Gwen ended up snapping a picture of me zonked out on the couch, lying on my back with my tail stretched straight out in front of me and my paws to either side, just staring off into the distance at the mysteries of the universe, or whatever I think about when I’m high off my ass. When she teased me for showing off my butthole, I hissed at her and tucked my tail between my legs to hide the butthole in question, only slightly embarrassed. After the high wore off—for both of us—it was the middle of the afternoon and we hadn’t eaten anything. Suffice to say, we were both starving, and even worse: we were out of snacks. The remains of chip bags from the previous night were still out on the coffee table, an unintentional shrine to the piece of shit that is Cody. Ooh, I could probably claw him and get away with it. What’s he gonna do, try and catch a cat? Ehehehe.
Um, anyways.
I try to clear my mind and give my head a shake, which Gwen misinterprets as me telling her the coast isn’t clear. My new kitty ears tell me it is, and so I nod at her, duck down into the hoodie, and then we’re walking through the halls. It probably would’ve been fine if someone did see Gwen walking with a slightly lumpy hoodie, but better not to risk it. Traveling like this is… weird. I don’t like it. I’m pressed as flat as I can be against her chest underneath a hoodie so we can go out for snacks without getting caught by the RA, and the sound of her hoodie dragging against her shirt is overwhelming. I also can’t see anything that isn’t inside the hoodie, but being squished against her boobs is better than getting us in trouble. Worth it for the snacks, but still—I really don’t like it.
I’m not sure what I want for a snack, either, but Flamin’ Hot Cheetos don’t sound very appealing right now. Chicken sounds good. Maybe fish.
…
I do not like fish.
I don’t.
I’d ask myself why I’m now suddenly interested in it, but the whole thing of me turning into a cat is likely—no, scratch that, it is definitely responsible for it.
I… I guess it’s fine for me to start liking new foods because of this cat business? And Cheetos aren’t healthy for me anyway, so… yeah. I’ll meow at Gwen once we get to the store until she takes the hint and gets us to the aisle with the canned tuna. I’ll need to keep myself hidden in her hoodie, of course, but I should be able to pop my head and a paw out to point to what I want.
I hear the sound of a door opening, and then a second one, and then we’re walking to what I assume is Gwen’s car. I’m proven correct when we get in, and I immediately wriggle my way out of the top of the hoodie instead of the bottom because I want to be a little shit and because being trapped and cornered was worse than some of my more intense freakouts. She gives me a look, but overall she seems nonplussed about it, so I clamber across the console and into the passenger seat.
Gwen’s car is an old-ish Corolla that she’s decorated with plushies and a fuzzy pink steering wheel cover that I have never stopped giving her shit for. The air isn’t nice. It smells stale and the air freshener she has going—Sparkle Cupcake—smells like someone shoved frosting up my nose. It is disgusting. I need to do something about this.
I feel Gwen’s eyes on me as I line up a jump onto the dash, and then I bound off the seat and land on it, perfectly, and walk towards the middle. The sun has made the inside of the car pretty hot, even with the colder autumn weather, but other than noticing it, it doesn’t bother me too much. Gwen is staring at me now as I line up again to take out the air freshener, and she laughs hard when I leap and snap it off the mirror, carrying it with me all the way to the back seat, where I land with far more grace than I thought I would. The smell is even worse now with the thing in my mouth, so I jump back onto the console and stride across Gwen’s lap, pawing at the window with the air freshener dangling from my mouth.
“What, kitty doesn’t like it?” she says, grinning at me. I shake my head, unsure how to feel about the way she’s been calling me that. “Well, I’m not littering. Here, give it to me, I’ll throw it in the console instead,” she offers, and I scold myself for having been about to litter.
Five minutes later, and with only a little bit of whining on my part because everything was going too fast and I wanted to look out the window but I also didn’t, we’re at the store.
“Wanna come in?” she offers, and I give her a mrow and clamber back inside the hoodie. We found a way for me to communicate at least a little bit before we left, which is basically: I whine if I want something (and I try not to feel too embarrassed about it), she guesses what I want until I meow once, and… that’s it. Meow once for yes and twice for no. Super good, super professional, and not at all embarrassing. Gosh, not being able to talk sucks. If I’m stuck this way forever, at least I don’t have to voice train anymore?
Ugh. Whatever. Snacks.
I can feel everything from where I’m cuddled up to her, and after some walking around inside the store, which is extremely hazardous to my new sense of smell and my hearing (Axe body spray is so fucking bad, and everyone is talking and whispering and yapping and I can’t tune it out and it’s awful and overwhelming me but I need to pay attention so I try to do that), I hear the sounds of chip bags being haphazardly tossed into a basket. It feels like we’re about to go check out, and I think it’s because I can hear the beeping of the cash registers a little better, so I let out a soft whine.
“Mrrrowwww.”
