WP: It turns out, that 'cat' you picked up outside the grocery store, wasn't a cat at all.

"Turn around slowly, with your hands… wha… the…"

You’d have stammered too, if you saw what I saw. Somebody breaks into your house, you expect a big scary dude, balaclava, maybe a gun. Or a crowbar for prying windows.

What I didn’t expect was a bottom. Well, to be honest, it was more of an ass. The kind of ass that writes its own ticket to private events, on top of exactly the pair of legs you’d want for sashaying it in past the velvet ropes.

Looked kinda out place sticking out of my refrigerator.

I kind of expected a response, but the owner of the butt in question didn’t say anything. She just kept rummaging. So I tried again.

“First of all, what are you doing in my house? Second, what are you doing in my refrigerator? And, lastly, and I’d like to stress the importance of this one, why the hell are you naked?”

“First of all,” purred a melodious feminine voice from around the door, “where else would I be? Second, deciding between a package of hot dogs, and what looks like… leftover shrimp linguini? Third, and I’d think it would be obvious, because I didn’t put any clothes on, silly.”

“Just turn around and keep your hands where I can see them.”

“Why would I do that? I still haven’t decided yet. Oh, wait… is this prosciutto?”

“Yes, but I’m saving that for -”

“Me! Why thank you, that was sweet of you. You totally should have!” she said, followed by a rustle of plastic, then chewing sounds and little moans of what sounded like pleasure.

“Stand. The. Fuck. Up.”

She finally turned around, a full slice of Parma’s best hanging from her lips.

A mop of uncombed blonde hair, almost closer to white, pale skin, delicate features. Funny looking eyes.

She made no effort to cover her breasts, possibly because her hands were far too busy cuddling the rest of the package. I tried to find a safe place to put my eyes. Not that she seemed care much. Girl had the modesty of a cat.

“Pddd th rfle dn,” she said, looking me straight in the eye. One blue, one green. Heterochromia. Weird. Had the feeling I’d seen it somewhere before. Like, recently.

“What?”

“Pddd th -” she stopped, held up an index finger, and chewed, not using her hands, just waggling her head around to get the rest. She did not hurry. Table manners of a cat, too, apparently.

“Put the rifle down. What are you going to do with it, anyway, shoot me? And then explain to the police how you were in grave and immediate danger from a small unarmed naked girl?”

I couldn’t help but flick my eyes down briefly. Oops. At least I didn’t have my finger on the trigger. I put the sling around my shoulders and let it hang over the front of my bathrobe. She didn’t look relieved, maybe ‘cause she never looked that perturbed to begin with. She just hopped up on the counter next to the sink, raised the package to her lips, grabbed another slice with her teeth, and chewed, making little purring noises.

I just tried not to stare. Unsuccessfully.

“You can go back to bed,” she said, after the next slice vanished, “and don’t point any more guns at me, yeah? It’s kinda rude.”

“So is breaking into people’s houses and raiding their refrigerator!” I snapped, “What did you expect me to do?”

“Not freak out when I get a midnight snack. Feed me better food to begin with. Oh, and learn how to rub my tummy properly. And pull my tail.”

I looked at the tummy in question, stretched out as she lounged full length on the counter now, sprawled out like a cat, fishing another slice of prosciutto out of the package with her teeth. Hmmm… flat, taut, no six-pack, but just a tiny line down the middle hinting at one, soft smooth white skin… yeah, she’d have no problem finding volunteers even for a weird request like -

Wait a minute.

“Your tail?”

“Yeah. I mean, don’t yank it or anything. Just a steady pressure, then slowly increase until you get the little joints to pop. I love that.”

Then it hit me. The eyes. The hair. The weird body language.

“Oh. Wait. I get it now. I get who you’re supposed to be. You did the eyes and everything. What are those, colored contacts?”

“I’m not supposed to be anybody, I’m just me. Oh, and leave your door open at night, I want to sleep on the bed. Are you even listening?”

“Seriously, lady, full marks for dedication to the role. Unless you’re, like, a stripper or something. Who put you up to this?”

