Hello all! This story is a holiday present for hisviks! The advent calendar on the 2015 TB/SVM Writers Directory that has kept me enthralled all month inspired me to write something for her. The amazing kjwrit wrote her a gift too! It too includes Beehl the cat, hisvik’s amazingly constipated creation. If you haven’t seen the Beehl comics, you should check them out HERE!!!! They are hilarious! If you haven’t yet read kjwrit’s brilliant and funny story, you can access it HERE!
And it’s Beehl’s “birthday” too–approximately, at least. It was around a year ago that Beehl appeared in his first comic, and since then he’s gained the kind of notoriety that only a constipated cat could gain! I will admit that–being a “Kat” myself (and a cat lover)–I have a soft spot for Beehl that I don’t have for Bill.
I must also admit that–after seeing that kjwrit had produced her piece including Beehl–I thought about scrapping this story into the nearest litter box! But Bob the Cat wouldn’t let me, and hisviks also sanctioned this post. So–here I am–proclaiming that great minds must think alike because both kjwrit and I wanted to gift hisviks and because we both wrote about Beehl the Cat (even mentioning his hair–she mentioned his bangs AND sideburns, while I only went for his sideburns) in our respective pieces. And–yes–I will do ANYTHING to be in the same sentence as kjwrit (even if I have to write that sentence myself) because she is one of my favorite authors and because her generosity to the fanbase is unmatchable!
So–yeah–it feels like I’m giving hisviks a Hyundai when she was just given a BMW this morning. But I hope she’ll enjoy driving the Hyundai sometimes?
Anyway, I hope that she and you enjoy this little piece. You know that I don’t do straight-out comedy too often, but I hope that this story makes you laugh at least once, and–after you read–go HERE to tell hisviks how much you appreciate her hard work on the advent calendar or include a message to her in your comments below. And–if you haven’t discovered all the goodies in the advent calendar yet–I hope you will explore and enjoy!
Hisvik’s wonderfully funny creation Beehl the Cat meets his bane in this one-shot. And that “bane” is SVM’s very own Bob the cat! This story was written as a gift (some might call it a gag gift) for hisviks, who spearheaded the wonderful advent calendar for the SVM/TB community for December 2015. (Comedy, one-shot)
No copyright infringement is intended. The SVM/TB characters in this story belong to their respective creators. And Beehl the Cat belongs to the wonderful hisviks! You can see all of Beehl the Cat’s comic exploits on hisvik’s WordPress site.
At the last minute, Kleannhouse lent me some of her valuable pre-holiday time to put a second pair of eyes on this to make sure I didn’t make any more stupid mistakes than usual! Many thanks to her!
Hisvik’s drawing of Beehl in the banner was used with her permission.
“If man could be crossed with the cat it would improve man, but deteriorate the cat.”—Mark Twain
BOB THE CAT’S POV
I hadn’t been born a cat. Indeed, it had been Amelia who had turned me into one.
And her sweaters had suffered for it, though I pretended that I was simply working my claws innocently when I kneaded little snags into the yarn.
Not surprisingly—I had thought about doing worse things to the witch who’d made me a feline.
Especially after I’d been forced to ride in a cat carrier for the entire drive from New Orleans to Bon Temps!
The vomit that I had left for my “caretaker” in my top-of-the-line carrier wasn’t even intentional. I’d always had a propensity toward car sickness anyway, especially when I was in the back seat of a car. Amelia had placed the cat carrier in her fucking hatchback!
She deserved my vomit!
Despite that event, I’d somewhat forgiven the witch when she threw away the stale cat food that Sookie had in her cabinets. That food—which had been purchased for a feline named Tina, who seemed now to be deceased (or maybe she’d simply committed suicide rather than subjecting herself to eating that shit day after day)—had tasted like a generic brand of Ramen noodles! NOT Top Ramen!
Sookie had wanted to subject me to it until the fucking bag was empty!
For trying to tell Amelia that the food would be fine—that I’d like it—that bitch got the gift of that horrible kibble being vomited onto her work shoes!
After I’d doubled the weight of Sookie’s shoes, Amelia convinced her that the horrendous cat food was probably stale. Thankfully, it was Amelia who took over the task of securing my meals from that point on.
Sookie would have likely bought cheap, hard food.
On the other hand, Amelia bought Fancy Feast.
And Fancy Feast was the fucking bomb!
Like fairy blood for vampires.
Like prime rib for humans.
