Page 75 of Beasts of Mine

What? the amber-eyed leopard asked me, blinking sleepily while one ear remained folded from the way he'd been lying on it.

“You live here now.” I told the amber-eyed leopard, pointing toward the platform and the collection he'd been steadily adding to. He looked toward Cat, then toward the darker leopard before finally returning his attention to me.

You live here, the amber-eyed leopard corrected me, resting his chin on his paws again as though I'd misunderstood something very basic.

“Four days. Three nights,” I reminded the amber-eyed leopard, stepping around his tail as I carried my camera toward the lockbox. “Tomorrow morning I'm supposed to head back to the station.”

His head lifted again.

Why? the amber-eyed leopard asked me, his ears moving forward as some of the usual teasing disappeared from his voice.

“Because that's the assignment,” I told the amber-eyed leopard, glancing over my shoulder while I rested the camera carefully against my hip. “I have work back at the station too.”

His tail stopped moving.

Cat turned his head toward him.

The darker leopard opened his eyes.

Something passed between all three without a word. I'd seen them do it before, but this time the silence felt different. Less like three animals reacting to the same sound and more like an entire conversation was happening around me without my permission.

“What?” I asked the three leopards, turning fully toward them as I looked from one face to another.

Nothing, Cat told me, settling more comfortably beside the steps while his expression remained infuriatingly blank.

“You've taught them that answer,” I accused Cat, pointing toward him while the amber-eyed leopard suddenly became extremely interested in licking one paw.

It is useful, Cat replied, his whiskers shifting faintly as though he found my annoyance entertaining.

“Infuriating is what it is,” I told Cat, opening the lockbox with more force than necessary while none of them appeared remotely concerned.

I packed the camera away and tried not to think about tomorrow.

Rain began sometime after midnight.

It wasn't a storm like the one I'd spent beneath the roots with Cat. There was no violent wind and no thunder cracking directly overhead, just steady tropical rain drumming against the corrugated roof and dripping from the canopy in hundreds of overlapping rhythms.

I woke briefly and rolled onto my side.

Through the mosquito net, I could see most of the shelter. Cat stretched across the platform entrance, his body positioned where anything approaching the steps would have to pass him first. The darker leopard was curled near the rear corner, and the amber-eyed leopard had somehow managed to occupy more room than seemed physically possible on the opposite side.

When I'd arrived a few days ago, the platform had been an empty research shelter I'd been excited to borrow.

Now a perfectly straight stick leaned against one support because I'd apparently lost an argument with a leopard. A bright feather sat beside my camera bag. Two flowers occupied one of the station's metal mugs, and a smooth stone I'd repeatedly told myself I didn't need was apparently traveling back with me tomorrow.

Three enormous cats had established preferred sleeping places around the shelter as though they'd been doing it much longer than a few days.

I should have felt crowded.

Instead, the place felt strangely comfortable.

That realization stayed with me as I shifted beneath the thin blanket and listened to the rain hitting the roof. Tomorrow morning I'd start packing. Batteries would go back into their cases, memory cards into their waterproof wallet, clothes into the dry bag, and all the little pieces of myself I'd scattered around the platform would disappear into my bags.

Usually, I liked that part.

There was something satisfying about finishing an assignment, putting everything back where it belonged, and knowing another place waited ahead. Another flight. Another forest. Another hotel room, rented cabin, research station, or temporary bed.

Move in. Work. Pack. Leave.