A cursed princess. A haunted house. And a very undignified amount of fur.

Velzara has razed cities, outlasted gods, and earned a name spoken in the trembling dialects of the damned. Now she is stuck in the body of a housecat: infernal majesty with an unfortunate weakness for sunbeams.

The witch who took her in thinks she adopted a stray.

Elira Thorne inherited an old house full of locked doors, humming wards, and her late grandmother's half-finished notes. She wanted a familiar. She got a furious immortal who treats the litter box as a personal affront and narrates every indignity like a documented war crime. Elira has no idea what is really purring on her windowsill. She has no idea what her grandmother sealed in the basement, either, or why the wards keep flickering, or what has started breathing behind her in empty rooms.

Velzara knows. She knows exactly how a house this quiet goes wrong.

Caught between an enemy she cannot name and a curse she cannot break, the once-princess faces the most humiliating truth of her long existence: the only thing standing between this oblivious girl and something old and hungry is a cat who refuses, on principle, to admit she has started to care.

The curse was never meant to save her. Just to make sure she survived.

Curse Meow Not is Book One of The Infurnal Catastrophe, a series that drives apocalyptic dread straight into domestic absurdity and apologizes for neither. For readers who want their cosmic horror with claws, their cozy fantasy with teeth, and a heroine whose dignity dies a little more with every biscuit she is caught making.