NothingSpecial: gender-bending transformation stories, comics, and occasional poetry =^_^=
The morning sun seeped gently into the room; the blinds were aglow and little shafts of unfiltered light slipped in through the cracks. It was cozy and warm – enough that the furnace hadn't even kicked on – and that particular kind of quiet you get on certain summer afternoons, where the silence is almost tangible and the world is on pause. I stirred, yawned, had a lazy half-stretch, and nuzzled back into my pillow, dozing blissfully for another I-didn't-know-how-long. I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept this well;° was this what passed for a superpower, in my new form?
° (Granted, I'd spent long enough futzing with the sheets before laying down that it better have been optimal.)
When I finally roused myself from bed, it wasn't 'til I'd put the coffee on that it occurred to me to wonder what might've changed overnight. Funny; I didn't feel that different, but I'd gotten so used to waking up to significant renovations that I expected not feeling that to be weird…yet it wasn't. More curious than confused, I went once more to the bathroom mirror…
…and that was pretty much it. A last few tweaks – a bit more in the chest, a final draft of my face, my tail just shy of 40" (long enough to drag on the floor, if it weren't busy asserting itself in all manner of positions and attitudes that betrayed my feelings to an annoying extent,) my ears maybe just a tad larger – but, overall, this was definitely the creature that'd gazed back at me yesterday.
I undressed – strange that this already felt so…less weird… – and took stock. Ordinary face, ordinary figure; the transformation had definitely burned and/or reallocated some fat, but it was still nothing that could be described as "trim" or "svelte," and the stomach was…a bit shy of flat. Ordinary fur, even; a gray cat, how striking. Well, it wasn't like I had any specific preferences for what I'd never planned on being…
Yet it still didn't feel as alien as I felt like it should've. For the love of God, I wasn't even human! To a lesser extent than Nicole, but still – that seemed like the kind of thing that should be a Big Freaking Deal, but my gut reaction was more well this is gonna take some getting used to than OH MY GOD, WHAT HAVE I BECOME!? This wasn't the me I was used to, but neither was it…whatever it was I'd been afraid of ending up as. So, I wondered again…now what…?
Well, now I should get my damn shower in, I thought, trying to dislodge the feelings from my brain. I hadn't exactly said I would come along on Nicole's little expedition, but I hadn't said I wouldn't; I was still torn on that, but it was a basic fact that I'd need clothes that actually fit me, and I had a feeling she'd drop in, anyway.
The breast tenderness was finally, blessedly gone; another hint that I'd hit "done." Funny, I reflected, as I soaped up and rinsed off; they were still novel, an object of curiosity, but I didn't find them as…mesmerizing as I remembered. Was it that they were a part of me, now…? Or maybe it was that the left one was a bit lopsided, and I couldn't stop noticing that.
I wasn't sure how big they were or weren't; looking down I felt all self-conscious about their prominence in my field of view, but they didn't seem conspicuously huge in the mirror. I had no innate frame of reference, and I gathered, from my sister's kvetching, that popular media warps perceptions of what's "normal." Well, wherever I fell along that axis, I was stuck with it…
When I'd finished, I got out, towelled off – and regarded the blowdryer warily, after the vacuum-cleaner incident. Still, if it meant not having to wrangle my stupid tail and get the fur all mussed…I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and switched it on. I did cringe a bit at the noise, but it wasn't as bad – though blasting hot air over my fur felt weird.
Unfortunately, it still took forever to dry – the fur was too dense, the surface area too narrow – and I ended up having to use the towel anyway, and finish it off with the blowdryer. My fur felt funny, too – a little thin and frizzy, like when you wash hair that's already clean. Did I actually need to do this every day? But I couldn't exactly skip showering, not in this climate; God, why did bathing have to be a puzzle now…!?
Anyway, I finished, brushed out my hair, and dressed. I wore one of my shirts; going three days without a wash was a bit much for a top I was just borrowing. It was snug around the chest, which was mildly embarrassing, but no longer actively irritating.
I was just finishing my coffee, catching up on forums and webcomics, when there was a knock at the door; sure enough, it was Nicole. (And sure enough, to my chagrin, I was looking up at her.) "Thought it wouldn't hurt to check in nyagain, see if nya had questions or anything," she said cheerily, bustling into the entryway and looking me over. "Figured you'd be prrretty much done by niaow."
"…Seems that way," I said, not really sure how else to respond. Congratulations, you're complete, huzzah, I thought. Do we break a bottle of champagne over me, or something? The only question I could think of at the moment had to do with how she managed bathing with a full-body fur coat, and I doubted either of us were prepared for that discussion.
"I wanted to rrrun somethin' by you, too," she said, ears turning inward to focus on me. "So, this makes four of us niaow, and I was thinking…what if we had kind of a supporrrt grrroup?"
"Supporrrt grrroup?" I said, mildly annoyed to find myself echoing her trill subconsciously.
She nodded. "We'll prrrobably all have things that take some gettin' nyewsed to," she said, "or even just…stuff we wannya talk about, and we're all rrright next door. We could, nyakniaow, get together for coffee on the weekends, or something? Nyathing crrrazy formal, just a space to chat and, mya, comparrre notes."
For a moment, I said nothing; she stood there, arms crossed behind her back and tail flicking expectantly, that happy-cat smile on her face. My inner introvert was not thrilled at the idea of Designated Sharing Time; it brought back memories of the times, as a kid, where my mother would observe that I "looked like [I was] thinking something" when I didn't think I was, and of never being sure if I was supposed to have been. But I felt awkward shooting her down, after everything she'd done for me…
"Guess it's something to consider," I said, not very diplomatically.
"I think it'd be good for Frank and Alex," she continued. "Havin' nyew there, I mean. I can talk 'cat things' easy enough, but as for 'girrrl things…' I've got plenty of prrractical experience, but I can't help wonderin' if nyew thrrree don't have anyather purrspective that I only kniaow one side of."
"…You really think it's that big a deal?" I said, not sure what to make of the recruitment pitch. Okay, we'd all been male, but only Frank and I were even adults, and I had no idea how her feelings on manhood squared with…whatever I thought about it. Could we even truly relate on that score…?
She made to answer, then hesitated; her ears ticked back a bit as she thought it over. "I…dunniaow?" she said. "Like, I 'get' little boys in terms of wrrrangling them in class, I have a grrrasp on what motivates them, but…guess you'd call it 'teacher anxiety?' I wonder if I wouldn't be in nya better position to help Alex if I could empathize with what she's…he's…? goin' thrrrough."
I had to pause myself, wondering if you wouldn't have to understand people to empathize with them, but she continued. "And Frank…it's hard to get a rrread on her. I think she's puttin' nya brrrave face on it for the kid, but…I feel like there's other stuff goin' nyan, nyand I'm nyat sure she's comfortable openin' up to me about it." She didn't elaborate.
I felt myself start to prickle under the collar; I didn't like getting dragged into other people's drama, and I really didn't feel qualified to comment on anyone's issues. And hadn't she been reassuring me that we'd be fine, probably? Why did we need a support group, then!?
Well, it made sense for a teacher to be concerned for kids; I could smell her worry when she said it. And…it still nagged at me, that feeling of wanting to do something but being unable to…or, well, unable to make myself. But who was I to pretend like I had it all together, to put myself in a position of being anyone's support!?
I sighed, ears ticking back. "Look, I…I'm nyat a therapist, okay? I can hardly sort meown—my own thoughts out half the time."
"Nya don't have to be," she said sympathetically, putting a furry hand on my shoulder. "Sometimes all it takes is bein' nyan-judgemental and willing to lend an ear; helpin' 'em feel like they're nyat alone nyand maybe someone else can rrrelate. I just think we could be that for each other, mya kniaow?"
I gave a noncommittal murr in reply. I felt sure I was too opinionated to qualify as "non-judgemental," and I wasn't at all convinced I could relate just because we shared a common experience. And who even knew what kind of strange, awkward impulses our new instincts would inflict; suppose we got into some kind of…mutual ear-scritching circle, or something? I cringed, even as I tried to keep the weirdly social part of my altered brain from betraying its interest through my ears and tail.
