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Waverly had many reasons to hate Calamity Jane.
The first reason was that she was a zombie.
*
There was a pet cemetery in Purgatory. It wasn’t the best idea to even keep pets in the Ghost River Triangle, honestly, because there were way too many things that would kill one, or eat one. Even the supernaturals who were upstanding citizens just trying to get through their day-to-day lives could be a danger - a werewolf who got into a fight with a dog or a vampire who needed a quick bite and ran into a cat on the street. But people love pets and living in the Ghost River Triangle, and especially Purgatory, was stressful, so they kept them anyway. And whether one’s pet met a gruesome end, or actually made it to a ripe old age, there was the pet cemetery for them all to be laid to rest, which was almost as big as the people one.
Evidently, a witch who was an animal lover decided that it was high time the pets of Purgatory got their revenge, and so resurrected them all. And sent them after the one she decided was supposed to protect them and failed - Wynonna Earp.
“It’s a fucking Stephen King novel out there,” Wynonna growled as she barricaded the door to Shorty’s. It was just the three of them, Waverly and Wynonna and Nicole; Jeremy and Doc were pinned down at the sheriffs office trying to find a way make the dead pets dead again, and Nedley had taken Rachel and Billy out the back, in spite of their protests. They’d be halfway to the homestead now with any luck.
“You read Stephen King? You read?” Nicole asked, then held up her hand. “Never mind. How many are there?”
“I don't know, Nicole, I was kinda too busy running for my life to stop and count!”
“Do you hear something?” Waverly asked, looking around the bar.
“You mean other than the sound a thousand dead Fidos and Fluffies coming rip me into messy pieces?”
“No, wait, I hear it,” Nicole said slowly, looking in one of the furthest corners of the bar. “It sounds like -“
Out of the dark there was a growl and two glowing yellow-green eyes.
Nicole lowered her gun and in a soft, hopeful voice said, “Calamity Jane?”
“Guess we shouldn’t have buried her collar in the cemetery,” Waverly said, goosebumps prickling up and down her arms. "It seemed like a nice gesture at the time."
“Shit,” said Wynonna.
*
The second reason was that she was dead, and she smelled like it.
“Jesus, what died in here?” Wynonna asked, her nose wrinkling as soon as she walked into the kitchen.
“I don’t know,” Waverly said, her voice even higher-pitched than usual as she searched the cupboards for the sixth time. “It’s been like this all day. Rachel says she won’t come home until I find whatever it is and she makes homemade kombucha and milks skunks.”
“Waves, I got the tools!” Nicole said, rushing in. “You really think its in the walls?”
“It has to be, I looked everywhere else!” She paused, a horrible thought occurring to her. “Unless -“
From the top of the refrigerator, Calamity Jane unfurled herself from the ball she'd been sleeping in. She leapt gracefully down to the floor, bits of fur floating off her as she went, and as she sauntered past the three of them, the smell intensified, making Waverly’s eyes water and her throat burn.
Wynonna started to pull out Peacemaker, rolling her eyes when Waverly slapped her hand away from the gun. “Fine, what do you wanna do about it?”
She shrugged weakly, struggling not to cough.“Open all the windows to air out the smell and see if Calamity Jane might want to be an outdoor cat?”
Calamity Jane did not want to be an outdoor cat, at least not most of the time and definitely not during winter. So Waverly bought a bunch of Glade plug-ins and changing them regularly became the most important chore on the homestead. She also sprinkled baking powder throughout the house and bought bottles of Febreeze in bulk to spray one whatever Calamity Jane sat on last. And they got used to the smell, more or less. It wasn't worse than the skunk juice.
*
The third reason was the fur. Waverly didn’t know the rules of zombie cats, but Calamity Jane shed twice as much as real cats, entire chunks of grey-orange fur littered around the house, and no matter how much Waverly cleaned, they were never fully gone from the house. She’d broken two vacuum cleaners trying to keep up. Rachel was putting all the clumps of fur she found outside for birds to use for their nest, so at least something useful came out of it.
*
Poor Nedley was reason number four. He’d adored that cat … at least before he turned into a fungus monster and ate her. Apparently, Calamity Jane held a grudge.
“Hi, Nedley,” Waverly said as she and Nicole got out of the truck and walked up to the front porch where the former sheriff was sitting awkwardly. “What’re you doing out here?”
