5. Two Little,

The morning sun glared brightly through the cracks in my eyelids as I fumbled my way to consciousness. I'd gotten entangled in the sheets almost completely, and I had that tell-tale psychic hangover you get from a bad dream you can't remember; the details escaped me, but the emotional jumble loitered on the premises as I extricated myself and clambered out of bed. I would've liked to sleep in, but I was too wide awake now.

Well, that's what I get for eating like this, I thought. I'd tried to prepare going into lockdown, but it hadn't fully occurred to me that eating the same handful of pre-packaged meals or rice/pasta/soup mixes day in and day out for weeks on end probably didn't make for a terribly balanced diet, and I was tending towards indigestion – and unsettled sleep – more often than not lately. But then, every trip to the grocery store for better, fresher food was an added risk…

I had the brief thought that I could get Nicole to do my shopping for me, but I'd have to have the guts to talk to her first. We'd seen each other at the mailbox and traded cordial acknowledgements, but I still hadn't worked up the nerve to face her straight-on and apologize for flipping out that day. And it'd been two whole weeks, now, which only made it more awkward…why hadn't I made myself do it back then…?

I put on coffee and checked my e-mail/forums, but my mind was elsewhere. I wasn't sure why the prospect of making amends unsettled me beyond the basic social awkwardness of it. It wasn't as if I didn't like her; we weren't close friends, but she was a good neighbor, and I hated the idea of just leaving things on that note indefinitely. But it still felt weird and uncomfortable to think of someone going through something like that and just…embracing it.

Okay, it wasn't like she was profoundly handicapped; she still walked upright, still had opposable thumbs and the right number of fingers, and by all accounts her senses were sharper now. And sure, she'd overcome the initial difficulties with speech; most of the initial tics were more subdued, and I suspected the rest were ones she liked. And okay, she wasn't reduced to a dumb beast by whatever new instincts she had; she was still intelligent, still recognizably her…

But still…why? I didn't get it. Didn't she have any attachment to her old self? And surely her new form had its share of complications; I'd seen with that catgirl at the hardware store how tricky a tail could be to manage, the full-body fur coat must make bathing an ordeal, and I had no idea what a six-breasted woman would have to deal with until the garment industry caught up. Was her notion of "cool" really worth all that?

But then, why was it my problem what she thought of her change?

…Okay, I knew the answer to that; I just didn't like to think it to myself…

I finished my coffee with a sigh and threw on some ratty work clothes; I'd finally gotten the rebuild kit. That, an oil change, and re-adjusting the valves would only take me a couple hours; I could get it done this morning, while it was still cool out on the pavement, and then I'd be good 'til June, when things started really warming up and I'd have to tweak the mixture anyway. I could shower afterward and then have the afternoon free for…whatever, I supposed.

I got my tools and went outside, crawled under the Bug to set the oil draining, then came back topside and started on removing the carburetor; I'd do the valve tappets last, after the drain-pan was out from underneath. Ugh, I thought, noting with annoyance that my hands were already smeared with oil and grease; I liked having a car I could work on, but that didn't mean I actually liked working on it.

I drained the bowl and disassembled it, laid all the bits out neatly on the concrete, and started working it over with a can of solvent and an old toothbrush. Okay, maybe I sort of enjoyed this part; I'd always found fiddly little tactile activities weirdly absorbing. It was all the grunge that I disliked; but there was no avoiding it, unless you just gave in and went to a mechanic for every little thing…

Later, as I was finagling the replacement rubber bits into place, I heard Nicole's door open. She padded over to the dumpster with a bag of used litter, then came and stood nearby, watching me. I didn't know what to say at first, but after a minute of her standing there and me feeling awkward, I gave in. "…Something you need?"

She shuffled her paw-feet. "Mrow? Nya, just…superrrvising, I guess."

I still felt uneasy around her, but I couldn't quite stifle a chuckle as I reached for my screwdriver. "God, you really are a cat."

She giggled; I could hear that feline trill creeping into it… "Damn strrraight! Nyeverrr saw this coming, but it's incrrredible. Wonder what my kids're gonnya think?"

