William stared out the window of the cab. His older brother Roger had a very nice house, but it wasn't a pleasant sight.
It was their father's old manor, a huge white affair complete with pillars and a perfectly manicured lawn. William had always hated it. When he was young, he had once tried to pull up the grass. Not only did he get tired and incredibly dirty, his father had beaten him for it.
Roger had taken it over when their father died, and William had moved in with their sister Carol- until today, that is.
William sighed and paid the cabby, pulling his single suitcase out of the back seat with him. He trudged up the walkway lined with elegantly trimmed hedges and rang the doorbell.
++++++
Roger was still on the phone with Carol when he heard the front bell ring.
"Dammit, Carol!" he swore into the phone as he straightened his collar. "He's here already?!"
"I told you," his sister answered. " Lewis doesn't want him in the house."
"Tell Lewis he's an ass. William's a person, not a disease." Roger yelled to the house at large. "Somebody get the door!" He pulled a tie on. "You could have stood up to him for once, Carol. William is your brother, too."
" Roger..."
The bell rang again.
"What the fuck, people! Is it too much trouble to get the door?! It's a goddamned good thing I'm on the portable." Roger started down the hall towards the door, his red tie hanging loose and undone still.
"You need more help, Roger."
"I know that, Carol," he snapped. "I was on my way out to the auction to get some when you had this 'disaster'."
An auction? Roger, tell me you're not-"
"Kathryn wants a Feline. We need a maid. I kill two birds with one stone. I'm coming!" Roger yelled at the doorbell. "But I suppose Lewis wouldn't understand that, what with his being a damned conservative ass."
"Roger! Lewis is my husband!" \par \tab " He's still an ass." Roger finally reached the door and threw it open. "Hi, William."
"Roger." The boy stooped and picked up his suitcase again. "What took?"
"The help disappeared. Listen, William, I was on my way out. You can just head up and claim one of the guest rooms. Your old room is a walk-in closet now. Sorry."
"I wasn't too attached to it anyways."
"Roger," Carol started in Roger's ear. "Tell William I'm sorry, but...."
"I don't think William wants to hear it," Roger guessed. The boy had started up the stairs when he heard his sister's voice over the phone, one hand holding his suitcase and the other holding up his middle finger.
"Carol," her older brother said. " I've got to go. I'm late." And he punched the power button before she could reply. "William!" he called. "I'm leaving now! I don't know when I'll be back, but find Lisbeth and tell her if you get hungry before I'm home." Roger heard a mumbled reply, grabbed his coat, and was out the door.
++++++
Roger preferred to drive himself places whenever possible, so he arrived alone at the auction house. His friend Zach found him immediately.
"Hey Rog! Fashionably late?"
"Family crisis," Roger said, hitting the automatic lock button on his keychain. "How'd you find me so fast?"
"Roger, you are the only person who parks in the VIP section that drives a Saturn," Zach said, affectionately patting Cecelia's dark purple hood. Roger glanced around. BMWs, Ferraris, a very nice old-fashioned Rolls Royce, and a couple limousines where parked in the garage near his scratched purple Saturn.
"Yeah, well, they're missing out," Roger answered. "Cecelia's a doll. Best gas mileage I ever got."
"So what was the family crisis this time?" Zach asked as they started walking.
"Carol's conservative ass of a husband kicked William out of the house."
"You need a better insult for him than ' conservative ass'. That one's getting old. What for?"
"Apparently William likes boys."
"Oooh." Zach shrugged. "I didn't know that there were people who still cared about that."
"Well, there are still people who think that the earth is flat."
"Really? Wow. You'd think that with all the medical miracles- cloning and gene splicing and such- that we could've bred stupidity out of the human race by now."
"No such luck." Roger paused. "Where the hell are we going, Zach?"
"Around the back. The stockyards, if you will. I got us passes." And he grinned.
Zachariah Cassidy was Roger's friend from college, and one of the few people he actually enjoyed talking to. He knew a lot of people; he had to. The great-grandson of the famous Senator Scott Wellesly wasn't allowed to be a social nobody. Roger Wellesly III was a born socialite, and had politician and lawyer blood running in his veins from both sides of the family. Zach often said that this made him one of the least trust-worthy people in the world, but that didn't stop them from becoming friends in a particularly dull Statistics course their sophomore year.
" How the hell do you know this place so well?" Roger asked as Zach led him through a maze of corridors.
"You forget," Zach said happily. "I'm in horse-racing, too. I'm here for the horse auctions all the time. Got my Feline's here, too. Sweetest little things. Well, Georgette is. Luanne hates me. Thinks I'm not serious enough."
"I wonder why," Roger muttered.
"Here we are!"
The corridor had opened up into a large central area where employees where leading animals to and from different sections. Zach started leading Roger towards a section labeled "Felines" , but got distracted by a leggy grey colt. As Zach cooed over the Thoroughbred horse, Roger wandered over to the Felines area.
The housing had been converted from horse stabling, so it was mostly wooden wit h heavy iron fixtures. But each stall now had a raised couch and a lamp instead of a manger and water bucket, and the floor was carpeted normally instead of with straw. Roger peaked inside one.
Inside on the couch slept a Feline female, looking remarkably human except for her cat-like ears and her orange striped tail. She was, literally, a cat-girl. \par Roger started as there was a sudden strange noise to his side. It wasn't a quiet place, with all the people talking and animals neighing or mooing or stomping around, but this was odd. Like a cat's myewl of rage. He turned.