Nicole nodded to herself, and shrugged. "Just somethin' to think on," she said. "Nyand…it's okay if you need the space, rrreally." Then her ears perked back up. "Oh, mya, are you comin' nyalong today? Thought we'd head out arrround the top of the hour."
A glance at the clock on the microwave showed 11:43. I went back and forth on it, wondering if things wouldn't be extra awkward with that question hanging in the air, but…well, were things ever not awkward, for me? "Myeah, sure," I sighed; I'd have to do this sooner or later, and it'd be easier to have someone around for advice on practical matters.
She flashed me a fangy grin as she left. "Grrreat. See you in nya bit."
I took a deep breath, in and then out, as I tried to sort my feelings out. A support group? Let's see if I could even get through a shopping trip first.
I stirred and fidgeted in my seat, adjusting the shoulder-belt for what felt like the fiftieth time and trying to position myself so Alex's tail would stop thwapping my knee, without just squishing my entire frame up against the door. We were on opposite sides of the car, but the back seat of Nicole's ancient Civic was not spacious.
It was a little weird even being in the back; it felt kinda like being a kid again. I'd always holed up in the rear, then; Caitlin called shotgun any chance she could, and I usually spent long drives with my nose buried in a book – or, later on, my laptop.° But you get so used to driving yourself places, as a working adult, that you almost forget what it's like to have someone else drive you…
° (A hideous old hand-me-down dating to the fifteen minutes when the Pentium 4 Mobile was a thing; it finally attempted to murder-suicide my lap, melting the power plug. But it ran Morrowind, barely.)
Nicole was driving, naturally; Frank had shotgun since she was tall enough that her ears would've been cramped in the back seat. I didn't have that problem, but being reminded of it wasn't helping with the feel-like-a-kid part; neither was having a territorial dispute over whose side of the car was whose.
To be fair, Alex wasn't trying to intrude on my personal space; she was just leaning up against the door, staring out the window with a melancholy look on her face.° Her legs were drawn up and her tail snaked out the bottom of her jumper to lay across the middle of the seat, twitching restlessly.
° (Except when the odd bird flitted across our her field of vision.)
For some reason I couldn't stop studying her. I'd never paid close attention as a human; there'd been no need, our lives just didn't intersect, and it'd be…weird…for a single man to take an interest in someone else's kid. But I kept taking it in: the way her hair framed her face (not as long as mine, but she clearly hadn't had a haircut in a while,) the twitching of her ears as they reacted to changes in road noise or snatches of conversation between her dad and Nicole, the soft black pads on her little paws…
She leaned further, slumping against the door, head turned up and neck craned at an angle that almost made my own crick to look at – though I probably could've done the same, now. Her legs splayed across the seat, and her paws pressed right into my thigh. I wondered if I should say something, but she was clearly zoned out and it seemed wrong to disturb her.
Then she started kneading.
I recognized the behavior, but didn't know what to make of it. Subconscious repetitive motions usually indicate stress in humans, but she didn't smell stressed; and I thought it was something cats did when they were comfortable and content, but that didn't make a lot of sense to me, either. Was she just being fidgety?
I sat there, feeling her paws work my leg as she stared at nothing in particular, not sure how to respond. Then the car slowed, and Nicole flicked the blinker on. Alex started, drawing herself back up to a sitting position in a fluid, feline motion, but she glanced back in my direction with a look suggesting she was just as confused as I was – and then turned away, not about to admit it.
Nicole parked, and we all piled out of the car. I would've been fine grabbing the bare necessities from Target, but we'd hauled down from the foothills to the Palladium, a sort of outdoor mall thing with delusions of grandeur° in the nearest an-actual-city. She and Alex were both barefoot,°° and they picked their way delicately over the toasty asphalt 'til we reached the sidewalk.
° (And no actual relation to platinum-group metals.)
°° (There'd been experiments with footwear for the newly-digitigrade, but nothing commercial as yet.)
The place was busier than other malls during the pandemic, since there was room enough for people to socially distance naturally (outside of the stores, anyway.) It was strange, being out in public in a group; we weren't the only catgirls roaming the grounds, but here we were, a delegation of the Suddenly Different in a normal setting, among normal people…
So of course my body chose this as the opportune moment for my boob to start itching.
The sensation wasn't any different than usual, but I had a whole new socially-awkward part of myself to scratch,° joy of joys. I tried shifting my shoulder around, hoping to rub against myself enough to kinda-sorta relieve it, but…nope, the spot in question was, inevitably, right in the relevant crevice. Attempts to subtly adjust my hoodie so as to catch it with the zipper also went nowhere.
° (There really is no justice in the fact that we make a taboo of this. None whatsoever.)
I tried to ignore it – and failed miserably. Whether it was due to "new" or more sensitive skin or mere novelty, it drove me mildly crazy, and the social factors only added to my aggravation. Finally, I huffed in annoyance, turned aside as discreetly as I could manage, tugged my hoodie over my chest, and dug my thumb into my shirt underneath it. It wasn't perfect – and a partly-relieved itch is its own frustration – but it was better than nothing.
Frank noticed, but politely ignored it; Nicole couldn't quite keep a twinkle from her eye, but also said nothing. Alex was clearly about to ask, but caught sight of my pinned-back ears and thought better of it. I felt a little embarrassed, but…no, sorry, I was not just gonna grin and bear it.
"Well," Nicole said, nodding towards one of the less boutiquey clothing stores, "s'pose we oughta get started. Kit, Frank, you'll wannya get a fitting done nyand pick up a few brrras, and we'll cover basic warrrdrobe stuff after that."
Entering the Ladies' Underwear Zone was…a little intimidating, I'll admit. As a kid, I'd never really bought that "cooties" were a thing, or worried about said contagion causing Unspecified Defects of Manliness, but my sister was just the right age for us to have spent a fair bit of time there right at the point in my life where I was becoming awkwardly hyper-aware of anything feminine; I'd had no idea how I was supposed to react,° but it was plenty uncomfortable. Even now, I half-expected a staff member to jump out from behind a rack of frilly underthings, charge us with violation of Designated Female Spaces, and haul me off.
° (I'd mostly hung out at the watch section of the nearby jewelry counter. I was no horologist, but clocks were much easier to understand than Sacred Mysteries of The Other Sex.)
Alex shared my unease; she eyed the plethora of brassieres hanging from every vertical surface warily, and scooched in closer to her dad. "D'you rrreally need this…stuff?" she queried.
Frank glanced down at her with a curious expression, then laughed. "Believe mya, kiddo, that's a 'yes.'"
"But…you're nyat tryin' to be all prrretty or anyathing, rrright…?" she said, tail lashing.
Frank made to answer, got a sheepish look on her face, and chuckled softly. "Well, nyat as such, but…"
"It's nyat just for looks," I put in. I wasn't sure why I felt the need; something about Alex's tone suggested it was a fairly loaded question. "It's for support. They get kinda heavy, and they move around a lot." I'd known that in the abstract for years, but I was actually getting to experience it, now…
She glanced up at her dad. "Guess they would," she muttered; Frank gave another awkward laugh.
"Lady athletes wear 'em, too," Nicole nodded. "It's purrfectly nyormal."
Alex didn't seem too convinced, but the conversation broke off at the changing-room counter. "Mya, can we borrow a tape?" Nicole asked the attendant, a chipper, freckled redhead who was maybe just old enough to drink. "These two're in need of a fitting."
The Chipper One's eyes lit up. "Oh, absolutely!" she said, scanning over our group. I realized what was happening and tried to will her over to Frank, but the cosmos was not on my side today. "I can help you, ma'am," she said, latching onto me like a magnet. "And you ladies are free to take the other stall."
"Copy that," Nicole grinned, abandoning me to my fate. That was it, I decided; she was paying for lunch.
