Cat And Mouse: The Last Of The Gambolis free porn video

Cat and Mouse: The Last of the Gambolis By Bluto "Well, that was quite a day's work," Mick Montana said to himself, as he entered his lower Manhattan office. Mick had spent the day as the newest member of the New Jersey Nets' Power N' Motion Dance Team and had attended a practice and a promotion at a local radio station. The girls were a hit at the station as they posed provocatively for publicity photographs and Mick had to deal with the unwanted attentions of the afternoon DJ. "That dude had arms like an octopus," Mick thought, as he sat at his desk to read a copy of The Daily News he had bought hours ago. The wife of one of the owners of the Nets suspected her husband was having an affair with one of the dance girls, but the members of the team were closely knit and wouldn't rat out the guilty girl to other detectives she had hired, so she decided to find someone who could infiltrate their ranks and get inside information. Mick was her man, so to speak. He had joined the corps the previous week as a replacement for one of the members who had left to get married. After a few days practice on his dance moves, Mick, now known as Mary Mistriano, was slowly working his way into the girls' confidence. He hoped this job didn't take too long, however, because sooner or later he was going to run out of excuses for not joining the 'other' girls in the shower. Mick found some interesting reading in today's Daily News. So interesting, in fact, that he hadn't bothered to change from his orange and black dance outfit with the skimpy top and short skirt. "Good thing I'm in shape," he thought. "All the Power N' Motion outfits are midriff bearing monsters." He quickly forgot the revealing gear he wore and sat with his feet up on his desk reading intently. NEW JERSEY MOBSTER'S HOUSE SITE OF MASS MURDER - Saddlebrook, NJ - In what's being called the biggest mob killing since the St. Valentine's Day Massacre, at least 20 known hoodlums have been slaughtered at the home of recently crowned Gamboli Family head, Salvatore Gamboli. It has been determined that Salvatore himself, along with all senior members of the family, are among the dead. "This is unprecedented," said Cole Dulmage, head of the FBI's Organized Crime unit. "This will mean the end of the Gamboli Family as a viable force in organized crime." Forensics experts' report that none of the victims died of gunshot wounds and some of them seemed virtually ripped to pieces. The bodies showed some signs of decay as authorities estimate the killings took place at least three days before the bodies were found. A local paperboy noticed papers piling up on the front porch and called the police. Neighbors reported that the numerous cars parked in the house's driveway had not been moved for days. As far as who might have carried out the killings, local police said they had ideas but few concrete facts. "All we know for sure is it was a multiple homicide," said police spokesperson, Vera Thomas. "We feel it must have been a power grab of some sort and are currently trying to determine what criminal organization kills in this way." One neighbor, who preferred to remain anonymous, said there had been unusual activity at the home over the past few days. "I swear I saw someone leaving the house on the night of the full moon," he said. "But the police don't want to believe me because the person I saw looked like some kind of a werewolf, with fur and a tail and everything." "Hey, Mousey, what's up?" Mick threw the paper into the air and nearly fell off his chair in surprise. "Cat, damn it!" he gasped. "Don't sneak up on me like that." "Sorry, Hon," Cat said, as she sat on the edge of the desk. "Can I help it if we felines are sneaky? By the way, nice panties." Mick quickly closed his knees together and tucked his little skirt under him. "I'm working undercover," he said. "It's a job, you know." "Funny how every time you go undercover you wind up wearing a skirt," Cat said, in a teasing voice. "But, why not? You're cute enough to carry it off." "And what's that you're wearing?" Mick said. "My God, it looks like one of Salvatore Gamboli's $3,000 Italian suits." "Right the first time, Baby," Cat said, as she stood up. "Let me style it for you." The suit was a double-breasted gray pin stripe. She was also wearing an Egyptian cotton broadleaf white shirt and an understated gray and pink silk tie. She wore some black, size 14 men's Bass Weejuns on her big feet and a gray fedora, along with Ray-Ban sunglasses. With her hair tucked into the hat and the dark glasses hiding her strange eyes she could pass...as an unusually attractive, large breasted woman dressed in men's clothing. "Well, if you're trying to pass as a man you don't quite make it," Mick said, with a raised eyebrow. "And you'd be the one to know, right?" Cat said playfully. "No, Sweets, I'll leave the cross-dressing to you. I just needed something to wear and this was the only thing that fit." Mick tossed her the article he'd just read. "Looks like you made the papers," he said. "Something told me those poor saps wouldn't be able to kill you." Cat studied the paper and grimaced. "I do NOT look like a werewolf," she sniffed. "Yeah, they couldn't kill me, but that doesn't mean they didn't