Still, I likely would have made Amelia and Sookie’s lives living hells if Amelia didn’t spend at least an hour each day doing two essential tasks: 1.) she continued to try to find a “cure” for my cat condition; and 2.) she managed to pet my belly just right.
I’d learned the hard way that belly petting wasn’t something that just anyone could do. It was half art and half science.
The first few times I’d allowed Sookie to “try” to rub my tummy, I’d needed to bat her hands away after only a moment or two! Not only did she “pet against the grain,” but also she just didn’t get into it enough. Amelia used her fingernails and the rest of her hand in the operation, and I couldn’t hold in my purrs when she rubbed my belly the right way.
Nowadays, I simply didn’t offer Sookie my belly anymore—unless I was setting a trap.
I loved to set a good trap.
In fact, if a cat could have smiled, I would have at that thought. If Sookie hadn’t had vampire blood in her system, she would have had dozens of tiny scratches on her hand. Yet she always fell for my traps when I presented my belly to her as if I wanted it rubbed!
The fact of the matter was that Sookie Stackhouse didn’t deserve my “sincere” belly because of her atrocious technique!
On the other hand, I presented my belly to Amelia whenever I could. Her rubbing was almost orgasmic.
Now I might not admit this to anyone but myself, but—after a couple of days—I didn’t really mind being a cat so much.
My responsibilities had all but disappeared.
My acceptable nap-taking-time allotment had increased exponentially.
And almost everyone petted me whenever I sought out attention. Mind you—though Amelia was best on the belly, Sookie did fine when she stuck to my head, neck, and back. And she could find just the right sweet spot on my chin! And, when people weren’t available to rub me, a box, a cabinet, a piece of furniture—actually any hard surface, especially a corner—would do.
My only real concern as a cat, in fact, was Bubba. That vampire sent leering looks in my direction that made me shiver as if I had fleas.
And they made me want to hurl!
Indeed, I was always ready to cough up a hairball or twelve in order to show my displeasure whenever Bubba visited. Thankfully, he didn’t visit often; still, in fear of what he might do if he caught me alone, I didn’t go outside of the house at night. I did enjoy a roll in the dirt when the sun was shining, however. And I also had found that the right kind of grass was fucking delicious, especially when there was a layer of dew on it.
In addition to my outdoor activities and my rub-procuring undertakings, I also had other things that I enjoyed doing—things which involved needling the women I lived with. For instance, I enjoyed waiting until they went to bed before starting my noisier play-sessions. Their tossing and turning satisfied me greatly.
Oh—and when I used the litter box, I would never bury my shit! I quickly learned that it got removed faster when I didn’t—and I hated “to go” in a befouled box. Plus, I was pretty proud of my poop! The sheer volume that I could produce continued to be mind-boggling to me! And the scent was epic! Though Fancy Feast smelled lovely as it was eaten—it created some very nasty scents after it had made its journey through my body—especially the turkey with giblets in gravy variety.
I couldn’t help but to wonder if the “non-thinking” cats in the world appreciated what their bodies could accomplish as much as I did. Amelia would avoid cleaning the litter whenever she could by avoiding altogether the mud porch, where the litter box was kept. And Sookie would always frown in disgust as she used the scooper to bury the poop in the litter a little in order to help cover the scent before scooping it out of the box and sealing it into a little plastic bag. She’d immediately take the bag outside to the garbage can, stomping all the way.
She was quite amusing, actually.
Moreover, I was always sure to sling some of the litter outside of the box—instead of on top of my “accomplishments.” After returning from taking out the garbage, Sookie would scold me and mutter to herself as she would use a little hand-held broom to clean up the spilled litter.
I’d simply plop down on the mud porch and watch her, generally licking my balls as she did her tasks, something which she was also disgusted by—since she seemed to be the queen of modesty.
Well—perhaps if she could learn to give a decent belly rub—I might not give myself such a thorough “washing” when she was around!
The funniest thing was that neither woman I lived with seemed to understand that—underneath all the fur—I still had my “human” thoughts. I’d spied on more baths than I could count when it came to Amelia, who didn’t mind me accompanying her wherever she went—though I drew the line at following her into the bathroom when she was using the toilet.
I did NOT need to see that! Especially not since the porcelain bowl’s water called to me like nothing else. Nope—though once a human myself—I refused to acknowledge what the humans did in that bowl because I refused to give up the opportunity to drink from it whenever someone left the lid up.
The water there was just that good!
