Director Erin Finch, the head of Psychology and Health Sciences, screams. And sheesh, she is loud. There was probably a better way to go about this, but I couldn’t be bothered. I really lucked out on Gwen and Cat’s reactions. And Evan’s, I suppose. The look on Erin’s face right now is one of terror, and she’s backed herself up against the far wall of the room. Not good, per se, but not bad, either, since it means she’s not trying to run away or like, attack me or something.
Not that I think she’s capable of attacking me, even after seeing what just happened. She doesn’t seem the type to hurt a cat.
I sit in a pile of my clothes, next to my backpack, and say nothing (because I can’t). I do nothing. I watch her, I tilt my head, and I curl my tail around my forepaws because it feels good. There’s a clock on the wall to my right, and if it’s accurate, Cat should be here in—
The door slams open.
I leap away from it, letting out a warning meow-hiss combo at whatever has managed to sneak up on me—oh. It’s Cat.
There’s a joke to be made with my being a cat and nearly being sent into cardiac arrest, but I’m not about to bring it into existence.
Her appearance, door slamming aside, calms me in seconds and I begin to feel much safer. The screaming has stopped, and I assume the reason I didn’t hear Cat approaching is because of it. The screaming is also likely the reason Cat is here a bit early. Hopefully no one else is coming to investigate?
Cat closes the door behind her and locks it, turning to face the room with an amused look on her face as she takes in the I’m-totally-innocent-your-honour black cat and a disheveled Erin Finch. There’s a sharp, dank smell in the room now, its source the terrified woman in the pantsuit, and I momentarily consider whether she’s peed her pants before it clicks—it’s fear. I’m smelling her fear.
It is not pleasant. In fact, it makes me feel extraordinarily guilty.
I did that. She reeks of fear because of me.
Crap. Maybe I should’ve had Cat in here first, before I switched.
Mmmmm… nah. It’s fine.
Cat smells like cinnamon today, with undertones of turmeric (from the biryani?), sweat, and mild… amusement, maybe? I’m tempted to ask what product she’s using that leaves her smelling like cinnamon all the time, because my goodness is it an incredible scent, but I like the idea of challenging myself to figure it out on my own.
“Hey there, Finch,” Cat says with a wave.
I turn to look at the director.
“Catherine…? What—what is… w-what…”
They know each other? Huh. Not that surprising given her field of study and Erin’s status as the department head of that field of study, but still.
“Oh, wow, she really frazzled you.” I turn back to Cat and find her giving me a slightly judgey look. What’d I do. “Alice, what did you do.”
Nothing! I told her what was going on! I—
…can’t talk.
“Mao.”
She pinches the bridge of her nose and leans over to scoop me up. I allow it and soon find I love the feeling of being held like a baby—I mean, being princess-carried. I get to stare up at Cat while she cradles me to her chest with one arm and pets me with the other. Holymolyholysmokesthisisawesome.
“You—you know about this… this…”
The reek of fear loses its sharp edge. I guess seeing the girl-turned-cat picked up like a baby—princess, picked up like a princess, will do that.
“Yeah. She—hey, shit, why did you do this?” Cat asks me, meeting my gaze with a soft smile. I say nothing, because I freaking can’t. “I thought you were gonna wait for me to get here first.”
Did I not tell her? Oops.
“That’s… no, no way…” Erin is saying.
“Look, Finch,” Cat starts, “can you chill a bit? Sorry if that’s rude, you just… you’re freaking out over a cat, y’know? Over a student.”
“That’s not—”
“She,” Cat snaps, “is a person, and she has a name. How are you not dealing with this well? You’re the department head of compartmentalization.”
I don’t need to pay attention to this. Erin is too scared to do anything to hurt me or Cat, and Cat is too awesome to let anything happen to me.
I can switch back.
I don’t.
I like being held like this. I like being close to a human who takes care of me, who protects me, who keeps me safe, and who I want to make happy and feel good. My attachment to Cat has formed incredibly quickly, and I’m not sure it’s entirely reciprocated by her, but it doesn’t need to be. She’s human—I’m not. I’ve known her for less than a week and I would already trust her with my house keys. I feel a kinship with her. It’s similar to what I have with Gwen, but not quite the same.
Except, if I’m a cat, how can we ever date? Do I want to date her? I think so, but we can’t have that kind of relationship when I’m a cat—oh.
As far as reasons to stay humanish go, it’s a dang good one. But, hey, maybe she won’t feel similarly—I’m ace. She isn’t. Sex is a pretty big part of relationships to most people. I would be okay with her hooking up with other people as long as I still get to be hers, and she gets to be mine, though.
Hers. Mine.
Why do those things sound so appealing?
