Damn Human is Writing Smut Again

Cat Zulejka here. If you don’t know me, educate yourself below:

I am the most beautiful cat ever.

Not even flowers can compare. Confirm:

I have claws that can drive fear into the fiercest heart:

And I am capable of arousing raging guilt in any human who has left me alone for ten minutes – by approaching them with my big eyes and my question-mark tail:

My hooman knows my worth, for she straggles out of bed every morning and delivers me fresh kibble and water into my bowls.

I am delicate as I dip my paw into the water and groom each paw clean.

I am everything delicate.

Except when I attack.

The couch is a favorite victim. Behold my pose beneath the wages of my past wars:

I single-pawedly exposed that stuffing and corkwood to warcries of “Attack couch!”

“Attack couch again!”

No upholstery must remain unclawed!

Every part of couch territory must show the mark of its master.

But not my hooman. I greet my hooman.

Not that I liked that recent vet visit when she lost her bank card and stranded us in the middle of nowhere while a friend came to pick us up… see the proof of my unhappy meow:

I think I got sick because the water clogged and stopped draining from the flat for over two weeks, and my hooman had to go shower elsewhere some nights, and the shower drain was spitting up other people’s waste water and it flooded our bathroom. I padded in there on my little paws and picked up some nasty bacteria that took three vet visits, two shots, and nine days of antibiotics to clear up. My hooman had to cancel her swing dance classes in order to pay for the vets, but I am grateful, because now we are home and I am all well again and I–

ATTACK!

This time, the bed must suffer. The sheets are evil. So much evil. So much fluff that must fall beneath the claws.

I also am back to jumping the 2.5 meters from the wardrobe to the bed. Because I am super-cat.

And now I can relax and bestow love-kisses with my eyes upon my hooman.

Now, hooman–hooman! Go cook me some chicken, pwetty pwease!

Stop working on that blog post where you’re trying to save the world.

Shall I sneak a peep?

Yes, I creep up upon my delicate paws to peek upon her prose.

Wait.

What is this?

She’s working on another smutty story! Something about a troubled man and a captive princess he keeps in a cage. Look at this!

But the look he gave her lingered like an unspoken promise even after the door closed.
A promise to have more… much more after their kiss.
She shivered, unsure how to feel.
She was a survivor, like him, and she would survive anything he did—and more.

And the cover. Hooman is definitely writing smut again. I am appalled to the roots of my silken fur.

Find a real-life man, hooman! He can pat me.

Don’t I deserve pats?

All the pats!

Purr purr purr.

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Dang it, did Zulejka get her paws on my blog again?

That’s what I get for having a super-cat.

EDIT: The below information is OUT OF DATE! That story was rewritten into a fantastical gothic romance with an orc that you can find here.

She was NOT supposed to share that snippet from my next Dulcet Darkly story! That’s my closet smut.

However, if you’re REAAAAAALLLY curious, here’s the tagline:

Everything in his city has its price, including her survival.
And she only has her body to pay with.

Ha! An escaped princess gets captured and caged in the middle of a tavern by a ruthless man who claims to have killed her lover. Dark romancewith two endings, so you can choose his fate mwahahahah. It’s out now! Find it here.

And, yes, I am STILL desperately trying to find the right words for my ‘how to topple a dystopia’ and make a better world post. It’s just kind of overwhelming with everything else happening right now.

Also, here is the anthology of dark fairy tales I got accepted into if you missed it last week:

And if you feel like you want more words from my dang mind, here’s my shamelessly copied info for Sonya addicts: feel free to join the newsletter I haven’t been writing (but intend to), join the patreon I’ve been seriously neglecting (but want to resume), or check out my books I don’t want anyone to buy (for realz cuz it’s my old writing and I’m like nooo, don’t read it…) before I unpublish even more (like I unpublished my dystopians, eep).

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Hooman is now going to cook my chicken (finally).