The rest of Sunday passes in a weed-induced haze followed by a nap, more (warm, not hot) milk, and another nap. Monday morning is a whole thing, but I manage to get through it (as a… human) after hacking up a hairball and checking myself over for any new changes—surprise surprise, I’m even shorter, standing at five-four now. I can’t find anything else different about me, so after breakfast—more milk, we haven’t done a proper grocery run for my new diet yet—I find myself wandering to class early. I’m not sure when Evan left yesterday, but he and Gwen really seem like they’ve hit it off. All she has to do now is not date him for another few weeks, or a month, or however long it’ll take for her to get over Cody in a healthy way. I’d usually be more worried about it, but I’m hyperfixating a bit (just a bit) on Cat currently.
I’m honestly really nervous about Cat. Our psych lecture is at 10am and I have twenty-ish minutes to kill before then. None of my clothes really fit me anymore, but Gwen was happy to lend me some of hers for today, which include a sports bra that’s just a little too tight because my chest is now slightly bigger than hers. Most of her clothes fit somewhere between “snug” and “loose” on me, so they’re pretty comfortable overall. I got a few stares when I was making my way to campus, though now that I’m on campus, they seem to have mostly stopped. I can still see random men checking me out from the corner of my eyes—can see them pointing at me, talking about me to their friends.
I don’t get what the big deal is. I have tits and a face. None of them are women, none of them are Cat, so I don’t want their attention.
Fuck it, I’m feeling confrontational this morning.
I spot two particularly creepy dudes (creepy to me, they look fine) wearing bomber jackets and blue jeans. Both are over six feet, leaning against a tree, vaping away. They don’t look particularly good, or bad, they’re just… boring, and staring at me.
I give them the finger and keep walking.
It’s cold today, or at least that’s what Gwen said—I don’t really feel it. I’m wearing a faded yellow cami and light grey sweats alongside my too-big slides because none of Gwen’s shoes fit, and everything else I have is too big for me now. I had briefly debated throwing a hoodie on to blend in a little better, but it was way too hot after about thirty seconds… and… and I don’t really want to blend in. It’s a nice day out. Overcast and cloudy, a little windy, golden leaves layered over each other atop dry, dying grass. The trees are starting to bare their branches, and the old brickwork of the buildings on campus lends itself to the creation of a sort of gothic, content atmosphere that whispers autumn.
Focusing on said autumnal atmosphere lets me dull how I’m feeling about having given two strangers the finger. I have never done something like it before. Returning their stares, putting on my best bitch face, yes, absolutely. Flipping them off? Never.
I don’t feel particularly panicky about it, or anxious. It’s… hard to describe how I’m feeling about it, exactly. I don’t think I care all that much about having done it. I’m just… glad I did it. It felt right.
Maybe I’d thought that, in the moment, they were staring at me because I’m trans? Even if I’m not really very clocky anymore?
In all likelihood, they were staring at my cat eyes, or my body, or lack of clothes in weather that’s quite cold for most people, or some other thing about me that makes people stare. Don’t know, don’t care, flipping them off felt right. They were doing something I didn’t like, I made my displeasure known, and then I moved on. It’s not a complex social interaction—hell, I’ve definitely been caught gawking at more than a few girls before. Sometimes they smile, sometimes they look away, sometimes they flip me off. As long as I’m not doing it in like, a creepy way, I’m fine.
What is a creepy way, though? Am I fine? Am I a creep, a weirdo? When does staring become creepy? Why am I thinking so much about this?
Am I a bad person? Am I a hypocrite?
Fuck, being a cat is so much easier than dealing with any of this shit.
I start making my way to class a little more hastily, catching a few more people staring at me along the way, but I’m not feeling as confrontational anymore and just wish I was somewhere else instead.
Or something else.
There’s still ten minutes until class starts when I finally get inside the lecture hall. Fortunately for me, as soon as I do, all of the errant thoughts that have been making me an anxious ball of “AHHH!” during the walk here disappear.
Unfortunately, the reason they disappear is because I make eye contact with Cat. She’s right beside the door. Was she waiting for me? She smells like cinnamon, fresh linen, and… chicken. Mmm.
Her pixie cut is a little messy today, and she’s wearing the same red knit sweater she was when we first “met”. Her hazel eyes sparkle and I can see my own eyes reflected in them. She’s about an inch taller than me now—hopefully she doesn’t notice.
