Protect and Serve Don't Need A Hero by Lena Austin

chill.
    Ice! Beau’s body was ice-cold. The stench of unwashed dog and feces clogged my nose. Beau had never smelled so bad! Okay, so he was a dog, but this was worse than bad.
    “Beau! Dude, you so need a bath.” I moved a little closer so I could grin down at my old friend. He always had a doggie-breath grin for me, and I was lonely and scared. I really, really needed a friend right now.
    This time though, the grin was a skeletal parody of Beau’s happy face. A beetle crawled out of the visible eye socket. Beau was dead. Long dead. Even while I watched in horror, a bit of gold fur broke off and flew away on the autumn breeze.
    As if to emphasize my terrified isolation, the sun slipped further down behind the horizon. Dark shadows with crooked talons crept closer. They’d rend me to pieces if they touched me!
    I fled for the safety of the house. There would be my cozy bed beneath the piano, safe and sound. Perhaps there’d even be a new catnip toy to take my fears out upon.
    The door did not open when I beat on it, but a window nearby had been broken. Sidelight. I knew that sort of window was a sidelight. How I knew this, I couldn’t say. All I knew was that my heart was beating so loudly in my chest, I thought I’d explode. I dove through the sidelight, praying I wouldn’t be cut, but too terrified for a more dignified and careful entrance.
    The sting of several cuts yanked a hiss out of me when I hit the glass shards on the inside. Oh, the maid had just earned fur all over her black uniform for not cleaning up the mess quickly!
    I picked the pieces of glass out of my foot and one hand and ignored the other minor injuries. I’d do a better job of cleanup when I got into my bed. The music room was to the left, and Mama often entertained guests in the evening there. Perhaps I’d convince someone to give me a shrimp from the sideboard. Or two. I could lose dignity for a few shrimp, and…
    The room was empty. Not one stick or thread of furnishings remained. Not even my fuzzy white bed where the piano had been. The cold wind whistled through the broken glass.
    I ignored the huge, dusty, cloth bundle in the middle of the hall and ran full-tilt into the kitchen to my food bowl. Or rather, where my food bowl had always been. Not even the mat remained.
    The kitchen, normally bustling with activity until well into the evening, was dark and silent. No knives glistened on the magnetic strip near the prep island. The appliance garage’s doors were wide open like gaping mouths in a perpetual scream of horror. Even the refrigerator was gone.
    My stomach growled audibly.
    I glanced down, surprised at the sound I’d not heard in a very long time. A red rivulet of blood from a cut on my rib pooled in my navel before it slowly continued its descent into the short curls below.
    What was I to do? I didn’t know how to do anything but be pretty! Where were all those that loved me? Had they left me? Was this what alone was? A dry sob wrenched from my soul.
    Then, like a miracle, a warm arm wrapped around me. A warm breath purred in my ear. A masculine voice shushed and soothed me with all those nonsense words that mean more than intelligent conversation.
    I turned toward the warmth and comfort of another feline’s vibrating body. For the first time ever, I felt more than merely admired for my beauty or needed for my skills. He just wanted me to be happy.
    The dark room faded away, replaced by the light of a sunny morning in Apollo’s arms.
    The cop pulled me even closer, until I had to wrap my sore foot over him, just in case he sleepily kicked it. He rubbed his face in my hair, ignoring the bad hair day I had going. He sighed contentedly around his rumbling masculine purr. “I didn’t know how lonely I was until I found you, Kitten. I missed you even before I knew you existed. Bad dream?”
    It was like cuddling a diesel engine, and I let the vibes just wash over me. I’d heard riding one of the old motorcycles had made