try." "Still, did you have to kill them all?" he said. "Some of those people were related to Nicky Greao, my best friend. I'm sure he's going to want me to attend his uncle's funeral and that's going to make me feel real awkward." "Sorry, Mickey, I couldn't prevent it," Cat said, with genuine contrition. "I've tried to fight the command to kill, but the longer I resist the worst the killing when I finally lose control. At times like that I think I'm about 95 percent demon and 5 percent human. Normally it's a 50-50 proposition." "Hmm, that might explain why you have such a different personality from Katherine Filin," Mick said. "Right now you're an equal mix of human and demon and neither one has complete control. It's kind of like when Peter Parker became Spiderman in the comics. Parker is normally a quiet nerd, but when he puts on the Spidersuit he becomes a real wiseass." "Wait a minute," Cat said indignantly. "I may have been a brain but I was never a nerd." "By the way, why don't you speak when the demon takes over completely?" Mick asked. "Because by that time I'm almost all animal, leo krugeri, the African lion," Cat said. "I can't speak because I have no voice box. Yet I know exactly what's going on around me." For the first time since they'd met, Mick began to feel sympathy for Cat. "I'm probably going to regret this, but would you like to come home with me?" he asked. "We can have a few drinks and you can fill me in on what's happened since I last saw you and maybe decide what your next move should be." "Oh, are you asking me out?" Cat gushed. "You know I don't usually put out on a first date but for you I might make an exception." "CAT!" "Okay, okay," she said. "Sheesh, no sense of humor. Yes, of course, I'd like to go with you. Where else am I going to go?" So Mick, wearing a topcoat to cover his cheerleader outfit and Cat, styling the hell out of her fancy men's duds, took the uptown subway to Mick's apartment in the Columbia University area. Mick had left his car at home because he didn't want to chance being seen in it while in disguise. They made an odd couple, even for Manhattan, traveling together as what appeared to be a cute, tiny girl and a very large woman in an elegant man's business suit, but the other passengers adhered to the code of the subway: NEVER INTERFERE OR MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH ANOTHER PASSENGER. Mick lived in a four-story apartment building only a few blocks from the subway in a decent, middle-class neighborhood. His own apartment was on the top floor and it was fairly large for one person. It even had two bedrooms. His detective work was steady now, but Mick still couldn't have afforded the rent -- if Dad didn't own the building. "Nice digs," Cat said, as they entered his apartment. Mick had forgotten about his pet cat, Caesar, a fat tabby who considered himself the real owner of the building. Caesar took one look at Cat, hissed, emptied his bladder and exploded out the door before they could close it. "Oops," Cat said, looking down the stairs. "I think you lost your pussy." "He'll probably go to Mrs. Andrette's apartment on the first floor," Mick said, as he wiped up the cat urine. "That's where he goes when he's scared by a thunderstorm." As Cat nosed around the apartment, she pulled an enormous cigar out of her suit coat pocket. "Mind if I smoke?" she asked. "It's an Ashton #1. A catalogue in Salvatore's house said they cost $20 each." "Well, I'd rather you didn't," he said. "Thanks," she said, and lit the cigar anyway. "Where's the drinks?" Mick mumbled something under his breath and went to open all the windows. As Mick fussed about, Cat ran across an interesting scrapbook on his worktable. It was labeled: "Katherine Filin" and it contained copies of newspaper and magazine articles and internet printouts about her career. One page had a copy of a formal photo the editors of Archeology Today magazine had commissioned for an earlier article but was used for a memorial issue that was printed after her presumed death. Cat studied the photo closely. It showed a slim black woman in her mid-fifties, with a mini-Afro beginning to fill with gray hair. She was a plain, but intelligent-looking woman, with a serious expression on her face. She wore a sensible, dark colored, semi-formal dress and one could sense she would rather be out digging for lost treasures of history than sitting there for the camera. "I thought I'd look up some information on your human self," Mick said, as he put his cleaning materials away. "Tell me if I got this right: Born September 7, 1948, graduated from the University of Kentucky, advanced degree from Harvard, studied at Oxford, tenured professor at DePaul University, never married, no children, mother dead, father a retired mailman living in Louisville, KY, lots of awards and commendations, church member, a pillar of the community." "I don't blame you for not believing this is me," Cat said, gazing at her portrait. "Hell, I have a hard time believing it myself. Did your research tell you I used to take part in lunch counter sit-ins in the 60s? I've been a member of the NAACP for 40 years, for Christ's sake. And now, under this damn fur, my skin is as white as Casper. No wonder I talk like a nutcase. I'm weirder than Michael