“Oh, uh… what do you want?” Gwen asks, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
I don’t say anything. Or rather, I don’t make any more cat noises. C’mon, Gwen.
“Um. You want… like… cat treats?” she hedges, and I hiss at her and resist the urge to dig my claws into a boob. “Okay, okay! Geez,” she hisses, trying to keep her voice down. “Cat toys? Catnip?”
Okay, I’m a little ashamed of myself, but she’s treating me like an animal! I’m not an animal! I’m Alice! And as Alice, the only appropriate response I have is to extend my claws—which I hadn’t even thought about before and which feel oddly nice to unsheathe—and dig them into her sternum. I’m not evil enough to poke a titty… yet.
She yelps, and I get a swat near where my butt is. I successfully resist the urge to claw her again to keep this from turning into the scene from Ratatouille where Remy keeps biting Linguini after getting hit repeatedly. I do hiss at her, though, and I swear I can hear the eye roll.
“Geez, Alice, snippy much?” she whispers. “Okay, uh… milk?”
Neither of us normally drink milk, but I guess she’s just suggesting things that people associate with cats at this point. I don’t think milk is actually good to give to cats, but it sounds good to me, so I let out a little mao, and a few minutes later we have acquired milk. It’s near the meat section, and the smells are driving me insane. I think I’m drooling on Gwen’s shirt, but I can’t bring myself to care. It… it smells so good over here. I… oh no. I need to restrain myself before I hop out of her hoodie and snag a sausage or something. Fuck, that sounds so good right now. But I can’t! I won’t! Chill the hell out, Alice.
Resisting my impulses as a human is difficult. If I want a snack, I get a snack. If I want to get off, I get off. It eats into my studying quite a bit, but I’m working on more important things than impulse control in therapy right now. But—trying to resist those impulses as a cat? It’s like trying not to go twenty over the speed limit when the right song comes on.
I do, though. Resist the urge to find something to sink my teeth into, that is.
“Anything else?” Gwen asks.
“Mrow.”
“Okay, how’s… chicken?”
It sounds so good right now, Gwen, you have no idea. I mao enthusiastically, and a few steps later the scent of rotisserie chickens is overwhelming. Theysmellsofuckinggoodohmyfuckinggosh.
I can’t help it. I pop my head out of the top of the hoodie so I can stare at them, and I absolutely drool down the front of Gwen’s hoodie. Chickens. Rotisserie chickens. Packaged and hot and ready for me to devour, all sitting unattended in some kind of heat-making stand that keeps them hot and fresh and they’re so juicy and I need them I need them I need to eat one of those right now I need—
“Hey! Get back down there!” Gwen giggles quietly, but I give her a clipped hiss and sniff the air, my whiskers twitching as I—yup, that one. I lift a paw out of the hoodie and point at one of the chickens, and it is added to the basket. Mournfully, I retreat into my hiding place and rebalance myself so I don’t fall out of the bottom of her hoodie. I kinda wish she had her hand under my butt and was holding me up, but for obvious reasons I can’t freaking communicate that.
Something else to add to the list of things I need to type out on the laptop.
“All right, let’s get out of here. I can tell you’re getting antsy in there,” Gwen says, and I scrunch up my face in confusion until I realize that, yeah, I am totally tweaking out, all twitchy and uncoordinated. It’s getting harder and harder to stay still, and my tail is flicking back and forth in an almost angry way. I kind of sort of really want some fish, like, really, really badly, but an entire rotisserie chicken is enough for now.
I guess.
Gwen checks out, avoids the line of questioning about her bulging hoodie from the cashier (somehow), and pretty soon we’re both back in our dorm. I am very glad Gwen didn’t ask about a litterbox or something, because I am at least talented enough to use the toilet as a cat. I can’t flush, but… Actually, y’know what, the less said about it all, the better.
She shreds some of the chicken and sets it on the floor in a bowl, and then she gives me some head scritches and opens a bag of Cheetos for herself. She takes a seat on the couch and pulls out her phone, but glances over at me when she realizes I’m not eating.
I glare at her, but she shrugs, and my whiskers twitch in annoyance. “No cats on the furniture. Well, couch is fine, but I don’t want you making a mess with your chicken on it. And definitely not the coffee table or counters. Your paws are probably filthy,” she explains, and I intensify my glare, but it’s no use. I debate jumping on the counter anyway, but she’s right, and… and… I just want the chicken.
I stop caring about having to eat like an animal (mostly, I’m just peeved at eating off the floor), because how else am I supposed to eat? With my paws? I don’t have enough dexterity. I don’t have thumbs. And the chicken is good. Really good. I lose myself in it, taking small bites and chewing in a manner that I guess Gwen finds cute, because she can’t stop staring at me and smiling. It tastes really good. Like, Best Meal Ever good. It is so juicy and so tender and so full of flavour I’ve never noticed before. Holy fuck I love chicken. I actually choke on some of it when I start eating too fast, which earns me another laugh and a few pats on the back.