"So," the Chipper One bubbled, locking the door behind us, sealing me in, "you're new to this, huh? You turned out so nicely, you know." Her perfume was gentle-ish and not too chemical, but it was as sunny and floral as the rest of her.
"…thanks?" I said, smiling weakly; I was not prepared to deal with an onslaught of ENFJ energy right now, and I couldn't decide if this was preferable to the dreaded Small Talk. "It's, mya, taking some getting used to…"
"Of course," she said, bludgeoning me with a polite, supportive smile. "There's a lot to learn, but I'm sure you'll get the hang of it. Can I have you take your top off? You don't have to, but it, ah, looks a little tight, and I think it might skew the measurements."
I felt awkward about it, but…if I was gonna need one, I should get this done right. I doffed my jacket and pulled the hem of my shirt up…only to have it bunch up under my breasts. With a sigh, I tugged it out enough to lift it over and off, and stood there waiting for whatever humiliation was in store next.
The Chipper One, moving with a confident, cheery professionalism that rankled my soul, closed in and cinched her tape around my torso. "Now, the first measurement you need is the circumference of the ribcage at the base of the breast," she said, "also called the 'underbust.' This corresponds to the band size of the bra, and in your case it looks like that's ## inches."
"Oh," I said, hoping that if I didn't ask questions we might get through this faster. I felt the tip of my tail twitching nervously.
"The second is around the fullest part of the bust." She slackened the tape and looped it 'round the breasts themselves, while I wondered if that wasn't just a coy way of saying at the nipples. "And that's…about ## inches. The cup size is just a shorthand for the difference, which would be around a @ cup° here."
° (No, I don't think you do need to know the exact figure. Let's just say it was in the upper end of "thoroughly average," right at the point where I could feel all self-conscious about it in both directions.)
"Got it, thanks," I said, trying to disentangle myself from her tape. That was it, right? I could go now?
"Now, that's more of a guideline," she continued; this wasn't stopping, was it? "Most women aren't an exact match to the standard sizes, and everyone's breasts are shaped a bit different, so it's good to experiment, really see what feels most comfortable for you. You don't want to go any smaller in band size, but you can go up a band and down a cup if it's too tight, or up a cup if you're getting any spillage…"
I tried to tune her out and focused on getting my shirt back on while she explained that the fit might differ by manufacturer. What good were standards that weren't standard? I got enough of that at work! Cripes, I knew this stuff was complicated, but I hadn't anticipated just how complicated.
"…designs might also fit a bit differently," she was saying, "and it's a good idea to keep a few types on hand for different occasions, depending on your personal style. If you'd like, I could grab a selection for you to try on…?" She stood there expectantly, cornering me with her upbeat, pleasant attitude, like a predator waiting for its quarry to make the next move; meanwhile, I wondered if I even had a "personal style."
"…I, mya, think that's good, thanks," I said uneasily, slipping my hoodie back on in a meaningful kind of way. "Just need something basic, don't wannya keep the others waiting…"
"Of course," she said, smiling brightly enough to disintegrate a vampire. "I won't keep you, but don't hesitate to ask if you have questions. And don't be afraid to explore a bit," she remarked, as I made my escape. "I hope you find something that really suits you, you know?"
I exited the changing room – feeling a strong urge to find a basement somewhere and hole up in it by myself for a week or two – to find Frank browsing the selection with Nicole, looking entirely comfortable and not harried at all; Alex had drifted over to the watch section. I grabbed the most basic thing I could find in the "sister sizes" the Chipper One had indicated; only then did I realize she'd never actually been told I was a former guy.
Well, it was a reasonable inference, I decided; we were probably not her first. I might've been madder, but that'd require me to think about what I wanted her read on me to be…anyway, I'd have to ask Nicole if it was okay to try these on in the store, but I'd worry about that once I had other stuff to check the fit on.
I held up a pair of jeans, marveling at just how damn skinny they were. How did anyone fit in these? I tried to imagine slipping my legs into the things, and all I could think of was the piping bags they use for decorative frosting. Well, they weren't fitting backwards if I could hardly see how they'd fit forwards – and I still worried about the zipper chafing my tail.
Skirts it was, then; but the store had approximately twelve trillion options, and I had no idea where to start. Denim skirts were, as I'd thought, a thing, but a lot of them were Fairly Tight and/or Very Very Short, some not even long enough to cover my boxers;° and while some had pockets, they were A. too small and B. sewn on, which didn't bode well for keeping my wallet, keys, or phone inside.
° (I was sticking with that for now, even if it was…breezier…than I was 100% comfortable with; as far as I knew, panties with a hole cut out were still only available as an Adult Novelty.)
They also tended to hug the derrière at the top even if they flared out lower down; I'd never realized how many different taper profiles they could give what I naïvely thought of as just a conical fabric tube. Not what I was going for, and they made my tail feel cramped just to look at; it took me a solid five minutes to find some more sensible ones.
Alex gave me a funny look as I rifled through the selection. "Why're you picking those out?" she asked.
I shrugged. "Closest thing I'm gonna get to jeans for a while."
"They're still girrrl stuff," she said, twitching an ear.
"Nyat much I can do about that," I replied. It was still weird to think about (and I kept feeling like my borrowed skirt was revealing more than it really did,) but it'd be silly to get all neurotic about it now…wouldn't it?
"You could, like, wear shorts 'n put your tail down one leg, or something," she mused, putting a furry finger to her lip; the claw peeked in and out of its sheath as she flexed it.
"They don't like it when nyew wear shorts to the office, a lotta jobs." Admittedly, the idea of needling Bryce with an appeal to necessity was tempting…but not worth expending any "negotiating capital" I had over, and it'd still be confining. I continued browsing, wondering why she was this invested.
"That's stupid," she groused. "Why nyat?" She frowned; apparently I wasn't the only one who found these dumb speech tics embarrassing.
"Beats me," I said, surprised at myself. "Grownups have a lot of rules that don't make any sense." I wasn't sure that was a thing you were supposed to admit to a kid, but I felt like I meant it.
"Well they shouldn't." She jammed her hands into her pockets and flicked her tail irritably.
"No," I sighed, "but…some things it's nyat worth making a fuss over."
"Alex," Frank interjected, "if…she…?"
For a second there I wasn't sure why she'd trailed off; then, when I'd parsed the question – when I'd realized it was a question – I needed a moment to let a cluster of deeply weird reactions collide and dissipate in my brain. "…Look, I'm stuck with the thing in nyany case," I said uneasily, getting those cliff's-edge feelings again. "I'm nyat gonna worry about what label people want to stick on it."
She paused, trying to work out whether that counted as an okay or not. "If Kit thinks that's what she wants to wear, that's her businyess, okay?" she said finally.
I bristled a little at that. "It's the most prrractical solution, for niaow," I clarified.
Alex didn't respond directly; instead, she gazed moodily across the aisle at the girls' section, as one might look upon a hostile warband gathered on the opposite bank of a river. "I'm nyat wearin' nya dress," she said defiantly.
My first instincts were to point out that A. a skirt isn't a dress, and B. her jumper more-or-less was, so I said nothing. Frank chuckled awkwardly. "We'll…see what we can do," she said. "But we do need to get you some nyew clothes. Your shirts're getting prrretty worn."
Her ears flattened out, and she recoiled visibly. "It's like ALL pink 'n sparkles over there."
"Sequins," I said. "And not all." Certainly more than in the boys' section, but there were still basic solid-color and striped shirts to be had…though they did tend more to pastels.
Nicole laughed. "When I was a kid, girrrls' T-shirts were, like, Barbie and Disnya Prrrincesses or nyathin'. Believe mya, it could be worse." She shrugged, and stretched her arms. "And nya can nyalways just pick frrrom the boys' aisle, at your age."
Alex was somewhat mollified, but remained Offended On Principle. "I'm nyat even s'posed to be a girrrl," she huffed, pricking at the dingy industrial carpeting with her claws.