Jackson." Mick wasn't sure how to respond to Cat's statement. He agreed wholeheartedly with it, but he was too polite to hurt Cat's feelings. So he continued to play the genial host. "Okay, I have a small selection to chose from, here," he said, as he checked out the living room mini-bar. "There's 101 proof Wild Turkey, some generic vodka, a Chilean red wine or I do have some beer in the fridge." "I'll have the bourbon, straight," Cat said. "And don't be stingy with it." Mick took out a whisky tumbler and filled it almost to the top with the potent brown liquid. For himself he poured some Chilean red into an elegant wineglass. Mick wasn't much of a drinker and the alcohol was mainly around for guests and clients. He handed Cat the whisky and she promptly drained half the glass in one gulp. By the time he went to the bathroom to remove his cheerleader outfit and put on a robe, Cat's glass was empty and she was impatiently waiting for a refill. "Take it easy, girl," he said, as he poured her another stiff one. "I hope you aren't trying to get drunk, because I don't think I could handle you drunk." "You couldn't handle me sober, Sweetie," she said. "But don't worry, little mousy, I can't get drunk. All I'll get is a little buzz, no matter how much I drink. La Cosa Nostra shot me up with enough heroin to kill a dozen men and all it did was help me relax while they were torturing me." "Care to tell me what happened after they carted you out of Antonio Gamboli's house?" Mick said, as he sat down in a comfortable old chair. "I promise not to throw up after hearing the gory details." "I thought you'd never ask." "As you may recall, the goombas tossed me into a van and sped off. They took me to a place that must have been pretty far away, because it took at least two hours to get there and it seemed to be out in the boondocks somewhere. I found out later that this was what the Gambolis called their 'slaughter house,' a place they took their worst enemies to be killed in nasty ways. It also doubled as the family funeral home, so this was the place they had taken all my previous victims. They still had me gagged and tied up from head to foot. I kind of wondered if I could break out of the ropes, but I decided not to try." "To see if they could kill you," Mick said. "Yeah, I thought I'd give them the chance," she said. "Anyhow, they stood me up in an open room inside a spacious building on the property. It seemed like they were waiting for someone and guess who it was? Antonio Gamboli himself, in a wheelchair. "The decrepit old Don wanted to see for himself who had killed so many members of his family. He had his stooges wheel him close and he started asking me questions: Who was I? Who was I working for? Why was I killing his people? Etc., etc. "They'd removed my gag so I could answer the old fart's questions and I said 'No reason, I just like doing things like that.' Then I bent over and licked his old wrinkled face with my long, file-like tongue. Oh, his eyes got wide as a couple of canolies. 'Kill this bitch', he croaked, 'kill her right now.'" "So they wheeled him out of the way and about a half dozen of them with assault rifles started blasting me. After a while I blacked out and they probably thought I was dead. When I woke up I was still in the same room and Salvatore and his Dad were telling each other what a good job they did killing me. So I opened my eyes, cleared my throat, and hopped to my feet. The old man keeled over and gave up the ghost. The surprise was a little too much for his evil old heart to stand. "Salvatore went into a real hissy fit and told his boys to get the bats. They ran out of the room and a minute later they came back, each one of them wielding a Louisville Slugger, like they were extras on "Casino" and I was Joe Pesci. They must have taken batting practice on me for 30 minutes. I think they broke every bone in my body." Mick had to wince at what he was hearing. "Did it hurt?" he asked. "Of course it hurt," Cat said, as she drained her glass and held it up for more. "I can't be killed but I can still feel pain. Not as a human would feel pain, but what they did to me was still very painful. "When they were finished playing with their bats they wrapped about a ton of metal chains around me and used a forklift to dump me into a pool of about 10 feet of dirty water. As you might guess, I was pretty out of it by that time and I only later figured out I stayed submerged for a week. "That must have been about the time Salvatore was installed as new head of the family," Mick said. "There wasn't much about it in the papers or on TV, but Nicky Greao told me about the ceremony. I wasn't invited." "I bet they said the old man died of natural causes," Cat said with a snort. "I'm about as unnatural a cause of death as you can get." "Anyhow, they finally hauled me out of the pool and were going to fit me with some concrete galoshes for a proper mob burial in the East River. They laid me on the floor and took off the chains and just about that time I woke up again. I shot a geyser of water out of my lungs, turned to the nearest thug and asked if I was too late to see the Oprah show? Well they hollered and screamed and hopped around like they'd seen the devil herself, which, taking their viewpoint in mind, I guess they