"'Kids…?'" I murmured, bolting the carburetor back into place. "Oh, right. Guess you won't be back in the classroom for a while…"

"Prrrobably nyat." She sounded glum, and I could just about hear her ears drooping and whiskers sagging; then she brightened a little. "'Til they find a vaccine, anyway. …Gosh, I wonderrr how many of them will've changed?"

She sounded oddly excited at the idea, and it got me feeling all weird and uncomfortable again. It was one thing for her to be into this herself, but dragging other people into your weird interests, and particularly kids… Grade-schoolers could seize on any little thing to ostracize each other; how would it be if your peers suddenly had a very big thing to tease you about, one that maybe you weren't even comfortable with yourself? If she were as blithe about their changes as she was about her own, then—

I sighed. I was doing it again, wasn't I? Jumping to conclusions about someone else's feelings and projecting my own worries onto them? For a while I said nothing, as I tried to remember where to set the volume screw; but I was a grown-ass man, wasn't I? I should at least be capable of sucking it up and apologizing…

"…Listen, Nicole," I said, feeling horribly awkward, "I, uh…'m sorry I freaked out on you back then."

"Hm?" she said. "Oh, nya, it's okay. I guess it was a lot to drrrop on nyew outta nyowherrre."

"Well, yeah, but…" Part of me wanted to leave it there and call that good, but I knew that it wasn't. "Look, I was…being paranoid, I guess. Honestly, I still don't get how you can be so cool with…with something this weird and crazy, but…I thought you were gonna, you know, start trying to…to…"

"…Push it on nyew?"

"…Yeah," I said, shrinking into the engine compartment as I hooked the fuel line back up. She didn't sound too offended, but it was still embarrassing to admit.

She said nothing while I replaced the air-cleaner; I turned and saw her lost in thought, tail lashing, as I crawled back under to pop the valve covers off. "I mean, I'd nyeverrr want to forrrce anybody into this, but…" She gave an ambivalent little churr. "…well, it'd be lying to say I didn't think it might do people some good."

I'd been prying the retaining clip off one cover, using the screwdriver as a lever, and I tensed so hard at that that it sprang free with an audible bang. "Mya, you okay down therrre?" she called, concerned. I sighed. "Fine, thanks."

There was a pause, as if Nicole was measuring out her words, trying to figure out if she was suggesting something weird/immoral/illegal. "Like, the nyews is always going on about 'cabin feverrr' niaow," she said. "Surrre, maybe it's just TV sensationyalism, but…if they werrre changed, people could just get out, rrright? I haven't had to worrry about it for almost a month niaow, Kit!"

"Well, that's great for you," I said, sliding out from under the car, "but not everyone…ugh, I've got gravel in my hair."

"Nya prrrobably wannya put it up if you're gonnya be worrrking on the grrround," she offered. "I've got hairrrbands if nya want."

"Really, I meant to get it cut," I sighed, fitting my big crescent wrench onto the crankshaft, "but, y'know, lockdown."

She frowned, ears tilting back just slightly. "Mya, I dunniaow, I think it's a good look for you."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Eh? Without the beard, it's just my stringy-haired hollow-eyed cave-goblin phase in high school all over again. I haven't had it this long since."

She laughed. "C'mon, nyobody looks good as a teenagerrr. It's fine, trrrust me."

I shrugged. Easy for her to say; she wasn't around for that awkward phase of my life. "Anyway—" God, had I had any non-awkward phases? Aside from, y'know, now, where everyone just accepted that A. I was a weirdo, but B. it wasn't their problem? "—uh, actually, could you do me a favor and work the wrench there? I need to make sure it's at top dead center for the right cylinder."

"'Worrrk it' how?" she asked. "Sorrry, I dunniaow from car stuff."

"No trick to it," I replied, grabbing the necessary tools and dropping back down. "Just, y'know, rock it back and forth a bit."

She seemed intrigued by that, and I was hardly situated underneath before she started moving it from side to side. Well, that was fine; I could see the correct set of valves rocking. "Great, thanks, that's all I needed," I called up to her.