So—yeah—even avoiding the “human needs” of those around me, I saw a lot of nudity from Amelia, though I’d seen all of her before, of course. However, I’d also caught quite a few glimpses of Sookie’s luscious body, especially when she was wearing a skirt. There was something to be said for being low to the ground, splaying onto one’s back, and just looking upward toward the heavens.
Which included Sookie’s thighs.
However, given the fact that I had literally been turned into a tomcat against my will, I felt that I had the right to be something of a peeping Tom!
The vampire who called Sookie “his” could just “suck on” the fact that I got to see “his woman”—intimately, at times!
Speaking of Eric Northman, who always liked to “claim” things when he was in the house, there was nothing like being a cat when it came to claiming! In fact, with that thought in mind, I got to work rubbing on the furniture in the living room. I’d not marked it for at least a few hours, and I enjoyed things best when they smelled heavily of me. And—just to make a point to any vampires who visited—I took a moment to weave in and out of Sookie’s legs as she rose to go answer the doorbell.
I almost tripped her. But—oh well. I was a cat, and the human should have known better than to walk where I wanted to walk.
It was the vampire Eric Northman at the door, and he was carrying a cat carrier. I hissed as I picked up the scent of another feline—a pathetic one from the smell of things!
“Eric, come on in!” Sookie invited, even as the vampire looked down at me with a certain amount of bitterness in his eyes.
Yep—I’d marked the person whom he claimed as “his.” And what was he gonna do about it? Nothing! Sookie and Amelia would never allow him to kill a defenseless, “innocent” cat. To celebrate my victory over the huge vampire—who had to make an effort to show his own fangs, while mine were always at the ready—I flopped onto my side and licked my balls, just to show him another advantage I had over him.
He looked duly jealous for a moment.
However, my victory was short-lived as the vampire brought the cat carrier inside with him.
“What’s this?” Sookie asked, peering inside of it. A drab grayish cat looked at her forlornly. And—I kid you not! It looked as if the fur around the cat’s cheeks stood up a little! The little freak of nature had horrible kitty sideburns!
“It’s Bill,” Eric said with an exasperated sigh. “He’s been cursed by a witch.”
“I didn’t do it!” Amelia insisted as she ran into the room. “Did I?” She shook her head. “No! If I did, I swear it was an accident.”
Eric rolled his eyes at the witch. I would have too—if I had the ability.
“No. It wasn’t you,” Eric smirked. “Bill was fucking around with the wrong witch—and I do mean fucking around with her—when they had a ‘mishap’ in bed. She wanted to play some ‘bedroom games,’ and this was the product. After calling me, the witch took off without leaving her name, and I was left with this,” he paused, “thing!”
“Hey stuff like that can happen,” Amelia muttered with a petulant stomp of the foot.
“Have you learned anything about fixing the feline you made?” Eric asked evenly, obviously not wanting to rile Amelia more—since he needed something from her.
“Not yet,” she sighed.
“Fuck!” Eric lamented. “Well—then I have no choice. I will need to go to Octavia!”
“No!” Amelia said with another stomp of her foot. “If she finds out, I’ll get into trouble!” she cried like a child throwing a hissing fit against a tattle-tale.
And that’s when I realized that Amelia had been holding out on me! Though she had worked daily on creating a spell to turn me back into a man, she’d apparently been covering her own ass this whole time when Octavia could have helped her to transform me back into myself!
Oh—game on! Someone was losing a pair of shoes that night!
“I must contact your mentor,” Eric said, though it seemed as if he’d rather not. “Unfortunately, if word gets out that I didn’t do everything I could to protect my subjects, my reputation will suffer. Otherwise, I would’ve just called Bubba to take care of this,” he added, holding up Bill’s carrier. The cat hissed again.
“Eric! That’s horrible!” Sookie cried, even though I could see her stifling a grin. “So—uh—is Bill a—uh—vampire cat or a regular cat?” she asked.
“I put TrueBlood in a bowl, and he turned up his nose at it. But he lapped at the water in the toilet bowl,” Eric shrugged, “so I guess he’s a regular feline.”
I wanted to tell the vampire not to knock toilet water until he’d tried it.
But, of course, I couldn’t. It was his loss.
“Um—will you take care of it—I mean him—until Octavia can come up with a solution?” Eric asked Sookie.
NO! NO! NO! NO!
This was MY house and my things! The last thing I needed was another cat in the place. That’s it! I’d have to start marking the old-fashioned way (with my urine) as soon as the women were asleep!
Sookie sighed. “Oh—I guess. We already have one ‘non-cat.’ What’s one more?”
ONE. TOO. MANY!