had. "So the Wise Guys were really getting pissed off and a bunch of them grabbed me and took me into a large dorm-type room. They tied me to a bed with my legs chained apart and a big young buck named Tony Bass informed me that I was going to be fucked to death. Seems they'd never done that to anyone before but they were more than willing to make me the first. I felt flattered. "'But first we got something to loosen yous up a bit'," Tony said and he stuck a hypodermic in my arm and emptied the contents. I got kind of a warm feeling all over and felt really relaxed. "That's enough horse to kill three men, bitch," Tony Bass said. "I hope you don't croak before me and the boys have some fun." "So they all formed a daisy chain and took turns fucking me, with Tony Bass first in the line. They must have kept it up for three days, which I bet is some kind of record. I think they hired men off the street to fuck me, probably drove busloads of them up from the Bowery. All the while they kept injecting more heroine into me. To think, after my prim and proper upbringing I was being filled with drugs and sex!" "What did you think about all that?" Mick asked, starting to feel strangely warm himself. "Compared to being shot or beaten with baseball bats, it wasn't bad," she said. "Oh, they tried their best, but you know a lioness doesn't really want sex unless she's in season. They were a little annoying, that's all. "By the end of the third day most of the thugs were too pooped to pop. They were so tired none of them wanted to take another turn. Some of the boys resorted to sticking huge dildos and other blunt objects in me, which I don't think was fair. Tony was the only one still gung-ho enough to use his own dick and even he was getting frustrated." "God damn it! What do I gotta do to make yous beg fer moicy?" he asked me, as he pulled his dick out of his trousers for the umpteenth time. "Grow a bigger dick, son," I told him. "A male African lion's penis is three feet long and the male and female can mate for days. You boys are strictly amateur time." "Tony boy had his male pride hurt and flew into a rage. "Argh," he screamed. "I'm trying to torture you and you're giving me a lesson in anthropology?" Tony walked to the head of the bed, pulled out a pistol and stuck it in my ear. "Okay, bitch," he said, "I'm going to stick my 'little' 10 inch dick in your mouth and you are going to suck me off. Then you are going to swallow every bit of come. And if you try anything funny you are going to get a bullet in the ear. Cabish?" "Oh, the folly of man," Cat said with a grin. "He stuck his little dick in my mouth and I gave him his blow job. Would you believe it was the first blow job I've ever given a man? I hardly knew what to do, so I just followed what I'd read in some trashy novels. I licked the shaft and the head and the balls until he was nice and hard and then I started sucking away, gently at first, then harder and more insistent. My arms were still chained to my sides so Tony boy had to do all the moving, but he did a good job. "I felt his dick expand and he started moaning so I knew the moment was neigh. He shot a decent sized load into my mouth and it was surprisingly pleasant to the taste. Tony was having such a good time he kept saying 'Oh, yeah, Oh, yeah.' Unfortunately for him, he kept his dick in my mouth just a moment too long." At that, Mick looked at Cat with horror. "No, you didn't!" he said. "Yes I did," she said as she grinned and licked her sharp teeth with her tongue. "I had some nice Italian sausage for dinner. Well, heck, they hadn't fed me all the time I was there and I had to eat something. "Poor Tony was so shocked he didn't even think to shoot me," she continued. "He just lay on the floor holding his bloody groin and screaming like he'd just given birth." "Wait a minute," Mick said indignantly. "You keep telling me it's only when the demon takes over that you become a man eater. How do you explain what you did?" "Yes, silly, and I also told you even at best I'm only 50% Katherine and 50% demon and I wasn't at my best at the time," she said with a little pout. "Can I help it if Tony Bass pissed Malato-Zu off? And besides, I was hungry." "Well, let me know if you get that hungry around me, okay?" he said. "I'm half Italian on my father's side and I've grown rather fond of my 'sausage.'" "Oh, I bet you'd make a dandy snack," she said, as she smacked her lips. Mick just glared at her. "I keed, I keed, only joking," she said. "Now, where did I leave off? Oh yes: "They carted the wounded Mr. Bass off to the hospital, threw me into a handy coffin and nailed it shut. I figured they were going to bury me alive, which wouldn't do them much good because I'd already gotten out of that fix before. They used the forklift to move my coffin to a conveyer belt of some sort, which took me to my final destination. I heard one of the thugs say 'fire it up' and it started getting hot, really hot. I thought I'd died and gone to hell, because it was getting so hot, then I realized -- this is a funeral home, they're cremating me! I confess, I panicked. I wanted to die, but self-immolation is not my thing. I don't see how those Buddhist monks in Vietnam back in the 60s did it. I was being broiled alive and I felt every bit of it. In