The valves kept rocking; I could see her tail lashing from down here, and I heard her starting to giggle as she continued to bat the wrench back and forth. "Uh, Nicole, you can stop now."

They kept rocking. "Nicole!" I said, a little more sharply than I meant to. God, was this what it did to you, turned you into the same kind of easily-addled goofball as real cats? I could even see her wince through her tail when she realized what she was doing. "Sorrry," she called back.

"It's fine," I sighed, trying to keep my cool. Maybe she'd always been like that, I reasoned, and I'd just never seen this side of her until I asked her to help me with something. I fiddled with the feeler gauge, trying to slip it in at the right angle. "Anyway…I mean, you must realize that not everybody sees that as a reasonable trade-off, right? I'm…not…gonna tell you you're wrong, but you're, uh, definitely a special case."

"Well, you're nyat wrrrong about that," she chuckled. "But is it rrreally that bad? Like, what do people serrriously think they'd be losing?" I almost fired back, but she beat me to it. "I kniaow, I kniaow, it's differrrent for guys, but…is it that imporrrtant to everrryone? I dunniaow, you tell mya."

I shook my head, trying to formulate a response; this got more gravel and concrete dust in my hair. At least I'd be showering afterward…why did it feel so uncomfortable trying to analyze this?

"I mean, uh, I don't know…?" I said uneasily, turning it over in my mind. "I think most guys'd see it that way, probably. Like, I know there are exceptions, but for most people it's a pretty basic part of how they think of themselves, isn't it?" I frowned, recalling what I'd told myself back when lockdown started. "A–anyway, even if you don't see that as a core component of your identity, the 'alternative' here leads straight into Lands Unknown. That's a big leap to take just 'cause you're getting a little stir-crazy."

"Rrreally?" she laughed. "It's that big a deal? Are we, like, a whole differrrent species to you?"

"Well, you literally are," I said, glancing at her furry paw-feet as I shifted around under the car. "But if you mean women?" I got my tools in place as best I could, trying to adjust the valves to just the right tolerance; it was a bit cramped down here, but it beat taking the tires off for this.

"…Yeah, kind of," I sighed. It was so weird trying to consciously work out stuff that I normally took for granted. Sure, analyzing problems I might not intuitively grasp was half of my job, but it was so much more complicated when people got involved. "Like, sure, prick us and we all bleed, but…"

I paused, trying to think of how to put it. "But…there's lots of things about women that most guys have filed under either 'will never be relevant to me' or 'Things Man Was Not Meant To Know.' You're straight-up put together differently; that leads to a whole class of physiological or psychochemical complications of which we're only dimly aware…"

"You surrre know how to make a girrrl feel special," she put in dryly. "Is it rrreally just a myatterrr of 'psychochemical complications?'"

"Well, that's the start of it," I replied, a little defensively. "You socialize differently, too…" It was hard trying to figure out how to say we find you strange and hard to understand at times, and that can be intimidating without coming across like a total jackass. I really didn't think that was inherently pejorative, but I'd heard enough hackneyed stereotypes from enough third-rate comics and self-styled culture commentators to realize it was a bit of a minefield.

"Plus, well…society treats you differently," I said, finishing with the one cylinder. "And you can have strong opinions about exactly how – but we only ever see it from the outside looking in." Though really, I thought, that was true of a lot of "people problems…"

"And sure," I sighed, "some of this might be social construct, but it doesn't make the implications any less real." I took a moment to wipe my hands down with a paper towel. It didn't get them clean, but it kept the grime slightly under control, at least. "There's tons of things about you that we'll never grok, even if we're intellectually aware of them, which we often aren't."

"'Grrrok?'" she queried.

"Uh, nerd thing," I said. Nicole was eccentric enough to not trip my "normie" detector, and I sometimes forgot that she wasn't a geek as such, and belonged in a different category.^° "Umm, 'to grasp intuitively,' I guess? To know it so well that you don't have to think about it to make sense of it. Like, some of this we might be able to comprehend, if you explained it right, but we often get the sense that some things are just forever closed off to our understanding."

^° (Damn it.)

