The rest of Saturday morning passes in a blur. Gwen ended up washing her own comforter, and the only thing she did after I turned into a cat again—by accident, I didn’t do it on purpose—in the way of communication was to sigh and then basically ignore me for the whole morning. She still fed me some more of the delicious chicken, and I didn’t even care about eating it out of a bowl on the floor. She also put out a bowl of water after I whined enough to be annoying and get the meaning of my mrrrrrroooowwwwws across… and then I promptly scampered off to hide behind a sofa for some fricking reason. I was very grateful there was no way she could have seen how mortified I was. I’m not sure if cats can blush, but if they can, mine was thankfully hidden beneath layers and layers of soft, decadent fur that felt a little oily.
I licked it clean and ended up going over my rear as well without even noticing until after I was done cleaning. Gwen had given me a Look when I was done, and I realized she’d been watching me the whole time as I repeatedly licked my paws and used them to clean the top of my head and other hard-to-reach places across my body. The whole process was immensely relaxing and I’m not sure how long it took, only that I fell asleep shortly afterward and woke up sometime mid afternoon.
I stretch and smile softly when I wake up, yawning and then arching my back and sinking my claws into the fabric of the sofa I fell asleep on before remembering I shouldn’t do that. It feels so good though—maybe I should see if I can give Gwen my card and ask her to go out and buy a cat tree for me. I can claw at that without anyone getting upset at me or voiding our security deposit.
Still riding the high of the relaxation I fell asleep with, I circle around the spot I napped in, pushing my paws down gently into the sofa to find the spot I’d just been in. The sun is shining through the window and it is the perfect spot to take up residence and just… be.
I don’t remember the last time I allowed myself to exist. To stay in a moment and do nothing, to be bored.
Boredom isn’t a bad thing. It means you have time to be doing nothing, time you can relax in. I don’t want to go on my phone—and I pretty much can’t anyway—or read a book or watch TV. It’s just comfortable here. I can bask in the sun and no one wants anything from me, no one expects anything from me.
Eventually, I’m hungry again and pace over to whine in front of my empty food bowl. I could find Gwen and meow at her, but she wouldn’t immediately know what I want. Doing so next to my food bowl instead just makes sense and expedites things.
After a dozen mews and maos and mreows, I start to get irritated; my tail swishes behind me erratically to indicate this to whoever might see me. Did Gwen fall asleep? Her door is open, so I walk over to it and frown when I realize she isn’t here.
Gwen left me alone in our dorm? Maybe she’s in my room.
I check and confirm she isn’t. I can still smell her, but not as strongly as when she was actively moving around in here earlier.
Gwen is gone.
I let out a despondent mrowww at having been abandoned and decide to sate my hunger with water. I walk over to where my water bowl is and lap it up in an unhurried manner. When I’m done, I realize there’s a pink sticky note attached to the side of the kitchen island, just behind my bowls, with Gwen’s unmistakable fancy-ass scrawl all over it. I missed it earlier.
I tilt my head to read it.
Hey Alice,
Gone out to have a drink with Evan
(guy from last night). Will be back before seven. Take care of yourself okay? I love you.
- Gwennie
I snort—kch—at her usage of the nickname she violenced me for and glance up at the microwave. It’s a little after four, and I’m not sure when she left. She’ll be back before seven? Oh no. Roughly three (potential) hours without food is too long. I’ll starve. I’ll go hungry and die, alone and abandoned. I let out another mrowww, this one even more despondent and hopeless than the last one.
Did Gwen forget about me, or did she do this on purpose so I’d turn back into a human and get something to eat?