“Oh, hey… uh…”
Oh my gosh I never gave her my name. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Alice,” I supply nervously.
“Alice!” she chirps. “Sorry I never asked for it before—”
“Sorry I didn’t give it to you—”
“It’s fine, it was—”
Someone bumps into me from behind, and in a heartbeat I’m pivoting to hiss at them and it’s too late to stop myself because I’m already doing it and I realize I’m doing it and fuck.
Hissssssssssss!
“Jesus!” the girl who bumped into me yelps, backing away hurriedly. “Stop standing in the fuckin’ doorway,” she tacks on after regaining her composure. She gives me a look, and then she stomps off to find somewhere to sit.
I… I am surprised she backed away from me instead of laughing at me. With my eyes, I look like a cosplayer, or someone a little too eager for Halloween. My intention was to scare off whoever was attacking—or, no, I wasn’t being attacked, just… jostled, because I was in the way, and… well, she could’ve asked instead of bumping into me… but… but my intention was to scare away whoever had done it, to make my space safe, and I succeeded.
I turn back to Cat and find her squinting at me as if she were appraising an animal behaving erratically. A few other people are giving me looks as well, but I ignore them and walk past Cat to go sit down. I should probably go instead, leave and never come back ever again, but I’m already sitting and I can still feel people looking at me and what the hell did I just do why did I do that oh fucking why—
“Hey, you okay?” a familiar voice asks, and a comforting weight settles on my shoulder. I flinch away from it.
Why is Cat touching me without my permission? I hate being touched. Does she just touch everyone and everything? She picked me up out of nowhere when I was a cat, and now it’s fine for her hand to be on my shoulder for some reason, and I’m upset about it because she didn’t ask but I’m not really reacting beyond flinching away and I actually kind of miss it—
“Alice? Do you need anything?”
“Hand. Sorry,” I mumble, wanting her hand back on my shoulder. She obliges after I gesture to my shoulder.
Do I need anything?
Yeah.
I need to be a cat.
It’s building in me. I can already switch again, I can feel it, but I can’t turn into a cat here, not here, not in front of all these people. I should go. I need to go. Why did I even bother with class today?
Instead, I stay put, because Cat’s hand is on my shoulder, and old instinct takes over. I breathe in, I breathe out. In. Out.
In.
Out.
In…
…out.
In…
…
…out.
In…
…
…
…out. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
In…
…
…
…
…out.
I blow out a shaky breath.
I’m… okay.
Cat’s hand is still on my shoulder, steadying me.
Anchoring me.
The tinnitus-like feeling is… fading. I’m okay.
She doesn’t know it, but she’s doing something Gwen used to do—anchoring me.
How could I have ever thought being a cat was good for me?
I enjoy it. I love it.
But I need to look at what it’s doing to me emotionally. I haven’t freaked out this much in so long.
I… I forgot I could be grounded like this, with someone’s hand on my shoulder. Cat isn’t saying anything, she’s just… here for me. She is a complete stranger, and she is here for me.
I find myself capable of words again, eventually.
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
“Of course.”
I shouldn’t say anything else. Let the interaction end here.
“Why?” I ask instead, because I’m stupid and can’t accept nice things.
“Panic attacks suck? You’re cute? You seemed like you needed a—a friend?” she offers instantly, grinning at me, though it’s a questioning sort of grin. I manage a small smile in response. “Nah. Well, yes,” she says with a snort, “but mostly it felt right? Sorry if that’s weird to say—I just… I dunno. It’s hard to explain without sounding like a weirdo.”
This time, I snort. “You’re worried about sounding like a weirdo after I freaking hissed at some random girl?”
“Uh, yeah,” she insists, her grin growing a little with her confidence. “I’ll tell you after class if you want—oh! And if you need to leave, I can totally give you my notes. I’m not sure I’d be able to stick around after… that.”
I shrug, wondering when I became so relaxed before deciding it doesn’t matter.
“After class sounds good. We could get Booster Juice?” I offer.
“Sure! It’s a date,” she replies, and I turn away to hide a blush.