"Honey," Frank sighed – there was that tone again – "nyan of us actually asked for this, we've just…gotta learn to live with it, okay?"
Nicole almost said something, then cast a meaningful glance my way; no doubt this was about our conversation earlier, but I wasn't sure what she thought I could contribute here. If anything, I sympathized with the kid; okay, I didn't share her reflexive little-boy aversion to the feminine, but it was a weird position to be in, and I couldn't blame her for not adjusting all at once.
"Listen," I said – I felt presumptive even opening my mouth, but Frank didn't seem to object – "nyobody's saying nyew have to change everrrything about you; we're just…figuring out how to get by for niaow, that's all."
Alex frowned and dug her hands further into her pockets, but her ears relaxed; I returned to browsing, hoping that meant I'd helped. There were metric oodles of tops to dig through, and I could only guess at the fit; I'd gathered that this was another infuriatingly non-standard thing, but I had no idea what size I even was, now. Nicole looked on, bemused. "So, mya, solid colors only, then?"
"I might go as far as plaid," I said, idly flicking an ear.
She grinned, fangs gleaming and whiskers twitching. "Surrre nya don't want to brrranch out?" she teased. "Got a whole nyew worrrld of possibilities waiting out there."
I felt myself getting flustered at that – why should I have to change, even moreso than I already had? It was my business, wasn't it!? – but tried to tamp down on it. She didn't mean any harm; this was just good-natured ribbing, maybe, if only I'd ever really grasped that distinction in the first place…?
Besides, this was nothing compared to what awaited me. "I'm purrfectly happy sticking with what works, thanks," I sighed, rolling my eyes. "Believe me, my sister'll do all the envelope-pushing necessary and then some." Funny, I thought, that I was already resigned to that – but I knew our patterns, and…there were probably worse fates.
Probably.
Nicole chuckled and nodded. "Well, I'm nyat one to talk when it comes to bein' nya fashion plate."
I felt another weird little twinge in the back of my mind, but ignored it. Heck, I thought, it was even a comfort just to see it in that light – if she didn't have to pursue some standard metric for Optimal Women's Fashion, I sure as hell didn't. Let the Pretty People slug it out for social dominance; I'd be Just. Fine. keeping to myself and…and…
…and Lord but the top Frank was thoughtfully eyeing was lower-cut than anything I'd looked at. Not scandalously – or so I guessed, trying simultaneously to work out how it'd look on her and to stop my brain from doing that – but certainly moreso than I'dve figured. I wondered what Alex thought, but she was paying closer attention to me. "You gotta sister, Miss Kit?" she asked curiously.
That threw me for a loop; it was the standard term-of-address for an unmarried young° woman, but actually hearing it was slightly staggering. "Mya, y–yeah," I said, trying to focus on the question instead. "She's a nursing student, down in the Bay."
° (-ish.)
She tapped a claw against her lower lip. "What's it mean, that she'll be 'pushin' nyanvelopes?'"
…Shit.
"O–oh, mya," I said, trying to put on my best don't-you-worry-your-little-head-about-it smile and failing miserably, "she's just…prrrone to talking me into stuff I wouldn't normally do, that's all." I never was any good at lies-to-children, and I could feel my ears and tail betraying me even as I said it.
"Like what?" she asked, with laser precision.
"Mrrr, like…cosplay stuff, basically." I tried to force my ears into a neutral position; it didn't work.
She gave me a mighty side-eye. "Does she make you dress up in girrrls' clothes?"
"Honey…" Frank put in, with the same blend of exasperation and embarrassment as the lady in the grocery store; she offered me an apologetic look.
"I was just askin'!" Alex protested.
"She…has a way of making nyew feel like it'd be easier to indulge her and be done," I sighed; I didn't really want to talk about it, but I'd never liked it myself when adults barged in to cut off a conversation, and her curiosity did seem earnest. "Nyand she only did that the once."
Okay, maybe not that earnest; she didn't even try to hide a snicker. "If I hadda sister I wouldn't let her talk mya into that," she declared.
I was trying to be the adult here, but after that I couldn't help needling her a bit. "I wouldn't tempt fate if I were you," I said, going back to browsing as if it didn't particularly concern me. "She's coming to visit over sprrring brrreak."
"Whaddya mean?" she asked, eyeing me warily. "'S nyat like she's mya sister."
"She'd think you were the cutest thing ever," I jibed, "and she's never had a li'l sis, or even nya younger cousin…"
"Ny–nyew're nyat allowed to do that!" she stammered, tail puffing out as the implication dawned on her. "She's nyewr sister!"
"I wouldn't do anything," I said nonchalantly; behind me, I could hear Nicole stifling a snort. "She just has a way about her, that's all. Never thought she'd talk me into it, either…"
She didn't say anything at first, but her expression worked its way from indignance through intimidation, confusion, and consideration before arriving at a kind of begrudging acknowledgement. Finally, she asked uneasily, "Do…d'you get along with her…?" as if she never would've imagined that to be possible.
Gathering up a selection of non-tight, reasonably-cut solid-color tees, I shrugged. "We've had our ups and downs," I said, "but…myeah? I mean, she's family; nyat like you can just replace 'em." I understood them better than I did the rest of the species, at least…
Alex looked like she was about to say something, then refrained…but I could read in her ears and tail that she was thinking it. I had that uncomfortable feeling you get when you're just clued-in enough to realize you've touched a nerve, but not enough to suss out which…
Part of me wanted to ask; another part of me worried that I'd only make things worse by prying. With a sigh, I excused myself and retreated to the fitting rooms, wishing I could get through one day around people without blundering into interpersonal landmines.
After taking a moment to feel awkward and cretinous for whatever it was I didn't realize I'd said, I shucked off my shirt once more. Nicole'd confirmed that it was kosher to test-fit a bra before buying – at these prices, I thought, it'd better be – but it still felt weird to think about, especially as hyper-conscious of shared spaces and germ transfer as I'd made myself these last few months…
Well, I was no longer contagious, and it wasn't like I had anything left to lose. I held up the Nominally Correct Size with some trepidation; it also still felt weird to think about actually wearing the thing. Yes, it was purely out of functional necessity, but the Underwear Divide Taboo gets so deeply ingrained culturally, even if it never becomes personally relevant,° that you don't just get over it all at once.
° (It hadn't, for the record – my sister hadn't pushed her crossplay antics that far.)
But there was no getting around it. I really would need it,° it wasn't like they sold Manly Alternative Bras For Men,°° and it wasn't like I had a great stock of machismo to preserve, anyway; I'd just have to deal with it. I almost looked up a how-to, but it didn't seem that tricky, and I greatly preferred not taking life advice from Yahoo! Answers.
° (Turns out the novelty of personal jiggle physics wears pretty thin once you start feeling it in your shoulders.)
°° (Though I had to stop myself from looking online just out of morbid curiosity.)
It turned out to be a little trickier than anticipated – slip the straps over the shoulders, sure, but it was only as I fumbled around behind me that I realized the clasp had multiple settings. Was this part of that not-an-ISO-standard-human-being thing the Chipper One mentioned? But it only seemed to fit on the loosest one…well, as long as it fit, I thought, futzing with the hooks 'til they caught.
That got it secured in place on my chest; the next problem was getting my chest secured in place. I'd sort of managed to catch my breasts in the cups, but they'd gone and moved around while I was fiddling with it, and there was nothing for it but to re-pack them by hand. This took a lot more finagling than I would've guessed, and it made me very self-conscious; it was the most hands-on I'd gotten since acquiring them. But finally—
—no, dammit, apparently this was what she'd meant by "spillage." The dumb thing was too tight, and stuff was just…squished around the top of the cups – uncomfortable, and funny-looking to boot.° I puttered around, adjusting here and re-tucking there, but it was no use; after a minute or so I gave up, spent a moment fumbling to un-clasp it, and tried the next size up. Repeat the process, and…there was a distinct gap between the cups and the tops of my breasts. Peachy, just peachy; apparently I wasn't a standards-compliant woman…as if I wasn't already aware.
