It was well into the evening when hunger finally forced me out of the blood-trance. Normally, I could go for most of a day on coffee and the occasional light snack, if I remained sedentary and didn't let myself get too worked up;° but I was still fairly ravenous, and stray thoughts about why only made it harder to keep my mental machinery from revving up and burning even more energy. No getting around it, I needed food.
° (A skill I'd acquired in college, where the mandatory meal plan meant paying several grand per year for the privilege of eating stuff that cleared the "prison" tier, but didn't quite make it up to "McDonald's." I'd subsisted almost entirely on chalky, stale peanut-butter cookies, one of the few minimally edible things on offer.)
It was a surprise to find that I had it, though. I remembered my bare fridge, but evidently Nicole'd restocked it. Right, she'd mentioned needing groceries last night, hadn't she; I still wasn't sure how to feel about the fact that she knew and hadn't told me, but at least I had something to eat. I made a fairly obscene quantity of bacon and eggs and poured myself a tall glass of milk – whole milk, which had always seemed over-rich to me before.
That kept me distracted for a while, and got me nostalgic; it'd been years since I worked a late-shift job and had dinner around the time normal people went to bed. It made scheduling any kind of get-together hell – not that I needed to often – but I did kinda miss the part where I could sleep in as late as I wanted, every day of the week. Come think, I was starting to feel a bit drowsy again…
Then, out of nowhere, my phone rang. I nearly jumped; was the ringer louder than usual, or was it just that everything sounded louder and clearer these last few days? And who'd be calling me at…aw shit. It was my week for the on-call rotation at work, and evidently the next tech in line had forgotten to switch the after-hours dial plan over when Nicole'd called me in sick.
I was absolutely not in the mood to take calls right now…but the only people who'd be working this late were the folks at Jusczak Associates, our big accounting client, who were always swamped during tax season. With a heavy groan – verging on a conspicuously non-human growl – I flipped open my work laptop and picked up the phone. I hated having this stupid job intrude on my personal time, but…c'mon, self, it's not their fault; calm down – CALM DOWN! – and put on that nice, professional demeanor…
"Fulcrrrum Solutions, how can nya help – gack! – um, myew?" I experienced a full-body cringe at hearing myself speak; I usually put on a mildly upbeat, higher-tone voice for this kind of thing,° but my larynx had gone all screwy and just trying to settle in on a pitch was throwing me off in ways I hadn't experienced since junior high. On top of that, I noticed the same kind of bizarro vocal tics Nicole exhibited creeping into my speech. Oh God, I thought, not now, not where people can hear…!
° (Not chipper. People hate chipper, when they're calling in with a problem. But, y'know, pleasant.)
"A–are you there? I–is this tech support?" It was Ronald, one of the senior accountants and a very special case all-'round. I never was clear on whether he was "on the spectrum" or just eccentric, but his office looked like the study of a Hollywood "insane mathematician" type – stacks of paper everywhere, Post-Its festooned across every convenient surface, even the Newton's cradle on the desk – and he was certifiably a total neurotic. "I can't get back i–into the office!"
"Mya—" I caught myself, tried to force it not to happen. "Ah, okay – so is it nyat taking your keycard?" There wasn't much I could do about that – we only managed their computers, the security system belonged to the office complex, and their staff was already…wait, why was he in the office, anyway? Hadn't they gone work-from-home, like most of our clients?
"N–no, it's still in there!" I had to suppress the urge to tell him to calm down; "quavering and on the verge of a breakdown" was his normal speaking voice. "I usually have Mei Ling get delivery for me on Tuesdays, but e–everyone stopped coming into work for some reason, and I had to do it myself, a–and I left my badge…"
"And there's nyo—" I stopped short – of course there was nobody else there. I flipped through our client file in OneNote,° glanced across the entries – yep, we'd set them up to not have to be in the office back at the start of lockdown, like practically everyone else. Had he been coming into work this whole time? It'd been six weeks; he must've gone home at some point, right…?
° (Why in God's name did we use OneNote for this? Why, "best practices," naturally.)
"I, I think the delivery girl was sick or something," he mused. "She had a mask on, a–and she kept trying to stay clear of me. It was kinda rude, honestly."
It was beginning to dawn on me, but I could hardly believe it; still, if anyone was going to end up in this situation, it'd definitely be him. "Uh, Mr. Harrrperrr," I said, trying to figure out how to approach this, "have you…been watching the nyews lately…?"
He somehow managed to laugh ruefully while also sounding like he was about to cry. "A–at this time of year? I barely have time to go home and sleep. My kids keep the fridge stocked, but I a–a–always get delivery on Tuesdays…"
He really had no idea, did he? I muted myself and heaved a sigh, trying to think of how best to break this to Rip van Winkle here, or if I even should. The guy seemed like he was about three cups of coffee shy of a coronary on a good day; God alone knew what explaining that society was in the grip of an atypically cute and fuzzy global pandemic that he'd avoided by sheer coincidence° would do to him.
° (Ironically, he was probably safer spending eight…twelve…sixteen…? hours a day in the office by himself, for extremely peculiar definitions of "safe.")
"Mya, listen," I said, unmuting myself. "Nyanforrrtunyately—" – I gritted my teeth and persevered – "—I really can't do anything about the door. But we did set things up so that you should be able to do everything on nyewr work laptop. D'you have that at home?"
He thought for a minute. "Ah, y–yeah, I think so. But, a–ah, work from home? How'm I supposed to, to stay focused!?"
I was filled with a weird combination of exasperation and pity. He really was going to give himself a heart attack, wasn't he? Sure, he apparently didn't know about the external considerations that'd driven everyone else to leave the office, but the fact that in a moment of stress he was fixating on his ability to maintain maximum function as a worker…why were humans like this!?