fact, long after a normal person would have been dead, my natural resilience kept me alive and in pain. I'm sure the mafiosi outside the furnace enjoyed hearing my screams. "Finally, mercifully, everything went black. I don't know how long I was out, but it must have been for a couple weeks or more because when I awoke it was night and the full moon was up. I was covered with dirt so I thought I was in a shallow grave. Then I realized I was in a damn flower garden and someone was using my ashes for fertilizer. Very funny. "I was in the back yard of a house I was unfamiliar with. I stuck to the bushes to get my bearings and soon found out I was at the palatial mansion of Salvatore Gamboli himself. Not only that, there was a big pow-wow going on among all the remaining big-wigs of the family. There was a line of expensive cars in the driveway and well-armed thugs patrolling the grounds to make sure no uninvited feds crashed the party. This information I overheard, by the way, from two of the goons on guard. I killed them quietly and planted them in the garden to replace me as food for the plants. I mean, fair is fair. "I made my way into the house and decided to work my way from bottom to top. I went to the basement and found two guys gathering a few bottles of Dom Perignon from the wine rack. I killed them with out spilling a drop of wine and decided to do the old circuit breaker trick. "How well I remember," Mick said. "The old ones are the good ones," Cat said. "This time I decided to stay in the basement and pick off anyone who came down to turn on the lights. Those morons sent three different men into my spider's nest and I bumped them all off. But I got tired of that little game and turned the electricity on myself. I skipped up the stairs and caught two more goons in the kitchen. After dispatching them I dashed all over the first floor, turning lights back off. Then I went upstairs where the actual meeting was taking place. Salvatore was speaking. "The important thing, gentlemen," he said, "is that that thing that was murdering us is dead and buried in my garden. We've been hurt, yeah, but we're still standing. We need to start right now and rebuild this organization even better than before." "There were 10 men in the room and they all applauded, so I figured this would be a good time to make my entrance. Salvatore was the first one to see me and he almost swallowed his cigar. He started to tremble and pointed to me. I gave him a toothy grin. What happened next is pretty disgusting. The demon was in complete control and she did her usual thing. "I finally came to myself the next morning. I don't think I need to tell you what condition that room was in, all I can say is I was covered with blood and feeling very full. I had found out from my reconnaissance the night before that the house was filled with mobsters only. No wives, girlfriends, children or civilians. And the meetings were supposed to go on for at least another day so no one was going to miss these guys for a while. So, I had the house to myself and I decided to take advantage of the situation. First, I took a bubble bath, something I hadn't done in more than a year. It took hours to dry out all this fur, but it was worth the bother. Then I took a leisurely tour of the house. I found this suit in Salvatore's bedroom closet. There were some women's clothes in the house, but nothing that would fit me. The shoes I got off a goon who must have been close to 7' tall. It's hell on a woman with big feet. "I enjoyed a few bottles of fine wine and found these cigars as well. Then that night I took a Cadillac from the driveway and left. I found your card in Salvatore's room and decided to give you a visit and here I am!" "What did you do with the Caddy?" Mick asked. "Gave it to some homeless people I'd lived with before," Cat said. "Now they can joyride until they run out of gas." "So, what are you going to do now?" Mick asked. "I feel like I have two choices: I can hire an ocean going ship, sail to the deepest part of the sea, attach myself to an anchor and have it dropped in," she said. "That would at least assure I didn't kill anyone else for a while. Or, I could live with you and see if you can help keep me out of trouble." "WHAT!" Mick yelled. "Impossible, there's no way I'd let you live with me. I'd be afraid for my life." "I wouldn't hurt you, Mickey, I promise," she said, with an imploring look. "I don't want to have to spend the rest of my life at the bottom of the sea. Something tells me you could help keep me under control. Don't you like me?" "Sure, I like you," he said, "the way you are now. But I've seen how you are under the full moon and that's not a pretty sight. I know you can't control yourself at that time and that's just the problem. Malato-Zu knows I'm a man and she hates men." "Actually, Malato-Zu doesn't consider you a real man," Cat said. "She told me that herself. She thinks you make too good looking a woman to kill." Mick wasn't sure what to make of this backhanded compliment. Truth to tell, he found Cat very attractive. He liked big women and Cat was as big as they came. And he liked anime and Cat looked like something a demented Japanese artist would draw. Dangerous as she was, he did like the idea of having her around. Perhaps the two of them