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Moving out of her dad's house hadn't been fun for Taylor. She got that he was kinda sick of Kitty and her eccentric habits (the litter box issue alone had taken a lot of arguing to resolve), but…
‘Did he really need to find me a nice, perfect house in the rich part of the city to live in? How did he even get-’ Taylor glanced at Kitty on the lawn, more specifically the leg sticking out of her mouth. ‘...oh. that's how.’
Taylor wasn't too concerned about that. Kitty needed to eat, after all. The PRT had long since given up on trying to control Kitty, formally rolling out a new law via their pet politicians that basically stated ‘any idiot dumb enough to anger a powerful cape enough that said cape kills them is effectively committing suicide by cop’. It was entirely wrong and utterly illegal, but Taylor benefited from it so she didn't give a shit.
What Taylor did give a shit about was the nasty letters she'd been getting from the neighborhood. Letters threatening to fine her, sue her, and other nasty stuff. Taylor could have called her… friend/confidant/fellow victim of Kitty's ideas Amy Dallon and asked Amy if her scary lawyer mom could handle it…
Nah.
Better to let Kitty get some exercise.
“Hey Kitty?”
“Meow.”
“Yeah. Sicc em.”
“Meow!”
It was so nice to have Kitty around, Taylor mused as her cat finished the leg she was eating and started off towards the leader of the HOA's house. Things got settled so very quickly when one had a murderous monster at hand.
…
Ronald Bevelry Clearance Sale Blackwood had lived in his posh, fancy house for his entire life. His family had more money than common sense, and he was very proud of his solid gold toilet and bathroom.
Yes.
He had an entire bathroom made out of gold, because that was how fucking rich the fucker was.
Blackwood was out playing golf with his rich friends when a servant popped up with a telephone (rich people don't carry their own phones on Earth Bet, that's for lesser people to do for them). “Sir, a call for you.”
The rich bitch took the phone, huffing irritably at the interruption of his (absolutely terrible) game of golf. “Yes? What? A cat did what to my house? I'll be home immediately!”
…
The good news was that his house was still mostly intact. The bad news was that his lovely, wonderful, incredibly expensive golden bathroom had been torn apart and scattered across the lawn, seemingly cut apart by some impossibly sharp blade. Blackwood turned to his butler, fury painted across his features. “What happened?” He said, and only the cruel would have pointed out it sounded a lot like a little kid throwing a tantrum. Unfortunately for Blackwood the author is a cruel, sadistic bastard who revels in the suffering of others.
As Blackwood entered the ravaged ruins of his home, he smelled something awful, like sewage or something. He ignored it, too busy walking up to his bathroom to check on it.
Blackwood stopped at the doorway to his bathroom, eyes locked on the message carved into the wall.
“Who the bloody fucking hell would carve MEOW into my wall?”
Blackwood felt a sudden heat bloom across the back of his neck, and a sudden, absolutely petrifying absence of sensation below it. His legs crumpled beneath him, and Blackwood hit the floor as his eyes found a pair of black and white striped legs.
‘Oh. Oh, it's that thing that the wretched little bitch on my block always has around her. Fu…’
Kitty, for her part, enjoyed eating the rich bastard and his employees and scratching up his dumb bathroom. She'd been getting into destroying things that her targets cared about before eating them, and Blackwood had loved that stupid gilt room.
Oh, and the idiot had considered hiring assassins to kill Kitty's Taylor.
Bitch deserved everything he got.
…
One week later, Taylor's surviving neighbors had suddenly changed their tune towards her. They liked her now, and they were all very respectful of Kitty. The daily delivery of catnip and weed was nice, and so were the bribes to keep Kitty from visiting.
Sure, Taylor wasn't a hero, but she was rich, had a nice house, and she had friends both human and Kitty-shaped. Life was good.
“Meoooow!”
Dammit. Taylor sighed, glancing down at the lawn from her place sunbathing on her roof. There was some ugly thing and a weirdo dressed like a man whore on her lawn. Kitty was actively shredding them both, so Taylor put it out of her mind.
“Miss Taylor?”
Taylor irritably glanced at the tiny blonde girl who'd crawled up her house with the help of a brain in a jar. “What.”
“I want to live and want to make sure you and Miss Kitty know that.” The girl said, very carefully not doing anything that Kitty may take offense to.
“Cool. You know how to cook?”
The girl blinked. “Umm… not really?”
“Shit. I was hoping someone would.”
The girl brightened, doing something with a remote that caused another brain in a jar to come to the roof, this one carrying a woman in her early twenties who looked a lot like a certain Twink (French-Canadian edition) Taylor knew. “Cherie knows how to cook!”
Taylor glanced at the two of them. “Eh, fuck it. Sure. You're hired.”
Yes, life was good for Taylor Hebert. And if it wasn't, Kitty would fix that for her.