To be fair, even if it was accidental, I didn’t make any great effort to change back after cat-ifying myself this morning. I feel bad about that. It upset Gwen, it was me avoiding the conversation, and it was me shutting down the conversation, forcefully. I gotta apologize to her. Maybe I could change back and cook dinner tonight? No, she’s probably getting food with Evan. Setting aside three or more hours for a date after the disaster that was their hook up feels a little crazy to me, but I’m not involved (and also the reason their night got wrecked), so I try to push it from my mind. I hope it goes well, even if I suspect it’s more of a plot on Gwen’s end to make sure he stays hush-hush about the weird catgirl she’s rooming with.
Ooh, is it bad if I want my body to change, but not into a cat? Just into a catgirl? Fluffy hands, maybe, with the tail and ears, but still able to do normal human things? Like, I didn’t want it before—the only interaction I had with catgirls was through a computer screen. I thought they were cool, and cute, but I can’t remember ever wanting to be one. I wonder if I would have wanted to be, if I’d been given a choice to pick between that and being an actual cat. I frown when I realize I don’t know.
I think the way I think is changing.
I don’t think I’m upset about it.
I wonder if that’s because I’m being made to not be upset about it via the way I think changing.
I decide this is a spiral waiting to happen and stop thinking about it after reassuring myself that as long as I feel okay, and no one’s getting hurt, it’s okay. It’s not like I have any safe ideas on how to stop turning into a cat anyway, and I’m not sure I want to stop it if I can feel this content. Even with the time I’ve spent human since I first woke up as a cat, the depression hasn’t been eating at me as much. I have energy to do things. I’m considering being human so I can cook and apologize to Gwen.
No.
No, then I’d have to stop being a cat. Hell, I don’t even need clothes as a cat. My room would basically be pristine 24/7 if I lived in it as a cat, but why would I even do that when I take up so little space and can cuddle in Gwen’s bed instead? I can get pets, and scratches, and I can purr and be soft and warm for my h—Gwen.
I could nap again. I don’t feel tired, really, but I also don’t feel as full of energy as I did yesterday when Gwen was chasing me around. I could go for a nap.
Or…
Or I could go out and explore a bit, as a cat. After eating some chicken, of course. Chasing a bird or mouse sounds fun, but I don’t have any desire to eat them.
But! Exploring. Outside! As a freaking cat!
The thought sends shivers through me, and my tail twitches excitedly.
Well. That’s what I’m gonna do then! It’s also a good opportunity to figure out exactly how switching works. I’ll need to change to my human form, and then back to cat form. I’ll need to get outside first—as a human—and find a secluded spot to switch in. I should bring a backpack and… probably just strip and put my clothes in it, and then hide it once I’m ready to switch. If I’m gonna be turning into a cat, someone seeing me naked is the least of my problems. Also… I don’t really care if someone does see me naked, not anymore. Yeah, I’ll do the backpack thing. No point in letting all my clothes fall on the dirty ground somewhere outside, and I’ll need to switch back to being a human again anyway to get dressed and then back inside the dormitory.
That’s… a lot of switching.
The thought makes me a little dizzy.
…maybe I should just have a nap and wait for Gwen to get back.
No!
I can do this! I want to do this!
Well—how do I switch, then? So far, I’ve returned to being human when I feel safe. I think I turn into a cat when I’m stressed or panicking or overwhelmed, but I’m not super sure about it.
It has to be a mental switch of some kind. I know I’m safe right now because I know I can turn into a human and get some chicken from the fridge (maybe some of the milk, too), and Gwen will be home soon-ish, and the door is locked, and no one’s going to come in here. Gwen may have left me alone, but I know I’m not actually going to starve in the amount of time it’s been since I was fed—uh, since I ate—and when Gwen will be getting back.
Okay… I’m safe, but I’m not instantly a human after recognizing that. It feels like I could turn back into one if I just think about it hard enough, but I don’t go through with it yet because… because I don’t want to be stuck as a human until I’m overwhelmed again. I need to figure out how to turn into a cat without being overwhelmed in some way.
Ten minutes later, my mind is blank.
I got no fuckin’ clue about how I might turn into a cat again.
