Her amethyst eyes watched him as he struggled to sell the cats.  Hordes crowded the dank former-speakeasy that now lived its life as a the best black market for trades of all kinds in Los Angeles.  Kramer’s specialty was his fluorescent felines, which had been declared illegal  ten years before, in 2016.  With his wiry blond hair sticking in every direction and fervent look in his eyes, the giant hawked his wares, convinced that these black market kitties were the answer to his problem.  After all, if he didn’t get his sales up, Jem would be mad, and her wrath was worse than anything he could imagine.  He never thought that when he made the deal that got him the highlighter cat DNA, she would ask for so much in return.  At the time, Kramer figured that she would want a reasonable cut of his earnings, not seventy percent of it.  Kramer only really needed the money to pay off the local drug lord, who seemed to find immense joy in tormenting him and the price to stop it was a hundred thousand dollars.  Anway, the value of the dollar was way down from where it was fifteen years ago when he made the deal,  and he didn’t think he’d make enough this time around.  Glowing cats just weren’t in anymore, but he had no way out of it.
She continued gazing at him with disappointment, knowing full well she’d have to hunt this week rather than simply buy her food.  What will his punishment be?, she pondered, Maybe I should get rid of him just like I did to the last idiot who didn’t meet his quota.  Jem delighted in mixing different chemicals to make compounds that would suit her needs, but was sometimes limited by her appearance, after all, tails are hard to hide.  Kramer knew she was watching him with her slitted eyes.  She was always watching.  How am I going to get myself out of this mess?, the salesman wondered, his eyes darting across the room, searching for a customer.  What’ll she do to me when I don’t make enough money for her? His business wasn’t of the legal sort, so he couldn’t just take his wares to the nearest pet store and sell them.  He could picture her tail flicking in annoyance as she clicked her fingernails on the countertop as he entered relatively empty handed.  Her scientific knowledge was second to only one person: her mother, and there was no way anyone could get her to turn on her eldest daughter. 
After a scientific experiment gone wrong, Jem was transformed, her DNA literally altered when a chemical was released into the air and mistakenly inhaled by Jem.  While she always did connect with cats, she never wanted to share their features, and it was a mistake her mother never forgave herself for.  That meant Kramer was on his own against Jem if he didn’t sell at least five more cats, and her patience with business partners was not her best feature. 
The sky outside was brightening with the coming sun, meaning his selling time was coming to a close.  Packing up his booth, he trudged back to his grungy apartment down the street and prayed for mercy.
As soon as his worn leather boots hit the threshold, he knew he was in trouble.  Jem sat in the dusty foyer, arms crossed and retractable claws exposed, she stared him down.  Auburn tail twitching irritatedly, she remained a stone fixture in the threadbare velvet chair, more a gargoyle than the human-cat cross she appeared to be. 
“I tried my hardest, really I did, but no one wanted any cats today, but I’m sure sales will pick up tomorrow,” Kramer pleaded desperately.  She regarded him icily through her orchid eyes, then she graced him with a cloying smile, and watched his shoulders lose their rigid shape and his face relax into a small smile.
“Of course you’ll do better next time, after all, this dry spell isn’t your fault.  If anyone is to be blamed, it’s the customers, right?” she purred, inciting a nod from her companion. 
“Here, let’s have a drink to better sales tomorrow,” Jem suggested, leading him toward the moldy kitchen and gently steering him into a seat.  She proceeded toward the rusty fridge and evaluated her options before asking which he’d like.
“Some orange juice would be nice,” he said politely.  Nodding, she turned her back to him to pour his drink and her own, then brought the mismatched glasses to where he was seated and handed his over. 
“To better sales!” she declared.
“To better sales,” Kramer intoned, and knocked back his glass with little decorum.  Promptly slipping off his chair within seconds, his skin cold and his eyes dull, she glanced at him in mild annoyance.
“Idiot,” she muttered, shaking her head and stepping over his useless corpse toward the door.  Meanwhile, the unused grains of sodium cyanide remained in a neat little bag on the counter, appearing snowy and innocent.