° (I know, from the Internet, that there are people out there who think this is sexy. They are cordially invited to bite me.)
But it'd work for now – better too loose than too tight – and even if the fit wasn't perfect, the support was appreciated. I bent to remove my skirt; yes, they did jostle less. It took me a minute to slip on one of the denim ones – I was feeling all weird about…pretty much everything, right now, and my tail expressed it by lashing around while I tried to get it through the waistband – but I managed. Don one of the tops, and…
…For starters, even what'd looked like basic tees were more open at the collar than I was used to. I was still getting used to having breasts; looking in the mirror and seeing even a hint of cleavage was a whole new level of weird. And while it wasn't as tight around the bust, having it fit right at the shoulders set the rest off in a way that was…none too flashy, but sorta vaguely flattering, which I didn't know how to feel about.
But more than that…it was one thing to see the creature in the mirror attired in borrowed duds; it had a distancing effect, as if this was all still provisional and nothing was finalized yet. Seeing her in clothes I'd picked out as a closest-approximation to what I'd wear really drove it home: good God, this was actually me, wasn't it? This was going to be me, now…
…for better or for worse. I sighed; not that I'd really expected it, but becoming a woman hadn't magically made me more "sensitive" or improved my emotional intuition. That person in the glass didn't really get people, prickled when they got too close, resented being dragged into their drama, felt a frustrating, irrational draw towards them anyway…and had a knack for stepping on toes and crossing invisible boundaries. Nicole was right: she was still Kit.
I took a while longer test-fitting things and sorting them into keep and discard piles, ending up with a week's worth of clothes by my standard metric.° I'd have to get more, later; Nicole might not mind lending me her washer and dryer, but I didn't want to impose. When I'd finished, I folded my ill-fitting shirt and borrowed skirt, tucked them into my bag, and…spent several minutes trying to summon the willpower to go back out.
° (One shirt per day, two days per pair of pants/skirt; I figured I could get away with two days per bra, but I'd have to re-assess later. Sue me, I'm a bachelor.°°)
°° (…bachelorette…?)
I couldn't help thinking I'd blown it, that I'd gone and said something clueless and hurt someone without even meaning to…and dammit, just when I was starting to feel even baseline comfortable around these people. Was it even worth trying to make amends? I knew I should, but the prospect made me all uncomfortable – and what if I just screwed things up worse!?
"Nya do the best you can, and if you scrrrew up, you get up, dust yourself off, and try again."
…maybe she was right about that, too. I let out a heavy sigh; get it together, I told myself. I was a grown-ass…adult, wasn't I? I should at least be able to suck it up and apologize. And, well…I didn't know I wouldn't succeed…
Shaking my head, I gathered everything up and went to see if I could successfully pass for a socially-functional humanoid-type being this time.
I poked my head out of the changing room, took a deep breath, and stepped back into the world of people. Get it together, I told myself…again. I could do this; just because I was frustrated by my own awkwardness and irritated at the entire human social framework for being so damn complicated didn't mean I couldn't be a grown-up long enough to get through it…right?
Still, I felt plenty uneasy. Partly over that, partly re: my clothes; it'd been weird enough seeing myself like this, but being out in public added a lovely glaze of self-consciousness to the experience. It seemed hard to screw up "solid-color tee and gender-normative butt-covering," but the part of my brain that never did grasp this stuff had a nagging suspicion that I'd manage it. What if I couldn't navigate these new layers of arbitrary nonsense? What if I wasn't even competent to dress myself like this…?
And, partly, because I couldn't stop wondering where I'd gone wrong. I kept running it over on instant-replay; was it when I teased her back about Caitlin? I could see, with crystal hindsight, that I'd been indulging my inner troll, but it wasn't meant in a mean-spirited way; but then, IRL communication and online banter are very different things. Well, nothing for it but to man up,° swallow my pride, and admit that I'd gone too far and hurt—
° (Yes, yes, I know.)
"Oh, you're back, Miss Kit," Alex said, as if nothing was wrong.
I stumbled over that, mentally. Had I misread things earlier? I'd felt like I must've accidentally tripped some unexpected trigger, but she didn't seem deeply hurt or anything. Was I just over-thinking it? Was the whole thing in my head? Gahhh, why did this stuff have to be so opaque!?
While I stood there frazzling, she eyed me up, taking in my outfit with a curiously analytic expression. I doubted she had any more interest in clothes than I did; had I gotten something wrong? Was I unwittingly making a spectacle of myself? But she didn't seem amused, either; more than anything, she smelled…a little wary, but curious. I had the sense that I was being evaluated as a potential ally for…something…
Before I could wonder too much, Nicole glanced over. "Mya, it's standard prrractice to tuck your shirt in," she said. "Just so's you kniaow."
"…Why?" I asked, puzzled; I didn't usually bother, in casual dress. I felt a little prickly at having her weigh in, but then I really didn't know much about this stuff.
"Keeps your bellybutton from showin', nyand hides it when nyewr underwear rrrides up," she chuckled. "But they're too coy to say that, so they just tell you it's 'nyat ladylike.'"
Being sufficiently "ladylike" was hardly a major priority; as far as underwear, the prospect of people seeing it felt less embarrassing than half the things I'd been through lately. I didn't really get "feminine modesty," the whole eek, people might see a fraction of the layers concealing some part of myself that prying eyes may want a gander at stereotype; in my experience, the contents weren't of public interest to begin with. I wondered, uneasily, if I ever would grok it…
…but, for the sake of argument, I tucked the hem into my waistband. I shifted my hips around experimentally; like yesterday, it highlighted my waist a bit more than I was used to, which I wasn't sure how to feel about. (The denim was less fluttery, at least.) I had no obligation to really care, but it'd be nice if this kept any stares or awkward interactions to a minimum.
I dug Nicole's skirt from my bag,° handed it over, and started putting what hadn't fit back where I found it…and quickly discovered the flip side. Having it tucked in made the skirt follow my posture more, shifting a bit every time I bent over to put something on a table or lower shelf – the opposite of plumber's-butt – and my tail wasn't helping matters. Slightly flustered, I took a moment to smooth it out, and tried squatting instead.
° (It didn't escape my notice that clothing stores provide bags proportionate to how much they hope you'll buy; the damn thing was almost half as tall as I was, now.)
Nicole churred in amusement. "Mya, you get used to that."
I was about to reply when we both flicked an ear toward the sound of someone approaching. I smelled Frank, but I wasn't prepared for this version. Not to oversell it – her outfit was perfectly reasonable by normal, life-before-plagues-with-major-gender-implications standards – but it was clearly selected with an eye toward what actually worked for her, as she now was.
(Funny; I hadn't thought about it 'til now, but what she'd been wearing wasn't Nicole's style…but was coordinated for someone lighter-skinned. I wasn't sure what to make of the implication that she'd been borrowing cast-off bits of her ex-wife's wardrobe.)
A black skirt hung in folds about her knees, rippling with every motion of her tail; it was just snug enough at the hips to outline her curves without clinging. A burgundy top, along with her bra, smoothed the contours of her bust into a very flattering curve – and yes, it was definitely lower-cut than mine. I could see her straps peeking out from the collar – black, which made sense for her skin tone – and felt a need to glance down and make sure mine weren't showing.
It wasn't quite picture-perfect – she was still in stretched-out crew socks and ill-fitting men's shoes, which didn't do her any favors – but it was difficult to look at this and not feel…stunned? Confused? …a little intimidated, even…? I didn't know how to react; okay, yes, a beautiful woman in a nice outfit, but this was Frank, for God's sake. Not that I'd ever interacted with him that much, but I remembered her when she was a man, and it was still weird trying to reconcile the two. And that aside, was it even kosher to find your neighbor—
I stomped the brakes on that train of thought before my brain got off on a tangent trying to define "beautiful" (in the abstract) vs. "hot" (wanna do something about it) and work out which this was and what that'd imply; I was not ready to deal with that, yet. "Nyew're, uh, rrreally leaning into this, huh…?" I said, then felt like an ass for saying it; it sounded judgier coming out of my mouth than it had in my head.
