her tail lashing, “Now I don’t want to, but if you get in my way, I will go through you.”

“No,” Peter licked his dry lips. “I won’t let you do this...” and then MJ laid a hand on this arm.

“Pete, I think you should step aside.”

“What?” He turned, almost shouting the word.

“She’s...she’s right, Pete. That man has made our lives a living hell. For years.”

“We don’t...” Peter paused searching for words.

“Alright that’s enough.” Captain America strode in, pulling his own mask off as he did. Tall and imposing, he filled the little conference room with his presence. Larger than life, the legendary super soldier. She whirled on Cap, her love and respect for him tempering some of her rage. She could feel the grief coming off of him. Clint as well, because Hawkeye and Mockingbird were entering on his heels, Clint angry, Bobbi subdued.

“Stay out of this, Steve,” she warned.

“We both know I can’t do that, Greer. Osborn is going down for this, I give you my word, but we’re Avengers--”

She cut him off, practically spitting, “And we don’t kill, I know, I’ve heard it before.”

Clint piped up. “Cmon, Greer, we’re all pissed, we’re all hurting.” He put his head down, and for a second it was all she could do to not run and give them a hug. Pull them all into a hug and purr the sadness out of them.

But Tony, lying in the middle of his office, Pepper screaming, her own arm and the left side of her body burned and covered with shards of glass, Tony’s look of surprise. A bomb. It all rushed into her head and she felt the familiar, comfortable fury rushing in again. She could cry later.

Now she wanted blood.

Steve carefully placed both hands on the conference table, steepling his fingers. “We’re the Avengers, Greer. We don’t kill. You know that.”

“Not anymore.” Coldly, she fished her Avengers card out of her top and very deliberately placed it on the table.

Clint interjected, “Aww, no, Greer, no. Don’t do this.”

“When’s the last time I was even an Avenger? You guys don’t seem to want me anyway.” She was stalking around the table when Cap stepped between her and the door.

“No. Tigra, think this through. You’re about to do something that can’t be undone. Don’t do this.”

“Steve, please stand aside, unless you’re placing me under arrest.” She swallowed, but she was proud of never wavering.

Steve looked tired. He ran a hand over his face, and then he stepped out of her way.

Bobbi’s Avengers card landed next to hers.

“I’m going with her. I’m not really an Avenger anymore either. Tony was my friend, and I was an Agent of Shield. We do what’s gotta be done.”

Here’s a little Tigra fic for #TigraBurningBright Wednesdays!

Sometimes I run.

At night, after everyone else is asleep. I can hear them through the walls, my hearing both blessing and curse.

Steve, his heartbeat slow and steady, breathing even, even his sleep the ‘pinnacle of human perfection.’ I imagine him, beautifully sculpted body stretched out, chest rising and falling with clockwork regularity.

Bobbi and Clint, her head nestled in the crook of his arm, bodies naked and close for the shared warmth, his fingertips resting in her hair mid stroke, where they were when he dropped off to slumber, her hand draped possessively over his stomach, their legs twined together. Peaceful together during sleep in a way they never are while awake.

When he’s there, staying at the compound, Tony in the comfy old easy chair in his workshop, a glass of melting ice, drained of whiskey, in his hand or on the small table next to him. He’s snoring, eyes darting under his eyelids in fitful sleep. He never rests easily, his demons too noisy for that.

I can hear every shift, every breath, every whisper. I love them. They’re my friends. They’re heroes. They’re family.

I just wish I was one of them.

I try not to think about it as I exit an upper floor window, letting the near freezing air wash over me. My short, dense, silky fur insulates me, and my senses come truly alive as the scents of the forested hills around the compound hit me. Deep within me, pacing her cage, the Huntress lifts her head, ears perking forward, and she stills, knowing what’s coming.

Balance is the key to my dual existence. For them, for my family, I have to play the role of Tigra: flirty, funny, sexy, occasionally silly Tigra. Sometimes my temper flares and they’re reminded I’m not just a wise cracking sex kitten, but for the most part, they know who I am. They even think they know what I am.

In a blink I’m off, leaping the length of a football field and landing on the lower branches of an old oak tree with no more sound than a swooping owl, and then I’m on the ground, springing through the old forest, body leaning into the sheer physicality of running, of hunting, and I know, even though I can’t see them myself, a feral glint is in my eyes as I let the Huntress out of her cage, let her do what she does best, what she desires most. For the first few minutes I’m a sleek shadow darting gracefully through the brush, taking to the trees, leaping and running and just exulting in being Tigra. The forest is a dark, lush miasma of scents and sounds, as alive and awake to me as a shopping mall on Black Friday would be to Jan.

The compound is in the distance and I’ve covered several miles before I come to a stop at the crest of a hill. It’s a clear night, and cold, my breath steaming in the silver moonlight. I stand, running a hand idly through my thick, red hair. I can scent deer on the wind, and the Huntress roars in approval. Even I grin a little, flashing fangs behind my full lips. It’s a small herd, six I think, and the trail is relatively fresh, no more than an hour old. In an instant I’m off, following their movement and adjusting my angle of approach to be downwind of them. Their senses of smell aren’t as good as mine, but no sense in giving them unnecessary warning. In point of fact, I’m not even consciously thinking of it, the Huntress does this naturally, instinctively.