…
People. Why were people like this.
"L–look," I stammered, "I kniaow it's nyat ideal—!" I cringed as my voice cracked for a moment before settling again, and gave silent thanks that he had no earthly idea why it was happening. The more flustered I got, the harder it was to keep from slipping… "But, uh, Laurrren gave the go-ahead for all of you. They'll understand if it takes you a bit to adjust."
There was another pause. "A–are you sure?" he asked, his voice quavering slightly more than usual.
"Yes," I sighed, wishing he'd get off the line already. That pleasant drowsiness was nagging at the back of my mind, encouraging me to go back to sleep, and it was getting harder to fight the urge – but I couldn't just take a nap in the middle of a call. "I'll put in nya ticket for us to contact security tomorrrow; meantime, myew can go home and work – or, uh, get some rrrest?" I tried not to editorialize to our clients, but I really felt like it needed saying.
"And, uh…" I thought for a moment. "Maybe check in with your kids, okay? I dunniaow if you've hearrrd, but there's a bit of a bug goin' nyaround."
"Oh!" he said brightly.° "So that's what was u–up with your voice. Sounded kinda funny. God, I hope it's not strep…?"
° (For values of "brightly" that still entail°° being on the verge of a nervous breakdown.)
°° (Damn it.)
"Nyathing like that," I said, trying – with little success – to keep my tone steady. "But, mya, they'll be able to fill you in nyan the details."
He said goodbye and hung up, and I set my phone down, buried my face in my hands, and felt my entire head achieve incandescence. Bad enough that my voice kept drifting in and out of gawky-teenager mode, but having all these stupid vocal tics manifest while I was on the phone with a client was just mortifying. Was it always going to be like this? Nicole'd said she practically couldn't speak at first…
Cringing at the thought, I logged into the dialer and switched it over to Curtis. Hell, for that matter, what would I be in for just going back to work? Bryce would be sure to make some dumb remark, I just knew it. I wasn't as certain about the other techs; we might have our various personality issues, but I didn't know if they were specifically awkward around—
—Anyway, I thought, with a vigorous shake of the head, maybe I could get a handle on it. Nicole seemed to do less of it than she had that first day, and she didn't even mind it; if I could keep an even keel and mind my wording, I might be able to keep this to a minimum, maybe even prevent it altogether.
But…well, there was no use trying to deny it anymore, was there? I hadn't even made it a day without getting hammered by inescapable reminders: this was really happening, happening to me. Like it or not, I was changing.
There was a knot in my stomach as I processed that; it felt like the world was dropping out from under me. I stalked to the fridge, poured myself another glass of whole milk, and downed it like a cartoon alcoholic. God, I needed that – and no wonder. Plenty of fats and sugars to fuel the changes, rich in calcium for all those extra vertebræ I'd be developing…
How far would it go, I wondered? Would I be like Nicole, a sapient, bipedal animal? Or merely end up with the ears and tail, and without certain parts of myself with which I had a long and familiar acquaintance? Something in between? Or…something worse, more extreme? I'd yet to hear of anything beyond what she'd experienced, but that didn't mean it wasn't possible…
There really was no getting out of this, was there? I felt my whole body tense up, my shoulders tightening…it was too late to avoid, it was already happening and there was not a single thing I could do about it…
While I was grappling with my inner turmoil, I realized I had to go to the bathroom again. No surprise, I was nearly twelve hours and more than a quart of milk into the day, but I resented it anyway. I couldn't stop self-assessing, trying to work out how far things had progressed. In my current state of mind every little detail was an omen of things to come, and my brain insisted on trying to forecast the end result despite my best efforts to make it stop…
But it was only when I'd finished up and let my abdominal muscles relax that I felt it: a twinge in some part of me, somewhere near the pelvic floor. A part of me that I hadn't had before, or at least not in this form. In the grand scheme of things, it would've hardly been noticeable, but between the media obsessively educating the public to within an inch of its life on this and my own compulsive need to stay informed about what I was trying to avoid, I'd read enough to recognize this as the first stage in the formation of the uterus.
My uterus.
I sank to the bathroom floor, trembling, feeling the stub of my tail brush against the cold linoleum. Base animal relief from doing my business clashed with numb realization and left me feeling as emotionally-addled as I could ever remember being. There was no more room for denial, no convenient distraction with which to brush off the realization. Holy shit, I thought, I'm turning into a woman.
I couldn't un-think it; couldn't think of anything besides it. I could barely even feel this one tiny part of me, this nascent scrap of muscle and membrane, but I knew absolutely what it meant. After spending all day trying not to think about it, I was forced to confront the truth: I am going to be a catgirl.
I grasped the sink counter with hands that were maybe just a bit slenderer than they'd been this morning, and hauled myself to my possibly-daintier feet, shifting hips that felt a little funny and wondering if the legs had begun to change. The face looking back at me from the mirror didn't look all that different, not yet, but the ears of this other-self-image were noticeably longer and pointier, with a thin coat of hair, and when the light caught the eyes just right, there was a faint glow in the depths of the pupil.
I'm going to be a catgirl. The thought recurred in my mind, over and over. There was no getting out of it, I was already changing. Funny, I thought I'd be angrier about it. I had been angry, earlier; now, I felt stung at having officially lost to this, worried about what'd happen to me, and fairly indignant at having gone through all that stress and inconvenience for nothing, but more than anything I was just kinda stunned. Was that also something the virus did to you…?
It was too much to think about right now. The drowsiness was filling my head again, urging me to sleep. I was hesitant, knowing it'd only bring further changes, but there was no avoiding that; it was going to happen anyway, whether I slept comfortably or drove myself to exhaustion in a futile attempt to fight it. In a daze, I brushed my teeth, staggered to bed, and collapsed, surrendering to unconsciousness.