She chuckled awkwardly, and I was surprised by how self-conscious she smelled; this might've been further out of her comfort zone than I thought. "Well," she said, one ear ticking back and the other flicking nervously, "it's nyat like I can hide this…"
"…S'pose nyat," I replied, feeling slightly annoyed for reasons I couldn't put my finger on. I forced myself to get a handle on it; how she dressed was her business, wasn't it?
"Mya look grrreat," Nicole said, in exactly the kind of positive, supportive way I wasn't any good at. Then, to my surprise, she turned to me. "That's a nice choice of colors for you, too."
"Thanks…?" I said, feeling a little weird at getting complimented. It wasn't like I'd made an effort; blue is just standard for denim, and a white tee is the Most Basic Thing. Besides, with the gray fur, it put me more in mind of a dialogue window from some old JRPG than anything.
A hint of confusion wafted over, and I turned to see Alex assessing her dad uneasily. It was probably a lot for a kid to take in, I supposed, coping with a big life change while your parent(s) were going through changes of their own. (Not that I could talk; while I wouldn't use the word "normal" to describe any of my family, we'd been pretty drama-free…my own awkwardness notwithstanding.)
Finally, she spoke. "I'm nyat wearin' nya dress," she reiterated out of nowhere, ears ticking back; the fur on her tail puffed out slightly. She didn't quite stamp her paw on the ground, but I could see her leg tense, toe-claws slipping out from their sheaths.
Frank gave another uneasy chuckle. "We'll see what we can do," she repeated, in the tone of a parent trying very specifically to de-escalate without making any specific promises. "But nya have to wear something, kiddo." Her own tail gave a telling lash.
"I'm gonnya wear shorts." Alex cast a furtive° glance in my direction, and I realized, uncomfortably, that she'd been sizing me up as an ally in the battle for her wardrobe. I wasn't sure how to feel about that; the part of my brain that felt residually guilty over maybe/maybe-not crossing some mystery line kinda figured I owed her, but I had no desire to stick my nose into anyone's child-rearing.
° (Damn it.)
"I…think that might cramp myewr tail, honey." Frank shot me a look of her own, to my astonishment; I could understand Alex casting about for support, but why would an adult turn to someone like me for backup, let alone her actual parent!?
"It WON'T," Alex huffed, said tail standing out straight, at a sharp angle to her body – and this time she really did stamp her foot.
I gave Nicole a pleading look, but she responded with a what-can-I-do? expression and a shrug. I stifled a growl. I could grasp her logic – if she told Alex to give in, she'd come off as a typical teacher taking the grown-ups' side, so I was the closest thing to a neutral party here – but she was so paying for lunch…
The part of my brain that'd prefer a quiet evening in Hell to dealing with people stuff was imploring me to nope out, but I was stuck, since I'd ridden with them; I could've stalked off elsewhere, but it'd only make things awkward later. But how was I supposed to deal with the awkwardness now…?
"Mya, Alex," I said, glancing over at the girls' section, "is…what you've got on niaow…okay with you?"
I could tell from her reaction that she'd been hoping for more direct backup; she glanced down at herself and had to think about it. "It's kid stuff," she said disdainfully, "but it's better'n nya buncha frilly crap."
I didn't ask, not wanting to make her second-guess, but she probably thought of her hand-me-down jumper as overalls, and never mind the part where it was kind of a skirt; not the most iron-clad logic, but we could use that. I nodded to the other side of the aisle. "We can get more of those, then. That'll do for niaow, and by the time myew outgrrrow them, they'll have more stuff designed for people like—for people with tails."
A very strange feeling crept up at the back of my mind at that. People with tails – this was how things would be from now on, wasn't it? Five-plus millennia into recorded history, and suddenly the world had a whole new kind of people in it. What would that mean, going forward? What would "human" civilization look like in twenty years? A century? A millennium…?
"That's nyat a bad idea," Nicole chimed in, seeing a chance to steer things in a productive direction without seeming to take sides. "Prrrobably better for playclothes, anyaway." I shook my head, trying to get my focus back on the present; where had that thought come from…?
Frank thought it over for a moment. "Mya, that does make sense." We all turned to Alex; okay, kid, I thought, ball's in your court…
Alex's ears were ticked back, but not by as much; she still smelled annoyed, but giving her some agency apparently helped this feel less like something the adults in her life were forcing on her. She pricked her claws on the carpet again, then sighed. "I guess."
"Alrrright, then," Frank said, with a palpable sense of relief. "That and some nyew shirts should be good enough for today."
Nicole shot me a knowing grin; I rolled my eyes in response, flicking one ear irritably. One productive interaction didn't by itself form a compelling case for making a habit out of this. Still, though…at least it'd put things back on a positive footing. I couldn't entirely suppress a smile at that.
I snapped down the last of the French fries, took a long pull off my soda, and heaved a contented sigh. We'd stopped for lunch at one of the restaurants dotting the Palladium, and I'd finally gotten a proper damn hamburger; it was even that rare beast, the burger that comes with the correct amount of fries.° Out on the patio the midday sun was so warm that, if it weren't for the stench of warbling Auto-Tune pop wafting through the air, I'dve been tempted to curl up for a nap.
° (I am dead certain that many places shovel on two pounds of potatoes just to keep people from complaining about the price.)
Things'd been drama-free since earlier. Alex was willing to compromise, though she'd insisted on picking shirts from the boys' section; then we'd hit shoes-and-accessories, where I'd gotten a basic, no-nonsense satchel° and basic, no-nonsense flats. Frank hadn't gone for anything flashy either, but she seemed to have a knack for making things work for her, which I still wasn't sure how to feel about.
° (Okay, okay, purse.)
(Alex, the moment anyone so much as hinted at getting her a purse, had triumphantly pointed out that her jumpers all had plenty of pocket space. I might've been incensed at her for getting smug over what was broadly my solution, but I was more envious than annoyed.)
It still felt funny having something hanging off my shoulder and resting at my hip, but it was more convenient (and less conspicuously odd) than the repurposed grocery bag; and in terms of the things I was self-conscious about, it didn't even crack the top ten.
No, it was much stranger to be out and about like this and think that, to an uninformed observer, we might just look like three women and a little girl;° that they might not realize 75% of us hadn't been female last month, even if Alex staunchly held the line at tomboy and no further. I still wondered if there wasn't some tell in my mannerisms, and then felt all weird at the thought that there might not be…
° (Indeed, it was weird to look at our group and think that Nicole was the standout oddity…except for the part where that was entirely correct.)
It was odd, too, to realize that there were quite a few of us here…and that there was an us there, and it was a very different us than before; between staff, patrons, and passers-by on the sidewalk, probably a third of the people in the vicinity were catgirls of one stripe° or another.
° (Damn it.)
Selection bias, probably – transformees were more flexible for staffing, and shoppers'd be more comfortable stopping in if they had nothing more to risk – but there was a part of my brain that found it…weirdly comforting. Deep in the primal wiring, purely sub-rational, I assessed proto-relationships with these strangers on the basis that they're like me → they think like me → I understand them → I can function around them…
But – I sighed – even as a human, my mental model broke down somewhere between stages one and three; it hardly made any more sense now, when we were still new to being this and hadn't had æons to adapt.° It touched a nerve, too, on a certain strand of humor popular with the memesheep lately: a ha ha, only serious treatment of catgirls-as-assimilatory-body-horror, replete with references to The Thing and Invasion of the Body Snatchers.°°
° (I also couldn't help wondering if that instinct hadn't caused a whole lot of human misery over the ages…)
°° (And, for reasons I couldn't begin to understand, that little Type-Moon critter.)
Which would've been merely exasperating if not for the nagging thought that I had gone through that – while I wasn't consciously plotting things, I'd been all hopped up on the right blend of brain-juice to make me want to do things I normally wouldn't, things that'd put others at risk of infection. Sure, it was the virus talking, but it was still plenty uncomfortable to think about…so of course cretins on the Internet kept reminding me.