I came back up and cranked the flywheel 'round. "So, yeah. It may not sound like a big deal to you, but that's because you already know what it's like. Most of us, not only do we not know, we're not even sure of what we don't know. And the idea of getting thrown into the deep end with all that – let alone jumping in? It's kind of a scary prospect."

"I'm nyat surrre I get it," she said after a moment, as I went back underneath and started on the next set. "I guess it's nyaturrral to be intimidated by stuff you don't underrrstand, but…it isn't myagic. Billions of us live like that everrry day, and we do fine; who's to say that you wouldn't, too?"

I bristled; she probably meant that "you" in the abstract, but I felt myself getting worked up again. "Wh–who's to say we would?" I retorted, fumbling irritably with the feeler gauge. "I mean…maybe you're right, but we don't know that, and if we take a, a chance on it and don't end up, uh, coping well, it's not like we can just, y'know, call do-over – not now, and maybe not ever."

There was a long pause. "S'pose nyat," she said at last, sighing. "Just seems silly for people to have to stay all cooped-up overrr something that isn't even, like, deadly or anything…"

"Well, nobody's thrilled about it," I sighed, trying to get my feelings back under control, "but even if you didn't risk spreading it…it's not deadly, but it's sure as hell life-altering. And, I mean, it's not like everyone is all stressed-out by this…"

"You arrre."

"I—!" I sputtered, then caught myself, got ahold of my emotions, and gave her a sigh and an eye-roll – not that she could see it from up there. "Can you, what, smell stress now?"

She gave a little churr of annoyance, and I could see her tail lashing behind her. "I think my firrrst clue was the bit wherrre you flipped out and rrran away," she said, "but, yeah? It's all overrr you lately." She clawed idly at the pavement with one paw. "I can smell it on the mailbox, for the love of Pete."

"Well, that's…that's a communal traffic area," I said, feeling something tense up in my chest as I worked on the adjustment. "It's relatively high-risk for an outdoor environment; it's not surprising for people to get a little uneasy there, in the circumstances."

"Nya-huh," she said dryly; I could tell she wasn't buying it. Then her tone brightened. "Say, if nya everrr wannya just get some 'people time' in, you could always come overrr for coffee. The thing alrrready did its worrrst on mya."

I could practically hear her grinning impishly, and I could just picture her altered features arrayed into that iconic happy-cat look – the one that Internet convention renders as =^_^= or thereabouts. To be honest, I kind of did want to take her up on that; I really wasn't as stressed as she seemed to think, but surely it wouldn't hurt to get out a little bit, chat with a neighbor, maybe pet her cats…

…No, what was I thinking!? It wasn't like I needed that, and even if studies seemed to support the notion that transformees were too resistant to the virus to pass it on, it wasn't certain yet…and for that matter, neither was the idea that this was "its worst…"

Why was I so prone to careless thinking? I knew that'd be irresponsible, I was trying to be diligent, and yet I was nearly suckered in by trivial pleasantries. Was this how it got you? Could it make even an introvert crave social interaction, just to spread itself? But that didn't make sense; it couldn't alter behavior unless…God, was I already infected? I felt my stomach turn, but then I realized that made no sense, either; if I was, why would it make me try to get infected? Was this just another innate vulnerability of the human brain…!?

"Nya okay down therrre, Kit?" Nicole queried. "I'm getting 'majorrr frrreakout' vibes from—"

We were both interrupted by a sudden commotion at the end of the row. I heard the Gutiérrezes' front door fling open and a fit of that shrieking-giggling kind of laughter you get from a kid who's just a little too worked-up from playing to be sure of whether they like it. I grimaced; I didn't remember it, but I'd heard that sound from myself before, on an old home video of my grandpa tickling me to within an inch of my life. He meant well, bless him, but I still got all jangled when I thought about it.

The giggling was broken by an "oof!" and a soft thud as someone hit the pavement. I scuttled out from under the Bug and scrambled to my feet, but not before clocking my shoulder on the tailpipe. Nicole was already sprinting over, only just holding herself back from dropping to all fours and bounding like an animal; I followed warily at a safe distance, rubbing my shoulder.