Class is two hours long and is mostly boring. My next one is at 1:30pm, so Cat and I have some time to kill before I need to be anywhere. I learn she has no other classes today—she’s only taking three courses this semester—and that she’s a part of the university’s board games club, which I didn’t even know existed. She talks a lot, and we get to talking about food and our shared love for it.
She likes dark chocolate and doesn’t really do anything else for sweets unless it’s a dessert and not candy. She’s not a fan of steak but loves chicken, and I unfortunately cannot find words to describe how tasty chicken has become for me. I settle for telling her it’s my favourite food, but that I really want to try fish again, making up an excuse that I used to hate it but have developed a craving for it recently. Then I realize it’s not an excuse—it’s the truth.
Our talking about food is interspersed with us discussing our music tastes, which are shared in some ways, but not at all the same (to our shared disappointment). There is a somewhat heated argument involving Eminem, Chappel Roan, A Tribe Called Quest, and Queen before I steer the topic back to food, not yet ready for that much conflict, even if it’s not serious or hostile. It just feels like it is, and it’s a lot of emotions, and I’m not as talkative as I usually am when talking about my interests.
…
Noticing that throws me for a loop, but thankfully Cat says something that throws me for a bigger loop.
It turns out she was responsible for the lemon chicken she fed me.
“Yeah, it was really good,” I say as we make our way into the campus’ Booster Juice, a small, linoleum-and-white-tile fluorescent-lit dining space that is exactly what you’d expect.
“Huh?”
Oops.
“Your lemon chicken? I imagine it was really good?”
“Oh. Uh—yeah. Yeah, it was. I gave the leftovers to the cat I told you about—y’know, I’d be… I’d be happy to cook for you sometime, if you’d like. I work at Canvas on Thursdays and Fridays and I may have stolen a few recipes.”
Smooth, Alice. Good recovery—now just try not to lie to this girl anymore than you already have and definitely don’t think about what might happen if you become a thing and stop thinking about becoming a thing, you’ve barely talked to each other.
What the heck is going on with me?
Cat offers to pay and orders two strawberry banana smoothies. In a moment of whimsy, I suggest sharing a large one and then shut down for a few seconds.
She agrees while I try and fail to hide another blush, and we get our smoothie and find a place to sit.
“Okay, Canvas? Nice,” I say as I sip the smoothie… and then it’s on my tongue and it’s awful and I forgot, I forgot I would not be interested in this, how did I forget???
I swallow it down and try not to retch.
I’d rather spit it out, but there’s only so much abnormal behaviour Cat will be willing to put up with.
She smiles at me and takes the smoothie.
We’re sharing a straw.
“Too cold?”
Oh, great, she noticed my reaction. “No, just… just not for me. Sorry. Here, let me pay for it,” I say, reaching into my purse for my wallet.
“You’re fine. I won’t take your money. Why did you…?”
“Order it? Uh…” Because I was too busy paying attention to you and trying to be sly by ordering a single large. “I don’t know. I don’t like bananas.” Or strawberries. I used to, but not anymore. “I was kinda distracted I guess.”
“Oh?” she asks, and her little grin is so devious it’s unfair. I wait for a moment before realizing she expects me to respond to that.
Shit. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
“Like… by… u-um—by you, I mean. You’re cute,” I’m forced to confess.
“Duh,” she giggles. “You’ve been blushing non-stop since we met.”
I have?
I have.
“I take it you’re into me?” she asks.
I nod vigorously while blushing furiously.
“Wouldn’t have pegged you for the shy type,” she notes.
I stop nodding and breathe out a bit while trying to force my blush to back the frick down.
“I’m… trying to find a normal that works for me?” I hedge. “I’ve been all over the place for a bit,” I admit, glad to be telling the truth. “Before that, I was actually really shy—I didn’t talk to many people, and when I did, I was almost always trying to get out of the interaction unless they were my friends or if I needed to get something out of the interaction, like my food order, or a paper from a prof.”
“Huh. Not really my business, but if I can ask, did something happen?”
“Yeah,” I decide to tell her. Why not, right? She loved me as a cat. She certainly seems to like me as a… a human. “But I don’t wanna get into it right now.” Or ever. Even if pursuing… whatever this is… means I’ll eventually have to. “But I might like to another time.”
We talk for a while longer, mostly about what we’re both studying—she’s also doing psychology, but doesn’t have a career in mind—as well as a bit about video games. Before I know it, an hour passes and I’m asking her if she’d like to hang out again sometime soon.
