PJ scratched at a persistent itch between his antlers as he crouched on his haunches beside his roommates. Underneath the rusted ’57 Chevy, fiery eyes peered back at them. May the half-fae, Buford the mechanic, and PJ the satyr tried to live amicably in the mechanic shop with that menacing hellcat under the truck. But today wasn’t working out so well.

“How are you getting him out?” May asked.

“You’re not,” PJ offered a bit of much needed perspective.

Buford’s face scrunched up like he was thinking hard and it hurt. “PJ, you get him.”

“Count me out.” He rose, scratching his armpit.

“He likes you.”

“And you gave him fleas,” May added.

PJ scratched at his haunches and started to protest, but the other two gave him the stink-eye. It most certainly was not his fault that mangy hellcat needed to be dipped for fleas, but his tail sure did itch.

PJ made the whispery sounds cats like. The hellcat hissed. “You’ll feel better when it’s all said and done,” he reasoned. Its eyes blazed and smoke trailed out from under the truck. “All right then,” PJ grabbed for the beast and dragged it out.

“The utility sink,” Buford pointed. PJ clopped over, holding the writhing creature at arm’s length. He lowered it in, and it burst into a ball of flame. PJ howled, and the hellcat disappeared under the truck, and leaving PJ’s fur smoking from antlers to hooves.

May shrugged. “That takes care of the flea problem.”