We found Frank and Alex rolling around in the driveway in some kind of horseplay, laughing crazily. I couldn't see too well from this distance, but I caught confusing glimpses through the tangle of limbs. Was I seeing what I thought I was seeing…? I hung back, leery of getting involved here; Nicole didn't hesitate.

But before she could say anything, Alex caught sight of us. His eyes went wide, and he was out from under his dad like a shot, eyeing us warily as he got his bearings. Something about him struck me funny, but I was more focused on Frank, who was still on the ground, shaking his head in confusion. "Al…Alex…?" he called groggily, trying to rise from his hands and knees. "Wherrre you goin', kiddo? Hehe, heh, 'm gunnya get you…!"

Something clicked in my brain; I peered closer, trying to get a better look without getting any nearer. His face was less craggy, his skin softer, his nose less bulbous; and his mustache was plainly thinner. Moreover, his voice had risen in pitch, and I heard hints of vocal tics that were becoming all too familiar. Then he turned towards his son, and I got a good look in profile; there was no mistaking that his ears were growing long and pointed, though they'd yet to migrate upward…

"Dad…!" Alex cried in exasperation. "Hsstop it, this is hssserrriouss! What's happenying to me–eeowr!?!?"

That got my attention. Turning back to Alex, I saw that I hadn't been imagining; he was much further along than his dad. Kids' immune systems adapted to combat the virus faster, but it didn't seem to spare the unlucky ones from their fate, just got them through the first phase quicker; and with less of them to change, they metamorphosized faster, to boot. He was only ten or eleven, so it was hard to say how close he was to no longer being a "him" in the clinical sense; but his ears were already over half changed, with a thin coat of black fur filling in on the outsides.

His shorts were tented out by the growing stub of his tail, and his legs were changing, too. He was steady on his feet – the proportions were just starting to really shift – but there was fur coming in at least up to the cuffs, and blood flecked his toes where the claws were starting to poke through the skin.^° He clapped his changing hands over his mouth, surprised at the sound he'd just made, but not before I got a good look at a full set of fangs inside. From what I read, it'd probably be over for him by tomorrow evening, if not sooner…

^° (Cat claws aren't quite as analogous to nails as you'd think. Nails're just a hard plate sitting atop the finger, dug into the skin; claws have a similar covering over a bone spike at the end of the digit. Nails don't become claws, they just fall out; it sounds horrible, but is allegedly painless. It looks horrible, anyway, 'til the skin grows over it; thankfully, that doesn't take long.)

I kept my distance, feeling torn; Alex was clearly confused and scared, though he kept trying not to let on to us that he was, and he was coherent enough to realize something deeply weird was happening to his whole body – unlike his dad, who was still out of it. I couldn't do anything about that, but it felt like I should at least try to comfort him…but even if he wasn't contagious, Frank might be, and I'd just put myself at risk…

My mind was a jumble of emotions. Why did it have to be like this? Why should I get dragged into other people's problems, just because they happened to live next door? Why did I have to feel obligated to help when I couldn't change a thing about what was happening, and would only invite trouble upon myself? And…why did I feel bad for doing the safe, rational thing…?

While I dithered over that, Nicole padded over to him. Alex was visibly losing his composure now, and having her there to turn to broke down his resistance completely. "Miasss Schumyacherrr!" he said, voice quavering. "What's going nyan!? Am…am I gonnya turrrn into a cat!? That's what the nyaborrr kids hssaid…!" He started to shake, and in moments he was flinging himself into her arms.

She held him close, stroking his hair with a furry hand, claws velveted, letting him nuzzle into her soft coat. "Shhh," she said, in a soothing voice, "it'll be okay. You'rrre gonnya be okay, shhh…" She glanced toward me briefly, like she meant to ask me something, but thought better of it. I felt useless just standing there on the periphery, but what else could I do…?

Then Frank stumbled over to them, slouching loose-limbed like a thoroughly drunken man. "Heh…hehe, heh, mmrr, hi," he slurred, still out of it. "Thankss f'rrr…f'rrr takin' carrre of 'm…mrrr…" He started to rub his head insistently against Nicole's chin; she was annoyed by it, but kept her cool and let him continue while she soothed Alex.

