A box cat called desire

Mike saw it just sitting there, taunting him. He was trying to break himself of the nasty habit. He thought he had been making real progress. Apparently not.

The social stigma alone might have cured him if he wasn't such a loner. A few weeks ago, Barbie had caught him indulging in his sick addiction back behind the furniture store. Then the witch went and told everyone what he'd been doing. Ok, so she wasn’t actually a witch—a witch would have known what she was seeing and not said a word to a store full of mundanes.

Besides, it wasn't like he had been hurting anyone. Lots of cats liked to hang out in cardboard boxes. Even humans did it. There was just something about an empty box—if he saw one, he had to climb in it, even if it wasn't big enough for him.

The furniture place always had big enough boxes after they received a delivery.

Barbie had caught him in his cat form while he was climbing in and out of the plethora of boxes left out after a shipment of tables. He could almost forgive her for shutting him inside one. There was also something about seeing a cat in a huge box that made you want to shut them in. But by the time he shifted back to human form and got himself out, she had brought an audience to "come check out the funny-looking mountain lion playing in the box pile like a house cat." And there he had stood, butt-ass naked in the box Barbie swore she’d shut a cat in.

It was just a matter of time before Dante or one of the other town elders came to pay him a visit, he just knew it. He eyed the box his new printer had come in and resolved to tear it up, get rid of the temptation. But then again... If he was going to die a painful, embarrassing death for accidentally revealing himself to non-shifters, he might as well enjoy one last romp in the land of cardboard heaven.

Mike looked around. This was his own living room. No one would see him if he slipped his skin and hopped in it, right? He smiled and began shucking his jeans.