Wrapped in the leathery, wet throes of your jacket the furry little thing was calm, almost reverant despite the situation. You had marched at first, and then broke into a feverish, slick sprint through the whistling rainstorm to get back home. Forgotten was the impromptu trip to the grocery, or the bank deposit you so desperately needed to withdrawal to pay off your shameless expenditures--she was more important than all of that. Than anything.
Why? You're not so sure.
When you saw the lithe, unusually tall feline standing idle and elegant in the dancing mist of recent precipitation, you became enchanted. Eyes of ochre glinting from passing car lights, mouth in a lazy yawn that eventually folded its whiskered muzzle into a smug satisfaction. When it saw you, you felt the sleepy, loose-limbed cat, covered head-to-toe in a bluish-black, had already decided you were the one.
Peering over the dumpster the cat was next to, you knew for sure you could not say no to its quiet request. "No" was not a choice for you, lest you end up like the two mutilated chefs in the dumpster. Chinese-Americans, looking to score free meat, but now turned into scrunched, twisted packets of fatty flesh and black blood themselves. Their bodies were folded over so many times, they seem prepared to be judged and branded by the USDA.
Pushing that recent horror from your mind when you get home, you carefully withdraw your new fuzzy companion from your coat and onto your bed. It purrs. Its black tail whips. It settles into the blankets of your shabby, springy mattress as if it was the silk of kings. It loves you.
When you turn back around, a can of tuna in hand, it is a woman.
"Sweet human. Sweet thing," she purrs, an indistinct accent is on her lips, it sounding old and placid. Of ancient times. "My name is Anubis, but call me Nunu."
Her skin glints, a sheen of rainwater making the brightly tanned curves on her body seem like an oily, lacquered metal. Her eyes