“How about tonight?”
Oh shit. That’s sometime soon. That’s… that’s tonight!
“Are you asking me on, like, a date date?”
“Yes, you goober,” she says with a grin, “a date date. I’d say Canvas since I get a great discount there, but it’s pretty fancy and not really what I’d vibe for for a first date. What about Vietnamese? There’s this place on 8th that’s really good.”
I don’t know if I can go on a real date if we’re doing dinner for it. Maybe a movie instead?
Vietnamese food was really good before last Friday, but the thought of noodles and vegetables and everything else that would typically make a Vietnamese dish good are not things I want to eat anymore. Does KFC do non-breaded chicken?
“I’m… not a huge fan of it.” Anymore. “Know anywhere besides Olive Garden that does decent grilled chicken?”
Grilled chicken used to be so boring for me. I loved pho, and tacos, and fried chicken, and poutine and some salads and bacon and eggs and hashbrowns and pancakes and strawberries and… and there’s no point in thinking about this, because it’s making me depressed.
At least the few things I’m able to eat now tastes beyond amazing.
I could try bacon, but the thought of it isn’t really doing anything for me. Same with beef or any meat that isn’t chicken. Thank gosh I wasn’t vegan before this.
I did try it for a while at the start of my first year of university, but it ended up being too time-consuming to figure out alongside five classes—I did manage to pass all of them, but geez am I glad I’m only taking four this year. Being vegan wasn’t hard, per se, and I didn’t really miss the taste of meat while I was, it was just… it took a lot of time.
“You said you cook and you don’t like Vietnamese food?” she asks, her eyes widening.
I shrug. I used to, but I can’t say that, and I really need to not let my little secret sit for too long, or I need to decide against trying to see where this might go and end things now—and there’s no way I’m not seeing where this goes. Divert the topic? Yeah.
“Yeah, I’m bad,” I lie, “but… question—did you think I was cute before you dropped my bag off yesterday?”
She tilts her head, as if considering this for the first time. “I think so? You always sat in the front and usually came in after me. I sit far enough back that I never got a great look but yeah, I’d say so. Also! Why was your bag out there by the dumpsters?”
Uh. Um. Lie.
Lies, lies, more lies.
No.
Stop lying.
“I don’t wanna lie, but I don’t want to answer that either. Is that okay?”
She shrugs and nods. “Sure. Thanks for letting me know. Anyways, food—Olive Garden is fine, but… if it’s chicken you want, maybe… maybe I could cook? We could watch a movie? If that’s not too forward for a first date!” she blurts out before gulping down more smoothie.
My face goes bright red and I desperately wish I had fur to hide that fact, and then I wish I hadn’t thought of that because the familiar “I’m About to Cat” sensation is bubbling up inside me. I want to be a cat, but it’s doing something to me—my… human self. Human form. Whatever. It’s doing something to me that isn’t just physical, and I already knew this, but it hasn’t happened in front of so many people before and am I just freaking out because Cat makes me nervous?
“Alice? Alice, no, girl, I’m sorry, we can go out, I don’t have to cook, it’s okay we—”
I shake my head. “Hand please,” I say, standing to switch to the other side of the table and sit next to her.
Dutifully, she places her hand on my shoulder and rubs it while I calm down with something that isn’t turning into a cat in the middle of campus. As I calm, as she calms me, I realize I’m not worried about the hissing incident. I’m not worried about how being a cat is changing me, physically or otherwise.
I’m worried about someone I might like thinking I’m weird, or a freak.
It’s easy to not give a fuck about strangers—to flip them off, for example, if you so desire.
But when it’s people you know, people you care about?
It’s a lot harder.
That’s why I didn’t like it when Gwen called me a freak.
I’m not worried about how I’m changing at all.
I’m worried about what Cat thinks after witnessing it.
And, ahahaha, you know what?
If her hand on my shoulder is anything to go by, I don’t think she’s all that concerned. Heck, I don’t even really care about asking why she helped me out in class anymore. She did, and that’s what matters.
I get to have a cute date tonight and now I need to try not to spiral again—Cat is interested in me. She is.
If I’m going to spiral over anything, it should be what I’m going to wear.
Oh, shit, what am I gonna wear?