It’s not an odd question, normally, but it is for me. Why? Because I know the answer. I know why they sound appealing, and it is not for reasons that the Alice of last week would consider normal. The Alice of the past, I suppose. I doubt I’ll ever be her again, and I don’t think I will ever want to be, anyway. I’m a new Alice, now. A better Alice. I could never have cuddled (or met) with Cat in the first place if I was still a normal and boring human—not that Cat is boring! Or normal! Normal is lame. Cat is cool. She’s a cool cat. Cat is a cool cat and likes me being a cat and that is why she is a cool cat.
What the heck am I doing.
I try to think about it. I genuinely do.
I want to know what I’m doing.
Duh, I’m cuddled up to cat’s chest and being held like a baby, but what is my mind doing?
I go through a list of possibilities, trying to categorize my thoughts so I know why I’m thinking them. It feels pointless, or perhaps hopeless. I can’t find any rhyme or reason to them. They don’t make sense, but they’re not negative, and they’re not negatively impacting anything. Just… stray thoughts. Hrm.
Maybe I’m just thinking too much. It’s far too soon to think about getting serious with someone I’ve gone on one date with.
…but it is nice to think about.
I open my eyes. I’m not sure when I closed them, and that’s okay. I’m still with Cat, still being cradled in her arms like a baby… yeah, fine, whatever, baby, not princess. Are you happy now, brain?
My brain does not have a response to that. Find the original chapter at g.com.
I’m still staring up at Cat, but she isn’t looking at me anymore. She’s talking to someone—ah, the director. We’re sitting down now, or rather, Cat and Erin are sitting down on opposite sides of the desk, and I’m being held. I notice I’m purring, but I don’t stop. I can feel Cat’s gentle hands giving me scritches behind the ears and her quiet voice is very soothing.
“—Alice?” That’s me! Time to tune back in. “Time to switch back?” Cat asks, her beautiful eyes looking into mine once more. But…
No! Time to tune back out!
I shake my little kitty head. I hope it’s cute enough to dissuade her from trying to get me to switch again, even though I know I probably should. I came here for a reason, after all, even if I can’t exactly remember it right now.
“This is insane…” Erin whispers under her breath, and I know it wasn’t meant to be heard by anyone.
She sounds a lot calmer now, at least. Not accepting, no way, but at least a little calmer. I absolutely would not feel safe if Cat wasn’t here, but she is, so I do. Hopefully she explained what she could. Unfortunately, now it’s my turn.
I give Cat a soft, high-pitched maow and try to signal that I would like to be let down now, please and thank you. She infers my meaning and reorients me gently, setting me down on all fours so I can wander back over to my clothes and get dressed quickly after I switch.
“She’ll be naked,” I hear Cat telling the director. “Might wanna close your eyes, and also maybe probably never tell anyone you had a naked college student in your office.”
“She… she told me,” the director sighs. It’s like there’s no fight left in her. She doesn’t even acknowledge Cat’s remark.
Welp. People have been informed. If they see me naked, that’s on them. Here goes.
P—
…
…
It’s like it splutters out. Like an old car that isn’t starting. I… I’ll try again.
P—oof.
That’s better.
No it’s not. It’s worse. I’m human again. Humanish. Whatever.
My body feels tight but my skin feels loose. My heart is beating too fast, and I can hear it, but it’s not in the right spot?
And then the feeling is gone.
I get dressed quickly. I feel more than a little anxious and something is wrong, but nothing was wrong when I was a cat and I want to switch back and not be this—this—this—
“Hey, c’mere, I’ve gotcha,” a trusted voice says. I’m being pulled into a hug.
That’s nice.
It’d be nicer if I was a cat.
“Sit, here, we’re just gonna take a minute, okay? Finch—give us a sec, but you can open your eyes.”
I choke down a laugh. It’s funny. She said we’re taking a minute, but only asked Finch for a “sec”.
I don’t want to be here anymore. Cat’s here, and I don’t even want to be with her. Not like this. Not so… human. Life is a lot simpler when you’re a cat. Everything is so. Much. Easier.
“I think I’m gonna switch again,” I whisper into Cat’s neck, hating the way she stiffens.
“What’s wrong?”
Everything.
Her hands move from where they’ve been all but crushing me against her, settling instead on my shoulders. She scoots back on the floor, only an inch, and we’re not at eye level, and I have to look up at her slightly, but it’s okay. She’s grounding me. I think.
Gosh, I want to switch. I’m right there. I just have to let go.
“Stay with me,” she says softly. “I’m right here. I’m with you. Breathe, Alice. In and out. Just like last time.”
I nod. I’ll try, Cat. I’ll try.
I breathe in, I breathe out.
In. Out.
In.
Out.
In…
…out.
In…
…
…out.
In…
…
…
…out.