The air is just cold enough to sting my lungs, and the scent of my prey is like a siren song, calling to the Huntress. I spy the small herd as I land in the upper branches of a birch tree, dropping so silently they’re clueless to my presence

I was right, there are 6 of them. A young buck and an older buck, a doe, three yearlings—though I get the sense, given the air of a standoff, the older buck may not be welcome.

He’s a scarred old gent and I know at a glance he’s seen many winters like this. Smart, lucky, canny, but starting to slow, to get desperate. The strapping young buck he’s facing is far too powerful for him, but my sense is he’s probably not been able to breed in a long time. I respect him, admire him, but the Huntress licks her chops and I know. He’s my prey tonight.

I’m 60 paces out and I know I could make it in a single spring, make the kill instantly with none of them ever recognizing my presence before the deed is done, but I’m not just seeking meat tonight. The Huntress needs to stretch, she needs blood, but most of all, she needs to chase.

I roar.

It’s not my loudest, it’s actually pretty tame, but it’s a sound that stretches back to the dawn of time. It echoes across the hills, and every prey animal for miles is reminded what it was like to be in the darkness when the great cats of old prowled. The effect is like a bomb going off, and the little herd scatters in every direction, the young following the doe, the two bucks springing away from each other, their ardor cooled by the threat of death.

I leave the younger buck. He’s strong and healthy, he’ll breed this winter, and for several more. I’m here for blood, but unlike a human trophy hunter, not bragging rights. I’m fast enough I could run down and kill the entire herd. No, I follow the old buck, and the Huntress approves. The weak, the sick, it’s our duty to cull them, to keep the herds strong. He’s still a powerful warrior, and my ears catch the cacophony of his crashing through the brush, his heavy tread thudding down, and I follow, little more than a shadow to him. He knows he’s being chased, but I’m too quiet, too high up.

The Huntress is enjoying this, and I love it as well, the focus, the goal, the simplicity of everything. I don’t need to think about Greer and her mess of a life, or wonder if I’m good enough to be an Avenger. This is survival. Kill or be killed. The Law of the Jungle. And I am TIGRA, the top of the food chain.

He’s slowing, his sides heaving, and his breath steaming in great gusts. The end is coming, and he knows it. He stunk of fear at first, but that’s bled away. He accepts it, and like any warrior, he turns to fight, lowering his head, and brandishing his magnificent antlers—an array of sharp points pointed my direction. I drop in front of him, my heart pounding more from exhilaration than exhaustion, into a crouch. My tail is lashing in excitement. The snow is crunchy and cold on the pads of my feet, and the only sound is his panting.

Maybe a signal passes between us, I’m not sure, but he charges. We both know it’s his last. I lightly spring over his lowered head, claws digging into his hide for purchase, and then, like my namesake, I bite down, fangs penetrating and as soon as I crunch into his vertebrae, I yank my head. With a clean snap, it breaks, and suddenly he’s stumbling down, dead before he hits the ground.

Silence falls around us.

The Huntress is satisfied.

I throw my head back and ROAR! A roar of victory, a roar as old as time itself, and all around me I can hear the prey animals breathing a sigh of relief—they know I’ve killed and I won’t be killing any more tonight.

I don’t know what my fellow Avengers would think. Bobbi’s never seen this side of me. Would it offend Steve’s sensibilities? I can’t answer that and as I bend down to my kill, tearing it open, the Huntress hungry for meat, for the choicest parts of the kill, I crouch in the moonlight, in the bloody snow, stripping flesh from the deer and filling my belly.  

The Huntress is satiated. I’M satiated, because as much as I try to keep that side of myself separate, when I’m being honest with myself, She is a part of me. A part I have to learn to accept.

I sigh and spring to a low hanging branch to get out of the snow. Lazily, I lick the blood off my fur, cleaning myself. It’s sticky but it tastes good, and inside, the Huntress is ready for a nap.

The trip back is slower. I have time to think, and I don’t necessarily like everything in my head.

I slip inside the mansion and can tell people are awake. I’m not surprised when I find Cap in the kitchen. He’s in his PT outfit: black windbreaker type pants, a long sleeved grey shirt with ARMY printed across the chest (his chest fills that out deliciously) and a reflective belt.

“Hey Greer,” he says, flashing dimples.

“Hiya Cap!” I answer back, giving him what he expects, my Tigra voice.

“Just now getting in? Must’ve been a wild night,” he says, conversationally. I flash a grin at him.

“Yeah, you know me, party girl.”

He laughs, and I imagine running my tongue over his abs.

The Huntress enjoys more than just blood.

Steve goes to run and I hear other members of the Avengers stirring. Bobbi is awake, so I steal silently into the quarters she shares with Clint, who is still snoring.

She jumps when I crawl under the blanket with her, and she hisses, “Dammit, Tee, you’re freezing.”

“No, I’m warm, but my fur is cold from being outside.” She grumbles, but pulls me close anyway.

“You’re lucky you’re so soft and that you warm up quickly.”

I bury my face into the nape of her neck and start purring.

I don’t think she catches it when I answer.

Tigra by Tim Seeley