Eric bent down and opened the carrier, which was actually more like a small makeshift chicken wire cage with an old towel at the base. At least my carrier was top-of-the-line.
As he emerged from the cage, I saw that the new arrival was even uglier than he’d seemed to be in his little prison. What’s more—the idiot seemed to have no idea about how to bathe himself. And his gray fur looked like forty-year-old shag carpet.
And—I’d been right about those absolutely idiotic-looking “sideburns.”
How could a cat have sideburns!?
Plus, the bastard hissed and launched at me as if he wanted to claw me.
Oh. Game. Fucking. On!
I held my ground and caught the interloper with a right hook—with just a touch of claw.
Just enough to help him understand who the Alpha male in the house was.
The fucking coward immediately ran to hide under the table, as if I couldn’t fucking see him! And then he pissed himself.
Pathetic! What was he? A cat or a mouse?!
“Oh Bill!” Sookie cried out, though the name sounded more like “Beehl” when she said it. Since my best friend in high school had been named Bill, I decided right then and there that the lame excuse for a cat who’d just pissed himself like a cocker spaniel would be “Beehl” in my mind from that moment on!
“Naughty!” Sookie yelled as she picked up the newspaper that was used mostly to keep me from climbing the Christmas tree in the corner of the living room; though I could climb it with precision and didn’t see a problem with the action, my caretakers certainly did! Thus, I’d taken to climbing it only when they were not home or asleep—unless I wanted to fuck with them.
I thought that I was about to get swatted for fighting with the newcomer, but—thankfully—Sookie turned her sights onto Beehl. “Don’t attack Bob!” she screeched. “And don’t pee on the floor!” She marched over to the new cat and picked him up unceremoniously before taking him to the litter box. “Go to the bathroom in here!” she ordered.
I’d followed along to see the spectacle as Beehl looked at Sookie forlornly from the litter box.
I was starting to discern that it was his only look.
I flopped onto my side and licked my balls.
ONE WEEK LATER
If I’d enjoyed being a cat before my “roommate’s” arrival, I’d triumphed in my state for the last week! I’d never been a bully, but tormenting Beehl was just too much fun to pass up!
I’d heard that Octavia had found the cure and would be at the house the next day, so I decided to take full advantage of my last hours as Beehl’s bane.
As soon as Amelia and Sookie left for work at Merlotte’s, I began chasing the ratty-haired, flea-monger around the house.
Seriously! I’d never had fleas, but Beehl seemed to attract them with his pitiful looks!
Perhaps, one parasite knew another—not that I would ever call a vampire a parasite.
To his or her face!
I held back in my pursuit for a while, but I knew from experience that I was both faster and more agile than Beehl, who could never quite manage to navigate quickly across a linoleum, tile, or wood floor without face-planting into a wall or two. It was fucking brilliant to witness! So I lagged a bit so that Beehl could do the most damage to himself.
And it wasn’t just me who found Beehl’s lack of cat-skills funny either. When only Amelia was home, she would often throw a cat toy for Beehl to run for, making sure she aimed it toward a room with a floor he would slide on. And—every fucking time—he’d chase the toy at top speed and slam into a cabinet or a wall.
Every. Fucking. Time!
I couldn’t help but to wonder if Beehl was the Bubba of cats. Or maybe he’d given himself enough brain damage as a cat that he’d be just like Bubba once he was transformed back into a vampire.
Honestly, I didn’t fucking care.
Whatever happened, it was fucking hilarious to watch Beehl pummel himself into wall after wall—again and again.
But seeing that and/or chasing him weren’t even the most amusing things about Beehl the cat.
Nope—Beehl was a constant source of amusement!
At first, he’d tried to use some of my own “peeping Tom” techniques, but it was clear that the women didn’t see him in the same innocuous way that they saw me. Amelia closed the door to him when he tried to follow her into the bathroom for bath time—although she’d carry me in when I showed an interest. Sookie—also—was more careful with him around, and she always closed her door to keep him out of her room at night, even when she didn’t have company.
And don’t even get me started about how hilarious it was to hear Beehl mewling when Eric stayed over. As the Viking and his lass cried out in passion and screamed each other’s names during their sexcapades, Beehl just looked at the closed door and whined forlornly.
And—when Beehl tried to look up Sookie’s skirt (again trying to take a page out of my playbook)—he’d make a mournful mewling sound, which alerted her to the fact that he was there. He’d get a spray of water in the face, and was told that he was a pervert.
There were even mutterings about having him neutered, though—unfortunately—that was determined to be too cruel.