working together could find a solution to her problem. "Okay, Cat, here's what I'll do," he said. "You can stay here tonight. Tomorrow, I'll set you up in an empty apartment on the second floor. I act as the super and rental agent for my dad so it won't be a problem. Except the apartment rents for $2,000 a month. You got that kind of dough?" Cat chuckled and reached in her pants pocket and pulled out a truly impressive wad of $100 bills. "Got these from the late, lamented Salvatore's house," she said. "He had sacks full of the stuff laying around. I figured if his money was good enough for you, it was good enough for me." Cat gave Mick enough money for six months rent and he filled out a contract in the name of Katherine Filin. "I'll show you your apartment in the morning, Cat," Mick said. "Right now I need to go to bed. You can sleep on the couch, it pulls out to a full-size bed. I'm sorry I don't have any nightclothes that would fit you. We'll have to go shopping for you tomorrow." "I'm not sleepy, Mousey," she said. "I've been knocked out for most of the past month. Mind if I watch some TV?" "Help yourself," he said. "Don't play it too loud, please. And Cat?" "Yeah?" "If Caesar comes back through the pet door during the night, don't eat him." "Don't worry, Sweetie, I'll treat him like my little brother." *** Mick had a hard time falling asleep. He had to tell Cat to turn down the television twice before he finally dozed off. His mind was troubled. He remembered what Cat looked like on Antonio Gamboli's sofa, blissfully nude. Covered with fur or not, he'd never seen such a wonderful sight: those tits, those legs, that tight ass, that tail. Well, he could do without the tail, but he loved the rest, including her huge anime-type eyes. But then another image filled his mind, one of a giant, bloody, snarling thing, killing and eating men as if life meant nothing to it. Mick had to admit even that aspect of Cat was attractive to him in its own extreme way, but he wanted nothing to do with such a monster. Suddenly, Mick heard an explosion and the floor shook and rumbled like there had been an earthquake, something he didn't think was possible in bedrock Manhattan. He pulled on a robe and opened his bedroom door to see what was going on. To his astonishment, the walls and ceiling of his apartment were gone and his room was exposed to the outdoors. He smelled a familiar gamy odor, only 10 times stronger than he'd ever smelled it before. He thought he'd better get to a safer location and tried for the door, but he fell. He'd tripped over something pink and rather turgid and heard what sounded like a loud purr. He realized he'd tripped over a giant nipple! He looked up and there was the demonic Cat. Only she was at least 100 feet tall. Her huge breasts rested on what was left of his apartment like a woman getting a mammogram and she was staring at him. "Ca-Ca-Cat, what's happened?" he stammered. "It isn't the full moon yet. And you never told me about a transformation like this." The giant never said a word, but Mick continued to hear the deep, purring noise coming from her throat. Then, without warning, she reached out and grabbed Mick by the legs, lifting him up close to her immense head. With her other paw-like hand she removed his robe, then she sniffed at his crotch and shook her head in disapproval. "Cat, I can't help it that I'm a man," Mick gasped, the blood rushing to his head. "You, you said that didn't matter." The cyclopean lion-woman smiled, showing off her six foot long fangs and other huge sharp teeth. She stuck out her gigantic tongue and licked Mick from head to toe. It felt like his skin was being sanded off. "Cat, why are you doing this?" Mick asked, fearing the worse. "I thought you liked me, I thought I was safe with you." With that, Cat threw Mick straight into the air. He must have traveled 200 feet up, screaming and flapping his limbs all the way. Then gravity started to pull him back to the earth and he looked down and he also knew he'd never hit the ground. All he could see was a huge, hungry mouth waiting for him to enter, never to escape. "She's going to swallow me alive," Mick thought. "My only hope is that I die from suffocation before I go into her stomach for slow digestion." He fell closer and closer to the black maw and could smell the hot, feted breath from what would be his final resting place. He closed his eyes and screamed. And then he woke up. "Oh God, what a nightmare," he said out loud, as he sat up in his bed. It was then that he noticed two large, glowing eyes staring at him. "Did you know you talk in your sleep?" "Aiiieeee!" Mick yelled as he shot straight out of the bed and almost hit the ceiling. "CAT, WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY BEDROOM?" "Well, I turned off the TV and heard you screaming bloody murder in here," she said. "I just came in to see how you were doing." "Get out, get out, get out, get out," he said frantically. "I'll see you in the morning!" "Sheesh, what a grouch," Cat said, as she sashayed out of the room, swinging her little tail to and fro. "How can you yell at such a beautiful babe like me?" Mick slammed the bedroom door after her, locked it and barred it with the dresser. Mick awakened the next morning bleary-eyed from lack of sleep. He