And it made it all weird to sit here with a bunch of people I didn't even know, our only connection being that, on some level, my brain now saw them as Kin, and wonder if they felt the same way. I'd always found the Secret Underground Monster Society implausible – if just being the same species was enough to bond over, why were hum—why were we like this!? – but if I went up to these random Feline-Americans and started talking weird cat instincts, would they nod in recognition? Open up about ones they struggled with—
"Mya, Alex," Nicole said, breaking my train of thought. Alex was pawing at her dad's glass with a strangely intent look, nudging it closer and closer to the edge of the table; she started at the words and, realizing she'd been caught, turned away – silently disavowing all knowledge of the affair while her ears gave her away completely. I couldn't help but smirk…
…but dammit, now I couldn't stop thinking about it! I could see my own cup in front of me, feel my dumb cat-brain speculate on what it might do if I batted it just so, and almost hear this new part of me wonder if it wouldn't be the most natural thing in the world to test. For God's sake, no! I told myself. You're an adult, aren't you!?
I took a deep breath, heaved a sigh, and got up; I forced myself to gather up my tray and trash the normal way and took it over to the garbage cans. Nicole and Frank joined me shortly, similarly intent, which made me feel a little better about it.
As we prepared to leave, there was a microcommotion from the entrance. "Mom, Mom, look!" a girl's voice said, excitedly. "Lookit, see!? It's—"
"Don't point, sweetie," said her mother, in a tone that suggested this was a regular occurence. The girl, a freckle-faced little blonde with a guileless grin, did not get the message.
She was around Alex's age, but taller than usual – she'd hit her growth spurt and then some – and her face radiated pure childlike wonder, without a trace of that trying-to-seem-more-grown-up attitude kids tend to display on the verge of middle school. She wore faded, rumpled blue jeans and a pale yellow shirt with a daisy on it, and was pointing our way – at Nicole, I thought, but then her gaze wandered, and her eyes went wide.
"Omigosh!" she cried in delight, breaking away and rushing over to tackle the youngest member of our group in a hug. "You're Alex, aren't you? Oh wow, you got so cute…!"
"Mel, honey, personal space…!" her mother said, but it fell on deaf ears. Alex reacted to the sudden assault-glomp as any cat would – her expression really put the mort in mortified – but her attempts to pull away were stymied by the other girl's grip…
…and the fact that "Mel" here had a full head over her. I hadn't really noticed, but Alex was kinda short; partly, of course, because she'd been a boy 'til now and hadn't been due to sprout for a couple years. Wondering whether she would, or whether the poor kid was just doomed, I felt moved by empathy to intervene. "Frrriend of yours…?" I queried.
Luckily, this drew her captor's attention, and she managed to wriggle free. "She's in my class," she said pointedly, smoothing down her fur with visible annoyance – but the subtext was lost on Mel, who regarded me curiously, turned to follow a passing butterfly, and returned her attention to her classmate.
"Wow, you got fur a buncha places," she said. "Does that mean you got more sick with it? Or I guess you don't get sick when you turn into a cat, right? I got sick – my mom too. I mean, we weren't like really sick but that was no fun; I think it woulda been better to just turn into cats but maybe then I wouldn't get along with Grandpa's dogs and that'd be too bad 'cause they're pretty fun. Do you hate dogs now, or what?"
Alex gave her a look like she'd just introduced herself in Martian. She made to answer, but the other girl was already continuing. "Or did you ever even like dogs? I can't remember, I don't think I ever heard you say if you did – I don't think you talk to us girls much. Do you think maybe you will since you're a girl now? I wonder if people who like dogs don't turn into cat people. I wouldn't mind being a dog person I guess but I don't think that's happening. Do you like cats? Regular ones, I mean?"
It was the strangest damn thing to listen to her; I'd known hyper kids and spacey kids, but she was sort of a third point on the triangle. She wasn't motor-mouthed,° but no sooner had she finished voicing one thought than another was percolating out from her brain – and her train of thought was none too bound by its tracks.
° (Although her scheduler did prioritize talking over breathing – she kept having to stop mid-sentence for air, and then carry on.)
Alex, unsure which of the half-dozen questions she'd just been peppered with to answer, opted for the last. "We nyever had cats," she said, eyeing her classmate warily, as if she didn't know what this strange creature might do next. "Abuela Carmen's got a cockatoo, and…and Grrrandmya Asheby has an…nyaquarium…"
She trailed off, looking strangely intent again, and I could tell she was considering both of these data points in a new light; then, realizing that she'd been able to get a word in edgewise, she added, "Miss Nyacole's cats're okay, I guess. Snickers thinks she's better'n, like, everrrybody though."
Nicole churred in amusement. "Mrrr, can't argue with that."
Mel blinked in realization and turned to the two-legged, grownup-sized tabby cat in the patchwork-quilt skirt, tube top, and bandana.° "Oh wow," she said breathlessly, "Miss Nicole…?"
° (I had to admit, if anyone cut a distinct enough figure to be recognizable as an entirely different species, it was definitely my neighbor.)
Nicole gave her a happy-cat grin. "Hiya, Melody," she said. "Mya been keeping up on nyewr rrreading?"
Mel smiled brightly; then her expression fell, just slightly. "She's…trying," her mother said, with the vaguely unsettled look of someone who wasn't used to having parent-teacher discussions with large predators. "It's a bit of a challenge helping her focus, at home. Are you, uh…?"
"She's Chelsea's teacher," her daughter said, brightening as the focus shifted away from her homework. "But she helps out with our English assignments, sometimes." Then, to Nicole: "Are we gonna get to come back to school soon? I haven't seen a buncha the other kids in forever except I saw Tabbi and her mom at Safeway the other day. She turned into a cat person – Tabbi did, I mean – but it was funny 'cause she's actually a calico. I wonder what decides what kind of cat people turn into?"
"They don't know yet—" I began, instinctively weighing in when a subject I'd researched came up, but Alex interrupted. "Wait, do we have to go back…?" she said, looking significantly less enthused.
Nicole shrugged. "We've been talkin' nyabout it, for students who've been exposed," she said, "but they wannya be rrreally sure that means nyew're immyewne, and we're still workin' nyan prrroviding distance learning for the rrrest. Don't think it'll happen 'til the fall semester, but we'll let people kniaow."
"The sooner the better," Mel's mother sighed. "Er, well, no pressure; I've just been feeling a little out of my depth. Math and English I can handle, but history's just a jumble of names and dates to me…"
"Think that's mostly in how it's taught," Nicole replied, tail lashing, "but that's anyather rrrant. Honestly, it's encouraging just havin' nyew folks make an effort. It's the kids whose parents can't be bothered that I rrreally feel for," she growled.
Mel'd been studying the other half of our group; at the mention of parents she had an obvious lightbulb moment. "Omigosh," she said, turning to Frank, "she's your dad, isn't she? Oh wow, she got so pretty…! Um, although does that make her your mom, now?" she mused, staring into space, a finger to her lip. "What about your—"
"Sweetie…" her mother interjected, pivoting from parent talk to timely intervention with practiced ease; this was clearly not her first rodeo. Alex bristled, tail puffed out and ears ticked back a bit, but said nothing; Frank, between ears, tail, and face, had about the most muddled expression I'd ever seen on a person, like she was processing several very different feelings at once.
Mostly it wasn't any of my business, but I didn't feel quite as flustered as usual at being a bystander to this; I wasn't sure why. The kid meant no harm, and her mom wasn't nearly as frazzled just trying to keep up with her offspring as that woman the other day; really, though, I was just glad this wasn't going to involve—
"So are you maybe her aunt, I guess?" Mel asked me, rebounding off her mom's verbal guardrail without missing a beat.