Two men were restraining a struggling boy while another tried to calm a red-faced buyer.
"He scratched me!" the red-faced man cried.
"He insulted me!" the boy screamed as he tried to get at the man again. "I can handle being sold like a stupid horse, but I will not be insulted like one!"
Roger heard a soft sigh in his ear. It was the tabby cat-girl who had been sleeping.
"What is it?" he asked her.
"This happens sometimes," she said softly. "With the unruly ones like Boy. They don't ignore things and this happens. If this wasn't the day of the auction, he'd be punished."
Roger looked back. One of the men had the boy by a leash, holding him close. The tags on his collar glistened in the light.
"Oh," Roger said dumbly. He hadn't noticed the boy was a Feline. His ears were very dark and blended into his hair, the way he had them laid back, and his tail lashed angrily behind him.
" Jesus, Roger, I turn around for a second..." Zach said as he came up. "Oh, a troublemaker?"
"It's nothing, sir," one of the workers said to them. "Just a kitten getting over-excited, is all. The auction's about to start, sirs. If you're bidding, you should go around to the ring."
"Ooh, let's go, Rog!" Zach said as he grabbed his arm. "I want that grey colt!"
"Do you really need another horse, Zach?" Roger sighed as he let himself be pulled along.
"What? He was good-looking yearling." Zach led him up to the VIP booths, getting them access as a politician's son and a racehorse o wner. Sure, it was throwing their weight around, but Roger had grown up that way, and Zach was fast getting used to it. Besides, he was a regular here.
"I normally skip the first parts," Zach said as they sat down. "Since I've got the girls, I don't need any Canines or Felines. I just come for the horses at the end."
"Who needs drugs when you're a rabid racehorse buyer?" Roger teased.
"Rog, are you sure you don't want a Canine?" Zach asked him as the first Feline was led into the central ring. "They're a lot more docile and easier to train than Felines. You know, the whole cat-dog thing. "
"Kathryn wants a Feline."
"Whatever for?"
" She likes cats," Roger shrugged. " And we need a maid. So here I am."
" If you're sure..." Zach said.
Roger ran a hand through his untidy blond hair. "This is bizarre. They look so much like people..."
"They ARE people, in their own way."
"What?!"
"Don't look at me like that, Rog. It's hardly a progressive thought. Besides, you'll see. They talk and have personalities and everything." He looked at his program. "This third one looks good. 'Adult calico female, mixed Persian blood, maid experience, cleans, sews..."
Roger was still stunned by the whole experience, and lost the calico to a matronly woman a few rows down. After that, there were few Felines that would be any good for him.
"Are there always this many males?" Roger asked. "I don't think Kathryn wants a tomcat in the house..."
"Don't be stupid, Rog. These are intelligent creatures. The toms don't spray. At least, I don't think they do..."
"You are no help at all."
"Look, you're the one who's being picky. There are six left, Roger. You have to get one of them or you go home empty-handed."
Roger sighed. "I still feel weird. You said they were people."
" They are. Just like cats are people."
" I should've expected this, from the guy that baby-talks his racehorses..."
" SOLD!" the auctioneer suddenly cried, and the tabby girl Roger had spoken with was led out of the ring.
"Dammit, Rog. That was the last one with any listed maid experience. You'll have to train yours now." Zach shook his head.
"Oh, shut up." Roger sat with his arms folded over his chest. He let the next Feline, a pretty little grey tiger, pass without a word.
The next one, fourth to the last, was the black-eared boy he had seen in the back. He entered with a hiss at his handler.
"Hey, it's the troublemaker," Zach said as he watched the boy turn in place. "Hmmm... All it says about this one is 'Adolescent black male.' That doesn't tell us anything."
"And here's a surprise edition to the lists today," the auctioneer began. "A pure-blooded Bombay male, still young. His training's barely begun, so he'll need an experienced hand- Whoa!" The boy wrenched his leash out of the handler's grip and retreated across the ring. "He's got a lot of spirit!"
"And pride," Roger muttered.
"Is that what you call it?" someone called from the sidelines. It was the red-faced man. "He's an ill-tempered little brat, with no respect. Free with his claws, too."
"Why's he doing that, Zach? He'll ruin the poor thing's chances!"
"That's the point," Zach said. " Noone will buy a bad-tempered animal. By ruining his chances at getting bought, the kitten gets sold at an embarrassingly low price. And if he's really a pure-blood, all they need him for is breeding anyways, so they make their money back a hundredfold in the first year. Although he looks a little young for that..."
"I heard a one hundred..." The auctioneer called.
"The fur off his ears is worth more than a hundred," Zach scoffed. "A pure-blood, no matter what breed, is worth at least a thousand, even half-trained and bad-tempered."
"One thousand!" Roger heard himself yell as Zach spoke.
"What are you doing, Roger?!"
"What happens if he isn't bought by a breeder, Zach? Take a look at that man and tell me he'll treat him good."
There was a pause while the audience digested the sudden jump in price. The handler had gotten hold of the leash again and held the boy by his shirt collar. The boy's ears were back, but he merely looked on sullenly.
"He'll kill him first chance he gets, Roger,"Zach said softly, looking at the man. "And most of the others who bid would ship him off to a retrainer. Which is even worse."
"One thousand to the man with his tie undone!" the auctioneer called. "Are there any others? Sold to the gentleman with the red tie!"
"So," Zach said. "What are you going to tell Kathryn?" Roger buried his head in his hands.
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