stumbled to the kitchen to make himself some breakfast and discovered Cat already there. Since Mick didn't have a robe that would fit her she had wrapped herself in a bed sheet for modesty's sake. Mick was going to ask her if she wanted any breakfast when he noticed she was chowing down on a can of Caesar's cat food and a glass of milk. "Oh, give me a break," he said, as he got some dry cereal out of the kitchen cabinet. "You're just eating that to pull my chain, aren't you?" "Naw, it's pretty good, actually," she said, as she wiped the last bit of food from the can with her finger. "I'd rather it was beef than fish, though. And I am used to meat a bit fresher than this." Mick just rolled his eyes, as he poured milk on his cereal. "Well, as big as you are, I'll bet it's going to take quite a few of those little cans to satisfy your appetite, so why don't you use some of that mob money you stole and buy some more catfood at the corner store," he said. "Caesar will starve to death with you around." "Ah, he can eat some of those mice I saw last night," she said. "Mice? There aren't any mice in this building," Mick said. "Oh yes there are," Cat said after a swig of milk. "And last night I saw some rats out in the garden. I don't think Caesar is doing his job." "Caesar's not that kind of cat, he's more of the Garfield type," Mick said. "Great, now I'll have to call the exterminator again. Last time they charged more than $1,000 and that was less than a year ago." "Hey, Mickey, may I ask you something about last night?" Cat said. "The way you were hollering and screaming in your sleep was really something. And were you calling out my name?" "I was having a nightmare and, yes, you were involved," Mick said. "I guess you being around is something I'll have to get used to, but it's not going to be easy." "Yeah, when I woke you last night you jumped straight out of the bed, naked as a jaybird," she said. "That's what I wanted to ask you about." "What's the question?" he asked. "You have a pretty decent package for such a short, little guy," she said. "How do you hide it when you put on your cheerleader outfit?" Mick's mouth was still hanging open when the phone rang. "Mick? Nicky. Look, Uncle Salvatore's funeral is today at 2:00 PM and you would be doing me a big favor if you'd come along for moral support. There's going to be a brief service at the family cemetery and some food and drink afterwards at my house. I'd just like to have somebody there I know is on my side." "Well, ah, Nicky, that may be hard to do," Mick said. "You see, I had a girl over last night and she's still here. She'd have to come with me and I don't want to impose." "Mick, I really need your help to get through this," Nicky said. "I'm, like, one of the few male members of the family left and they want me to become the new Godfather, of all things. I told them absolutely not, that I'm not interested, but they are putting pressure on me and I need a friend there to help me resist. Bring your friend along, the ceremony won't take long." "When you put it that way, I guess I can't say no," Mick said. "I'll meet you at the family graveyard at 2:00." "Thanks, pal, you don't know what a huge favor you're doing me," Nicky said, as he hung up the phone. "Did you hear all that with those animal ears of yours?" Mick asked Cat. "I sure did and I would be happy to go and buck up old Nicky boy," she said. "I don't think that would be a good idea," Mick said. "For one thing, you're the one who made this funeral necessary. For another, all you have to wear is Salvatore's suit. And for another, what if someone recognized you?" "Anyone who would recognize me is dead," Cat said. "And there's plenty of time to buy me something to wear. And I didn't kill all those men, the demon did." "That's splitting hairs and you know it, Cat," Mick said, his voice rising in volume. "You are not going to that funeral and that's final!" The funeral was an understated affair attended mainly by a few women, old men and children. And an army of paparazzi, journalists, FBI agents, other do-gooders, and one tall woman in dark glasses and a big hat. "Cat, I swear I don't know how I let you talk me into letting you come along," Mick said in irritation. "Please don't do anything to humiliate me." "Oh, stop worrying, Sweets," Cat said. "You let me talk you into things because you love my hot bod, although you're too stubborn to admit it. Look, here comes Nicky now. And that looks like an old friend of mine with him." "Oh my God," Mick gasped. "It's Tony Bass! I thought he'd still be in the hospital." "Ah, that's why he's still alive," Cat said. "He must have been in the hospital when I hosted Uncle Salvatore's going-away party." Before Mick could do or say anything else, Nicky and Tony were upon them. "Mick, so good to see you," Nicky said, as he gave Mick a warm hug. "This is my cousin, Tony Bass." "We've met," Mick said, as he gave Tony a clammy handshake. He noticed Tony didn't look nearly so imposing as he had the last time they'd met. He walked very slowly and carefully and still had a hospital pallor on his formerly ruddy skin. "And who is the mystery woman?" Nicky asked, as he looked up at Cat. She was wearing a hastily-obtained dark colored pantsuit from K-Mart. It was the only thing they could