Even for Beehl.
Hilariously, whenever Beehl had tried to emulate my own “ball-licking” techniques, he’d found himself uselessly on his back with his tail between his legs. Sadly, the tip of that tail was the closest he could get to the exquisite sensation that was the ball lick.
He really did make the most hilariously useless cat.
When he tried to climb the Christmas tree, which I’d mastered immediately—by the way—he’d knocked it over. Once the humans had set it to rights and scolded Beehl with the rolled-up newspaper, the idiot tried chewing through the lights—when they were on!
Talk about not leaving well enough alone!
Nowadays, I liked to knock the Christmas tree over when the women were gone; they always blamed Beehl because I’d proven myself to be too graceful to do something so idiotic.
He was always the recipient of the newspaper or the water bottle—often because of things I’d done.
But they never suspected me.
In fact, when the ladies were home, I was the perfect “gentleman,” treating Beehl with indifference—though he always tried to “show dominance” with his hissing and spitting.
He got the spray bottle for that kind of useless posturing too.
Yes. Messing with him was so gratifying.
The only complaint that I had was at the beginning of Beehl’s stay—when the bastard made a point of eating some of MY Fancy Feast out of MY bowl. However, soon enough, Beehl had his own bowl, and I made sure that he knew to stay away from mine the first time that both humans were away from the house.
I’d contemplated stealing Beehl’s food whenever possible—until I realized that eating Fancy Feast caused Beehl to experience some unexpectedly hilarious problems. Indeed—though Beehl could certainly eat like a cat, he couldn’t shit like one.
Not. At. All.
While I continued my “show and tell” habits when it came to my glorious feline feces, Beehl looked on with envy.
And—when he stepped foot into the litter box to try to emulate me—he merely struggled and strained.
Again and again. Time after time.
It was hilarious!
The best he could do was piss on his own tail!
Sometimes, on the nights when he was “visiting” Sookie, Eric Northman would watch me torment Beehl as the humans slept. And then the vampire would provide me with catnip once Beehl was a humbled mass in one corner or another.
Yes. I learned to like that vampire very much.
There was nothing that compared to a belly rub when I was high as a kite.
I would miss those times, but I was anxious to be myself again. On the other hand, Beehl seemed to have no idea that our status as cats would soon change.
Like I said, he was the Bubba of cats.
Pretending to be done tormenting him for the evening, I watched Beehl closely as he moved to the food bowl—with the forlorn expression he always wore now competing with the discomforting constipated face he’d been sporting since his first foray into Fancy Feast. He glanced at me as if I could help him resist the crack-like scent of the food that would only make him more uncomfortable.
I shrugged—at least as much as a cat could.
And I lay down, giving him an evil look. Cats could do that easily.
Beehl seemed like he’d rather have a stake to the chest, but he couldn’t resist bending over the bowl and eating—despite knowing that his next trip to the litter box would be even more painful and disappointing than all of this previous ones!
I rolled over onto my back and watched Beehl’s agony with glee. And then I started a long bath that wasn’t quite done by the time Beehl’s bowl was empty.
He waddled onto the mud porch, looking longingly at the litter box before climbing inside of it.
Of course, I followed him into the room, not wanting to miss a second of the “show.”
I lay down to finish my bath, making sure to give my balls some extra attention as Beehl strained to the point of blacking out upon the litter—right on top of the large pile I’d produced earlier that day and which Sookie hadn’t had time to clean up since she was running late for work.
The scene was perfect.
And it would teach them both—Sookie to make sure MY litter box was clean and Beehl to stop trying to emulate perfection.
However, I soon became bored with watching the passed-out cat. After some contemplation, I decided to go knock over the Christmas tree.
And, after that, I would find one of Amelia’s sweaters to lie on, take another long bath, and lick my balls again.
While I still could.
Yes—if cats could smile—I would have, for it was the purr-fect evening.
Pun fucking intended!
A/N: I hope that you enjoyed this piece, which was meant to celebrate Beehl the Cat and his much more talented (and much less constipated—I hope) creator, hisviks, who is such a blessing to the SVM/TB fanbase—not just because of her amazing stories, but also because of her contributions to the directory. I’ve had the privilege to correspond with her outside of “work” via email, and she is funny, witty, and generous.
Please show your love for hisviks in your comments below. Otherwise, Beehl might show up at your house next!
PROTECT YOUR LITTER BOXES!
Beehl's Bane .pdf Above is the .pdf for this little story if you want to download it.