"Wh–!?" I sputtered, wondering how she'd come to that conclusion; there was no resemblance, beyond our being not-so-human no-longer-males. Well, for all she knew Frank and I might be sisters-in-law, stepsisters, or…who knew; even in my own family, my mother was the only one of her siblings who hadn't divorced and remarried at least once. "I'm their neighbor," I clarified; it was…weird…to think about being anyone's aunt,° in any case.
° (You could have "honorary uncles" of no actual relation; my dad's college roommate was one, to Caitlin and I. I wasn't sure if "honorary aunts" were a thing, though I couldn't see why not.)
"Ohhh," she said thoughtfully. "I never had an aunt before except now I do 'cause one of my uncles is my aunt now, that's pretty cool I guess."
"…I see," I said; I could guess what she meant, with the pandemic, but I wasn't 100% certain.
"She turned into a cat person," she nodded; "I mean, all the way into a cat, like Miss Nicole, only she doesn't have the extra boobs.° She's, um…what are they, those spotty tigers that live way up where it's cold all the time? She teaches skiing up at the lake, so I guess that makes sense."
° (Her mother gave Nicole an apologetic look; she laughed it off.)
"'Spotty tigers…?'" muttered Alex, as puzzled as myself. After a moment's consideration, I ventured: "Snow leopards?"
"Uh-huh!" Mel beamed. "She's the fluffiest thing EVER – and she purrs when you pet her, it's so neat. Um, Miss Nicole, can I pet you?"
"Melody…!" her mother said, sounding a bit closer to her limit. It was kind of a weird thing to hear said; even Nicole was visibly surprised. But it was plain to see the kid was totally earnest, and she chuckled, doffed her bandana, and knelt down so Mel could get at her.
She approached almost in awe,° reaching out to touch her snow-white hair delicately before giving in and scratching at the base of her ears. Nicole let herself nudge into the little girl's touch, prompting a delighted grin from her; then Mel stroked the fur on her neck and shoulders. "You're so soft," she marveled. "I think Aunt Brad is fluffier, but that's okay I guess."
° (I wasn't sure why, if she'd already done this with her erstwhile uncle; she probably just really liked animals.)
I glanced at Alex, who'd turned away; again, her ears were tipping her hand, trained as far as they could go toward what she Clearly Had No Interest In. With a smirk, I turned back to Nicole – and felt a particular itch in my chin, as Mel scratched under hers. I did my best to ignore it, with some difficulty; then that familiar low rumble started in. "Oh," Mel said, "you purr too!"
Nicole, knowing she couldn't speak intelligibly, smiled and nodded, canting her head just so as to give optimal access for scritches. Mel brushed one of her whiskers; the corner of her lip curled instinctively at that, revealing a fang, but she let it fade back into a gentle smile.
Still, I could tell she was getting twitchy. When you have an instinct for this, you get very attuned to it in others – like how, as a human, you can watch someone make a really embarrassing faux pas and feel almost as mortified yourself just out of sympathy. I worried that things might get out of hand; thankfully, Nicole was more self-aware than a typical cat. "Alrrright," she said, gently grabbing Mel's hand, her claws discreetly velveted, "that's enyough for niaow." She smiled. "But that was rrreally nice; thank you."
Mel beamed. "I got to practice with my aunt," she said, "but she'd get all twitchy too, like when I'd rub her tummy, and 'specially if I pet the base of her tail. I guess regular cats do that too, but I dunno why. I probably gotta lot to learn about them if my aunt's gonna be one. Gosh," she mused, "I wonder if I'll ever have cousins who're cats?"
There followed one of those moments where everyone has something on the tip of their tongue, but isn't sure if they should say it.° Frank and I shared an awkward glance; Alex was merely confused; Nicole was plainly amused, but carefully measuring her words. "Well, nya never kniaow," she said, "but in nyany case, it's good to see myew trrryin' to be sensitive about that. Even ordinyary cats'll apprrreciate it."
° (This, I'm certain, is why the "beat panel" was invented in comic strips.)
"Yeah, I s'pose!" Mel grinned. "Oh, and Tabbi too, I bet – it's probably okay if she comes over now that we both had it, that'd be fun, I haven't been over to anyone's house in forever either. Oh," she said, turning to Frank, "can Alex come over sometime, or maybe we could go play in the park or something? I guess it's too cold out for the pool still and I dunno if she'd wanna swim if she's a cat now. Do cat people hate taking baths and stuff? Oh, or d'you just—"
"We'll see," Frank said, answering the first question before she could finish asking the third. "We're still getting nyewsed to…all this, and it might be a bit before sh—before Alex's comfortable with that. Mya, we'll keep it in mind," she added, as Mel prepared to break out the puppy-dog eyes at what she took for a denial; then, with a wry churr, "And I had enough of a time getting Alex to take baths beforrre."
"Daaad…!" Alex yowled, but Frank gave her The Look. "Kiddo," she said, "I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true."
She stuck out her lower lip and ticked her ears back, but couldn't muster a firmer protest; instead, she jammed her hands in her pockets and turned away in a performative huff.
"Anyway," Mel's mother said, deciding that this was probably the best opportunity she'd get, "we really shouldn't keep you. It was very nice to meet you, ah, ladies…?"
Nicole took the hint. "Mya, they'll prrrobably need our table." She hunkered down next to Mel, ruffling her hair with her palm-pad and provoking another delighted grin. "Hang in there," she said. "I kniaow it's hard to stay focused sometimes, but mya can do it if you trrry."
Mel wasn't thrilled to be reminded, but gave the best smile-and-nod she could offer – which was still pretty cheery. We gathered our bags and left, and she followed her mother into the restaurant, talking excitedly about a cornucopia of topics, at least some of which related to our encounter.
We walked on in silence for a bit; after being around that kid, it seemed like a novelty. Finally, I turned to Alex, who was lugging her own shopping bag (she'd insisted on doing it herself.) "Is she always like that?" I asked.
She heaved a sigh, as if she'd just come off an intensely busy period and finally caught a break. "Everrry DAY," she said, ears drooping. "I dunniaow how the other girrrls keep up; nyan of the b—nyan of us get what she's even talkin' nyabout half the time." She gazed uneasily from one adult to the next before asking: "…I don't rrreally hafta go over to her house, do I?"
"Well, I won't make you," Frank said, after a moment, "but…it might nyat be a bad thing for you to get to know some of the other…mya, other kids in your class."
Another palpable silence. "But she'll wannya do girrrl stuff," Alex said at last, tail lashing. Her bag slipped lower in her grasp; she hefted it back up and clutched it to her chest.
"Maybe, maybe nyat," she replied, treading delicately. "She wasn't dressed all that girrrly, was she? Mostly seems like she just likes anyamals."
"Mya, fifty-fifty," Nicole put in, trying to be diplomatic. "But I can't imyagine she'd purrposefully do anyathing to make you uncomfortable; she's a good kid."
I felt awkward again, recalling perfectly well-intentioned attempts by the adults in my life to help me "break out of my shell" – which usually meant tagging along with a group I didn't really want to be part of or getting invited over to the house of some kid I didn't know, and inevitably saw me holing up in a corner with whatever reading material I could find 'til it was finally time to go home. It'd seemed like grown-ups were all under the impression that absence-of-hostility was the same as friendship, when it couldn'tve been clearer to kid-me that it wasn't…
…and yet, as an adult, I couldn't help wondering. Did it have to be that way? Alex was a bit shy, a little sensitive, but nothing like I remembered; maybe she could function around her peers, with some gentle nudging. But that was probably what parents, teachers, and the like thought about me, back when…
I studied the scene from the rear, as we walked: the parent and teacher, sincerely concerned but maybe not fully aware of how "help" from authority figures can feel like just another arbitrary imposition to a child, and the kid, stuck being not entirely sure of herself, but unable to express it clearly…or was that just me projecting?
They were getting farther away; I'd slackened my pace, lost in thought. With a quiet sigh and a shake of the head, I hefted my bags and hustled to catch up. She'd seemed like a little enigma on the way over – but, for the first time, I wondered if I might not understand her better than I'd thought.