When I’m done, I stride over to her and hop up on the couch, curling into a little ball next to her because I am inexplicably exhausted all of a sudden. I don’t even remember falling asleep, only that it’s dark out the next time I open my eyes. It isn’t dark for me, because I can see in the dark, which means I’m still a cat and there goes the sleep to switch back theory.
Oh well.
Gwen is beside me, on her phone, and I nuzzle the underside of her arm after getting in a nice stretch. Dang, that felt really good. She looks at me, and I try to meow, but I end up yawning instead, which she of course finds adorable and gives me some more head pats.
“Hey Alice,” she says after a while, and her tone is somber. Ah, yeah, we probably should have a better conversation instead of ignoring everything and getting high again.
I tilt my head at her, and she sighs and sets her phone down, motioning for me to come up and perch on her lap. I do, and it’s cozy, and she starts moving her hand down my head and back, and it feels so nice and cozy and comfortable, and I am safe and this is right and—
“I’ve been thinking,” she says, cutting off my train of thought, “and now that I’ve had some time to process this, it’s… it’s fucked. Obviously there’s nothing about it on the internet, just weirdos and nonsense Reddit threads, but I still had to check. And I… I don’t know what to do, Alice. I tried to play it off, but this is freaking me out quite a bit. You… what if you’re stuck like this?”
I dip my head, and I guess I succeed at making a sad expression, because she stifles a sad gasp and pulls me in tight for a hug. “Ah, fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just don’t know what to do,” she repeats, softly rubbing my head. I mrow and pull back a little from the hug, electing to curl up and lie down on her lap instead. I keep my head angled toward her so I can nod and shake my head, though. It might be time to get the laptop out again, but typing really is quite difficult as a cat, and I can’t use the mouse well enough on my own, so Gwen has to help me with it. It’s okay to just sit here instead, for now. It’s okay.
It’s okay.
“How are you feeling right now? You seem… content?”
I raise a paw in a so-so gesture.
“Not bad, not good?”
“Mrow.”
“Hrm. You are upset, though? Is it anything I did? Is there anything I can do?”
I want to say, “I love you so fucking much, Gwen,” but I can’t. She’s also asking too many questions for me to answer at once, but the first one, her wondering if I’m upset, sticks, and I find myself thinking about it.
I am a girl cat (cis girl cat?), which… honestly, it feels pretty great. I haven’t felt any dysphoria since I looked in the mirror this morning. I can’t talk, which sucks hard, even if I never had too much to say to anyone other than Gwen. I had some mildly deep talks with other friends, sure, but all the important stuff was saved for Gwen because I didn’t feel like talking about it with anyone else. Not being able to do that anymore… I’m not sure how I feel about it.
One of the worst things is that, being a cat, I’m dependent on others unless I run away and live on the street, and that is something I would rather not do. Being homeless… sucks a lot.
My money is useless when I’m like this, and if I’m this way permanently, the money will run out eventually and someone else will need to buy me food. I can’t finish university. I can’t be a therapist. I can’t play video games. I can’t cook.
I can watch TV. I could probably figure out a way to read on a tablet. I take up less space. I’m very soft. Chicken tastes really, really good now. Like, that was absolutely the best meal I’ve ever had, even if I had to suffer through the indignity of eating it out of a bowl on the floor.
…is it an indignity, though? I’m a cat. Cats lick their own buttholes (I have no plans to do so). They also do typically eat off the floor, and they need a human to clean their litterbox. They aren’t really dignified, but they also don’t have a concept of self-respect and no need for dignity, because what do cats care about being dignified? That said, the issue for me is that I do. I was a—I am a person.
But… all most people will see when they look at me is a cat, if this is a permanent thing.
They won’t have expectations of me.
They might even give me scritches.
And because I’m a person and know better than a “normal” cat, I should be respectful of h—other people. I do walk on all fours, and people eat off of counters and tables, and my paws are doubtlessly filthy, even from mostly walking around in our dorm room. So… I guess it makes sense to eat off the floor. It’s just… it’s what works. And it isn’t like I can’t be on the furniture at all, even if I kinda sorta maybe want to claw it a little.
Agh! I can’t help it! Having my claws out feels satisfying to some part of me.
But I’m a person. I can help it. I know wrecking furniture is wrong, and I won’t do it.
So, Gwen’s question, am I upset?
…I do not know.
I try to indicate this to Gwen with another approximation of a shrug.
“Okay, well… it’s late, and it’s the weekend. I know you had a thing with Octavia tonight, but I take it you’re not going?”
Oh, fuck, Tav. I forgot about her. Fuck. Fuckshitfuckfuckshit. She’s going to think I stood her up!