“Came by to see if Rachel wanted to go fishing, but she didn’t answer when I knocked, think she might have those ear pods of hers in. Do you mind asking her for me?”
Waverly and Nicole exchanged glances. “You don’t want to come in and ask her yourself?” Nicole questioned, raising her eyebrows.
“Well, I don’t want to bother her,” Nedley said, his eyes sad.
“Rachel?”
“No, the other one.”
“Calamity Jane has to get used to you again eventually,” Waverly said, as she and Nicole each took an arm and levied him up off the stoop.
This was not an opinion Calamity Jane shared. As soon as the door opened and she caught sight of Nedley, she leapt for him; only Nicole’s quick reflexes saved Nedley from certain doom. Even after she wrangled the cat back in the house, barely holding onto the furious whirling mass of fur and claws and teeth as she kicked the door close, they could hear Calamity Jane screaming for blood and revenge.
“So …” Waverly said with a forced smile. “I’ll just go ask Rachel about the fishing.”
“That seems best."
*
And then there were the moments were Waverly felt the prickle of something unnatural just behind her. When she got up for a glass of water in the middle of the night, or when she was all alone on the homestead, and it was dark, and some instinct told her to turn around, to look out, that something was going to get her.
And she turned and looked, and there was Calamity Jane, half hidden in shadows, her eyes glowing, staring at Waverly. And she felt a chill go down her back like someone had walked over her grave.
*
There was one reason, though, that Waverly had to like Calamity Jane.
They’d just about survived the night of the living dead, pet edition. Jeremy had come up with a solution to the witch’s undead-ening curse and was on his way to Shorty’s to help them lift it. They’d managed to re-kill most of the pets - a traumatizing experience that made Waverly feel very, very guilty - and were almost home free.
But then a bunny leapt on Wynonna and made her drop Peacemaker behind the bar. She and Waverly dove to go get it when they heard growling. Waverly turned to see two dogs backing Nicole into a corner. Nicole pointed her gun ate one of them and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened.
“I’m out,” she said, swallowing heavily, her eyes fixed on the dogs.
“Wynonna!” Waverly cried, looking around desperately for her shotgun.
“I can’t find it, damn bunny!” Wynonna called back.
The dogs snarled, and the one of the left leapt for Nicole’s throat, and Waverly screamed, terrified and helpless.
And out of the shadows came Calamity Jane like fury in cat form, tearing at the dogs with a ferocity Waverly couldn’t remember the cat ever displaying in life. Within seconds, the dogs were dead once again, and Calamity Jane stood in front of Nicole, hissing and spitting at the remaining pets.
“Got it!” Wynonna said, popping up from behind the bar with Peacemaker as Jeremy ran in at last.
“Everyone ready to end this horrifying nightmare?” Jeremy asked, waving an amulet.
Waverly looked down at Calamity Jane. Her fur was wrong, not-orange and not-grey but also orange-and-grey, and chunks were missing, and she could see some ribs through bits of skin that wasn’t there, and there was blood on her muzzle and her nails.
Calamity Jane looked back with the same yellow-green eyes she’s always had, and slow blinked at Waverly like she used to when she sat nearby and purred while Waverly made Nicole breakfast in the morning. Then she rubbed her head against Nicole's leg and sat at her feet, her tail flicking about like she was daring anyone to try to move her.
“Jeremy,” she found herself saying, “when we break this curse, is there a way to protect one of the pets?”
So Waverly didn’t hate Calamity Jane. She adored her. She vacuumed up the fur and bought stronger and stronger vacuums, she Febreezed every surface of her house, she learned to turn a light on when she got up for a midnight snack and she brought coffee and beer out to sad Nedley sitting on her porch when they had team meetings at the homestead.
Because every time something attacked them at the homestead, there Calamity Jane was, hell in undead feline form, hissing and screaming and clawing and biting, and no matter what demon or witch or vampire or whatever came for them, no matter how powerful or unkillable they were, they all fell back when their hell cat came for them.
"You're amazing," Nicole whispered to her one night, as their smelly zombie cat curled up at the end of their bed. "Thank you for letting me keep her."
Waverly kissed her sweetly, then smiled. "She's the best cat in the world," she said, and meant it.
Calamity Jane yowled in agreement, and her eyes glowed in the dark.