In…
…
…
…out.
Just like last time… but it’s not quite enough. I can switch instead.
It’d be easy. The feeling, the tinnitus, is a lot less, now. It no longer feels like it’s about to boil over and consume me, but part of me wants it to boil over, wants it to consume me. I’d let it, if the breathing hadn’t helped me remember the reason I switched in the first place. This is about control. This is about letting me make a decision, instead of having one made for me because no one can recognize me.
I need to ground myself in more than just Cat, more than just my breathing.
I can do that.
Five green things in Director Finch’s office: a pen in a mug on her desk, the lettering of the mug itself, her eyes, my eyes, and… and… probably some wiring in the microwave—oh! The number display on the microwave.
Four smells in Director Finch’s office: cinnamon, curry, leather, and stale air.
Three things I can touch in Director Finch’s office: myself, her desk, and the floor.
Two things I can hear in Director Finch’s office: the incessant buzz of fluorescent lights (when did those get turned back on?), and the ticking of the clock mounted on the wall.
One thing I can taste in Director Finch’s office: tuna, from my breakfast this morning.
I feel a little silly for going through the exercise, just as I do every time I use it, but the relief completing it brings outweighs any silliness by hundreds of metaphorical kilograms of positive emotional concrete.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Hey,” Cat replies.
“Sorry about—”
“Sorry, were you about to apologize for feeling things?”
“Um… no…?” I hazard. “I’m… I’m good now. Thank you.”
“It’s why you asked me to be here!” she chirps, stepping a ways away from me. “On that front—why am I here, and what are you doing?”
“Scaring her, I guess,” I explain, pointing at Erin. “I thought she was about to throw herself outta the window.”
“Fifty-fifty chance that crossed my mind,” Erin says, having apparently regathered her bearings.
I almost giggle, but I don’t feel up to it. “I can explain,” I state, moving to sit down in a chair across from Erin. Cat follows my lead. “But did anything else change about me? Did I get shorter again?”
“Maybe a bit? It’s hard to tell,” Cat says. “But… I think your hair is changing colour.”
Great. Just great.
“Picture, please?” I ask.
Ten seconds later, I’m looking at a picture of the top of my head on Cat’s phone. My roots are black for about an inch before they gradually transition into my normal coppery orange.
I like my hair colour.
Liked it, past tense, I guess, if I’m losing my natural colour. Or—getting a new natural colour? Who knows. Who cares. Maybe black will suit me better.
I suppress a whimper and shove my feelings down. I can deal with them later.
“All right. I guess that’s happening then. Anyways, um. The reason I…”
“You got this,” Cat assures me, taking my hand in hers.
Taking my hand in hers.
We’re holding hands. We’re being gay.
I got this.
“So… the reason I did all of this is because…”
It takes a while to explain everything to Erin and Cat. Erin has a bunch of questions about everything cat-related that I reluctantly answer in the hopes that my eventual request, which I’m building up to, will be heard and accepted. Cat has a ton of suggestions for ways I could have gone about this better, and she’s right on most counts, but still, I got the job done. I set out to do something, and I did it. All it took was (potentially) mildly traumatizing the psychology department head.
“So do you believe me now, when I say I’m Alice?”
“I… suppose,” she ventures. “What is it you’re wanting to ask?”
“Well,” I say, scratching the back of my head, “I don’t know what I want to do with my life—”
Erin scoffs. I ignore her.
“—but I don’t want the choice made for me. I got kicked out of my ELA class earlier because, y’know, I don’t look like ‘Alice’, and if Professor Kitsch emailed you about me in his class, I doubt any of my profs are going to ever recognize me unless I give them this whole… experience. And one of ‘em is old enough that I’d genuinely be worried about giving him a heart attack.”
“The point, Ms. Ekyd?”
“I don’t want to do this again, but I want to keep attending university. Can you help me? Can you talk to the dean, or other department heads, and make a case for me to study remotely, or be allowed back to class? Something? Please. Please.”
She tilts her head slightly and gives me a somber smile, like she’s pitying me, maybe.
“And why,” she asks, “do you think I would do that? We are strangers, Ms. Ekyd. I owe you nothing, except perhaps a heart attack.”
She’s bluffing, I think, but I think she also genuinely wants to hear my answer.
“Easy.” Not really. I’m lying through my teeth and guessing. “You smell kind. You seem kind. I needed to trust someone, and no one will believe you if you try anything. You have kids—what would you do if it was one of them asking this instead of me? You also have a cat, and you weren’t actually that upset with me when you thought I was doing some Freaky Friday shenanigans. And whatever’s happening to me, it doesn’t mean I deserve to have my future taken away when I haven’t done anything wrong. I just want to have a choice. For as long as I can, I want to have a choice.”