Hrm. Another consideration: I definitely wouldn’t feel safe if I was a cat outside, and while I’m okay with that—sort of a given if you’re going exploring outside—it does mean I likely wouldn’t be able to switch back to being human anyway. Probably.
Shit.
I need to figure out a way to switch on my own without letting it be influenced by my emotional state.
Goddamn it.
I’m even hungrier than I was an hour ago. Begrudgingly, I allow myself to shift—
Poof.
—and find myself on my hands and knees, coughing up a hairball beside my water bowl. I scoop it up, toss it in the garbage, wipe the floor with some paper towel, wash my hands, and go rooting through the fridge for the chicken and milk. I pull another bowl out of one of the cupboards, a shallow one, and fill it with milk before setting it down beside my water bowl. After that, I shred some of the chicken, put it in my food bowl, and put the rest back in the fridge along with the milk, though not before snagging a piece to try as a human. It’s way better than how chicken was for me before, but nowhere near as good as it is when I’m a cat. On a whim, I heat a small piece up in the microwave for five seconds and try it warm.
It’s even better.
I heat the bowl of chicken up and place it on the floor next to my other bowls.
Okay. Now, all I need to enjoy this tasty meal is to turn back into a cat.
“Hrnnnnngh,” I grunt in effort as I… do something. No idea what the hell I’m doing, but it’s definitely something, and it isn’t working. It’s more embarrassing than anything, so I stop.
“I wish to become a cat!”
Nothing. I’m being dumb. And embarrassing.
…
Fuck it, let’s see if I can trigger it by getting into a negative emotional state. That’s technically me switching on my own, after all.
Let’s try thinking of scary things, like the essay I should be writing, or how upset Gwen would be at me for sneaking out and exploring the outside world as a cat. How Octavia reacted to me not wanting to have sex, how I panicked and cried and ran to be held by Gwen. How I fucked up her hook up because I wanted to avoid my feelings yet again and couldn’t even do that. How I got upset at her this morning and shut down the conversation by turning into a cat. How much I don’t want to admit that the upbringing I had fucked me right the fuck up and I’m only alive because of Gwen.
I’m shaking a little by the end, and crying, but it’s a sadness intertwined with happiness because I know I can change back into a cat now and then those feelings will go away.
I don’t. I still want to go exploring, and I can hold onto my feelings for the time it’ll take to eat my meal—as a human—and get dressed to go run outside somewhere and switch. At least, I hope I can hold onto them. I don’t want to think about what I thought about to get to this mental state again, and I’m not sure if by focusing on it, I’ll switch back to a cat involuntarily or not. It’s… it’s like a dam. It’s leaking, and I can break it down with ease, but it still threatens to burst on its own if left unattended for too long.
I almost slip onto all fours to eat, but I catch myself and lift each bowl to eat (and drink) somewhat normally instead. I use my fingers to shovel chicken into my mouth, barely taking the time to chew before swallowing, and wash it all down with milk. The milk tastes heavenly, but the coldness of it is an awful enough feeling that I’d warm it up if I thought I had the time. Oh well. Next time.
I grab my backpack, an old leather one I thrifted, and make sure nothing valuable is inside it. I throw on a long-sleeved shirt and lounge pants, make sure I have my keys, and then I’m slipping on my slides and hurrying out the door. I run down the hallway, uncaring of who might see me as tears continue to fall freely, but I’m ignoring why the tears are falling because I know it’s bad.
I push through two more doors and make it outside, pausing for a second before darting off down the sidewalk to a space between my dormitory and another. The two are connected with a skywalk, and beneath them is a sort of alley with a few dumpsters for garbage and recycling. I duck behind one of the dumpsters, strip, and stuff my clothes, slides, and keys inside my backpack. I hide it beneath some loose cardboard and decide that that’ll have to do.
Without further hesitation, I focus on the awful feelings and why I’m crying and how awful I’ve been to Gwen and—
Poof.