“What are you talking about? I was hungry, that’s all… oh. I see. Humans,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. The contacts, now that I looked closely, had vertical slits for pupils. Wasn’t surprised. You can find anything on the internet.

I wasn’t convinced.

And then I was.

When she changed, it wasn’t like a movie werewolf, all contortions and yowling and growing fur. She simply - blurred - as the signal scanned between the two frequencies of “naked girl with messy hair” and “white cat”, then settled on the familiar form of the stray I took in last Tuesday… small, a bit skinny, white fur, mismatched eyes.

“Rrrrow,” she said, presumably meaning something more complex, but I didn’t speak cat.

Okay, so the world wasn’t what I thought it was. I felt a little vertigo, but not enough to stop me from acting quick, and snatching the what was left of the prosciutto away from her. She scampered after me with an outraged yowl as I returned it to the fridge, but she couldn’t change back in time to stop me.

“Hey, give that back! It’s mine!”

“Oh, is it now? I don’t think so.”

“It’s my house, too!”

“No, it’s not. You wandered in here a week ago. It’s not your house, you’re just my cat. Although I have no idea how.”

I turned and leaned against the fridge, planting my back against the door. She put her hands on her hips, still without the least effort at modesty.

“I prefer to say,” she sniffed, “that you’re my human. Which means that this is my house, too. And that food is in my house, which makes it my food, too. Come on. Don’t make me fight dirty.”

I looked her up and down, or rather down and further down, and grinned.

“I’m not so sure you could fight a stiff breeze. Besides, I’m over twice your size, and armed. What the hell are you going to do?”

“Okay, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she actually grinned back, just briefly, as she said it.

And she started to cry.

Oh, not all at once. Widening eyes cascaded into a falling face, a wobbling lower lip, a few artful sniffles, a sob or two… then she threw herself on the floor and clung to my knees, bawling.

“Pleeeeeeeease, Masterrrrrrrrrrr! I’m so hungry! I thought you were nice, but all you feed me is that awful dry stuff from the bag, and it makes me feel like you don’t love me! Aren’t I good enough for you? I tried to be a good kitty, I tried so hard… but you won’t even let me sleep on the bed, and you… you… "

The blue and green eyes stared up at me, blinking out a fountain of tears. Boring into my soul.

I lasted about forty-five seconds.

“Okay, okay, fine, whatever.”

“Yaaaaaay!”

She pounced on the refrigerator door. By the time I’d stashed the rifle behind the couch, sat down on it heavily, and contemplated the whimsical and unexpected nature of the universe I found myself in, Tupperware and takeout cartons littered the floor of my kitchen, and she came bouncing towards me with a small but noticeable bulge in that flat tummy, grinning around a hairbrush from the guest bathroom.

She didn’t really seem to have much of a notion what hands are for.

“Mrrrrrrrrm?” she chirped, and didn’t wait for me to finish my sigh and nod before she flopped down at full length with her head in my lap. Still extremely naked.

“That was completely fake.”

My hands, moving of themselves, began brushing tangles out of the pale silken waterfall of her hair.

“Mmmmmmmm. Yeah. So?”

“I knew it was fake.”

“Yep.”

“And it worked on me anyway.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why did it work on me anyway?”

“Cuz humans are pushovers. It’s like the perfect scam. It works even when we tell you about it. We short circuit the parts of your brain evolved for child rearing. You can push harder, you know.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. I can’t stand kids.”

“So you have a lot of pent-up urges. Perfect victim. C’mon, harder. Scratch my scalp with it. Our pain thresholds are higher than yours.”

I didn’t say it, of course, but the pent-up urges in me at that moment had nothing to do with child care.

“So, how do you actually do it?”

“I just act affectionate and you give me things. Ooooh, now scratch my scalp with your fingernails, please. Fingernails are awesome.”

“No, I mean turning into a human.”

“Oh, that. You know the laws of physics? Well, they’re not really laws. More like… regulations. And cats are good at ignoring stuff like that.”

“Sooo, you all just treat basic biology like the rule that says you’re not supposed to jump up on the counter?”

“Not all of us. I’m talented. Aren’t you lucky?”

“Seeing as I’m now giving a scalp massage to a home invader, I’m not entirely sure.”

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