find on short notice that halfway fit her and hid most of her fur. She was also wearing, on Mick's insistence, some cheap and rather uncomfortable underwear. "This is Cat, Katherine, we met recently while I was on a case and it seems like we've known each other for years," Mick said. "Wow, Mick," Nicky said as his delicate little hand was engulfed in one of Cat's huge mitts. "I knew you always liked tall women but you hit the jackpot this time." "On a case, eh?" Tony Bass said to Mick with a sneer. "You was probably dressed as a woman. What did Katherine think of that?" "Oh, you can't always tell who's a real man by how he dresses," Cat said, with a tight smile. "You might think someone's a real man and the fact is he has nothing down below to back that up." Tony Bass' hospital pallor turned even whiter as he started to hyperventilate. That voice, he thought, it couldn't be the same voice. "What's the matter, Tony, you don't look so good," Nicky said. "Maybe you'd better take the limo back to the hospital." "Yeah, yeah, I feel like I'm starting to hallucinate," Tony said. "I'll see yous around, Nicky." As Tony left, Nicky shook his head. "Must be the hormone treatments," Nicky said to Mick. "He's had to take them ever since his... accident." The reception took place at the modest home Nicky shared with his widowed mother. His father had died in a mob killing almost 20 years ago and his mother had never re-married. In addition to family and guests, representatives from four other East Coast crime families were present. They were anxious to deliver offers of protection to the surviving members of the Gamboli family, but Nicky knew what they really wanted was the go-ahead to carve up the Gamboli territory among themselves. Nicky was reminded of a program he'd seen on the Discovery Channel about hyenas gathering around a wounded bull. After making sure that they'd all had something to eat, Nicky gathered the emissaries together for a short speech he'd prepared for them. "I want you all to know that we, the Gamboli family, appreciate your offers of help," he said. "But your help is not needed. As of right now the surviving members of the family are out of the business. We don't want anything more to do with it. Take what you like, fight among yourselves for it if you like. We don't want any money from you and we don't want any strong-armed tactics used against us. We are done." "And what about Tony Bass?" one of the hoodlums asked. "Is he going to keep his nose out?" "Tony is in no position to demand anything now so please leave him alone," Nicky said. "I speak for the family." The gathered thugs murmured among themselves for a minute, then they nodded slightly, turned and were out the door. "Whew, boy am I glad that's over," Nicky said, looking as if the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. "All I want to do is go back to my modest little shop tomorrow and make people look beautiful." "Hey, Mick, look at this," Cat said, as she stared out the window. "Who are the people in the clown suits talking to the mob guys?" Mick ran to the window and let out a whistle. "Oh man," he said. "Those are The Protectors, they're a new group of mystery men, or super-heroes, if you will, who operate mainly in the NYC area. I bet they're telling the mob guys not to get any ideas about expanding their territories now that the Gamboli family is gone." (Note - In the world of Cat and Mouse many superheros do exist, although mainly in big cities on the east and west coasts. There are no extremely powerful ones like Superman, the Hulk, Spawn or Popeye; more like the types who find a gimmick, put on a pair of longjohns and fight crime. The authorities are fairly tolerant of these people and, in the face of Republican-inspired government budget cuts, actually welcome the less destructive ones.) "Well, I'm not from around here," Cat said. "Who are these 'super- heroes'?" "The one dressed all in black is called Night Man," Mick said, clapping his hands in glee. "And the one with the bow is called The Arrow. The beefy woman all dressed in green is The Girl Goliath. The other woman looking all Goth is The Medium. And the one carrying all the hardware is called Mr. Fix-it. Man, I've always wanted to be a super-hero, that's one of the reasons I became a detective." "Ahh, I bet you and I could be super-heroes," Cat said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I bet I could beat all of those chumps by myself." "I did read in the paper that they're looking for more members," Mick said. "Do you really think we could make the grade?'' "Sure thing, Mousey," Cat said confidently. "All we have to do is whip up a couple of silly costumes and we're in." Outside the house, Night Man and The Medium were having a conversation. "And you're sure this is where the psychic energy was coming from?" Night Man asked. "Yes, Night Man," The Medium answered. "It's not as strong now, but, like, ya know, it's here." "And you're sure this is what killed all those men at Salvatore Gamboli's house?" "Fer sure," she said. "Whatever killed those gangsters could be, like, the most dangerous force on the face of the earth." "Then it is up to us to find whatever it is," Night Man said, as he and his friends walked away, "and destroy it forever." End Episode Two