Hunting for Love

She prowled towards the house, her fur like ink daubed with silver in the moonlight.

Tonight.

He would whisper succulent loving words in her ear that spoke of the ambrosial night to come. She pictured the scrape of the hair on his chin as he nuzzled her haunches and she trembled. Soon.

She looked at the brick building before her. Triple-locked doors, booby-trapped chimneys, a bleeding-edge security system. It had taken her a while to slink past his defences. He valued his safety.

But then, she valued catching her prey. And she was so very good at it.

She remembered the first time he let her in. She’d finally convinced him of her benign intentions after months of trying. They spent the night talking and she left at dawn, feeling his confused gaze on her as she loped away.

He’d been against their union at first. Unnatural. Our kind doesn’t mix with your kind.

She huffed. Such antiquated tripe.

And he’d held her responsible for the fate that had befallen his brothers. She puffed out a delicate breath. Those boors. They’d had it coming.

But he was different. Forethought, intelligence, determination. How could she not fall in love? He would forgive her those two transgressions one day.

But she was getting ahead of herself. Tonight first. She would blow him away.

Gently, she knocked at his door. And as she heard the quiet beeps of the security alarm being disabled, she crooned, “Little piggy, little piggy, let me in.”

(NYCMidnight 2022 Microfiction250 - 1st round - 5th place)