It was the first time I'd seen someone in the grips of the virus. It wasn't quite a glassy-eyed stupor, but it was clear that something else was scrambling certain messages in his brain. It lacked the queasy horror of, say, those fungi that infect insects and make them attract birds, but it was unsettling all the same, however harmlessly goofy this behavior might seem by itself. I had the sudden urge to dash back into the house and lock the door behind me…

But there it was again: that feeling like I should be doing something, finding some way to help, making myself useful instead of just standing there gawping like an idiot and working myself into a tizzy. I caught Nicole's eye and was about to ask if there was anything I could do, but she shook her head. "Better nyat," she sighed. "Nya might get morrre than nyew're preparrred to cope with."

For a moment, I felt my spirit flare with indignance; I wanted to push back, defend myself against the charge, prove that I could so take a risk for the sake of someone else. But my sudden resolve turned to alarm when Frank caught sight of me. He grinned drowsily. "Hhh…hhey…!" he called out; I could just feel something behind those eyes telling him that it'd be great to come over and nuzzle up against me for a change…

But Nicole was quick on the draw; maybe she recalled her own experiences with this phase of the virus. "Mya, listen," she said hurriedly, rousing Alex from her embrace and taking his dad by the shoulders, "why don't we all come on overrr to my place? Therrre's a grrreat sunny spot to sleep in, and the kitties'd just love to meet you…!"

Alex was wary at first, but he caught on quickly and followed behind, flanking his dad as Nicole walked him drunk-tank style to her door. Frank kept glancing back at me, and it wasn't until I heard the door latch behind them that I could finally breathe freely. There was a finality to the sound; I knew that I wouldn't be seeing either of them again as I'd known them previously…

And that…well, I'd have liked it if that was that, but I still wasn't done with the Bug, and I couldn't leave it like this; on top of finishing the tappets, I had to readjust the carburetor before it'd run properly. I spent a long, nervous couple of minutes waiting for my neighbor to barrel back out the door and subject me to the Cuddle of No Return, but the lot remained quiet. Hopefully that meant Nicole had a handle on things…

I slipped back under the car, trying to remember where I'd left off a short eternity ago. God, I really felt like a heel now, just standing there gormlessly while the neighbor lady took care of the whole thing, watching a little kid try not to have a freakout and failing to make myself do a damn thing about it…oh, sure, I could tell myself that it was the only rational choice, that getting involved would change nothing and risk further spread, but it didn't help; I still felt cowardly…weak…superfluous.

But what good would it've done? I couldn't do anything about their transformation, Nicole would surely be much more of a comfort to Alex than some random guy who happened to live next door, and getting anywhere near Frank would, as a simple matter of fact, leave me exposed to the virus and potentially passing it on. It would be irresponsible of me to do that just because I wanted…wanted…

…what did I want? To play the hero? Be the one to take charge, "solve" the problem, prove myself capable and competent and needed? Was that really why I wanted to help? Sure, I knew from my job that being appreciated felt good (when I got any appreciation for it, anyway,) but that was no reason to be foolhardy, just so I could validate myself. But if that wasn't what I was after, then what…?

I finished with the valves, popped the covers back on, and refilled the oil, then let it settle for a bit, brooding all the while; chasing out intrusive thoughts, left over from my conversation with Nicole, about just giving in and letting the damned thing have its way with me. It wasn't like that'd make anything better; even if I had come down with it, whether I changed utterly or merely felt like shit for a week, I'dve been just as powerless to spare my neighbors from its ravages…

Finally, I started the car and spent the next few minutes letting it warm up, tweaking the adjuster screws on the carburetor, trying to get it to a smooth, stable idle. After a little fiddling, and by the standards of an antique four-cylinder engine, it was purring like a kitten.^°

^° (Damn it.)

I nodded to myself, killed the motor, and started gathering up the assorted detritus from the project. I sighed heavily as I took the old rubber bits, worn gaskets, et cetera over to the dumpster; I usually got more of a sense of accomplishment from this, but I just wasn't feeling it right now. Anyway, I told myself, heading inside to wash up, I'd gone to far too much effort to just give in now; it couldn't all be for nothing…

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