I felt like a coiled spring when I awoke the next morning; there was a tension – not nervous, but restless – charging my entire frame. Truthfully, I wanted to laze around in bed, or better yet, go back to sleep – I'd sure as hell earned my unscheduled time off – but I simply couldn't do it; there was a part of me that needed to get up, move around, go out. I hadn't really been out in…what, two weeks? Even for an introvert that was forever…
I battled with myself for a bit, but I couldn't shake the feeling from my limbs; there was potential energy there that wanted – needed – to become kinetic. Even fresh out of bed I was bouncing antsily on the balls of my feet, springing lightly from step to step as I went to the kitchen and put the coffee on; it was almost enough to make me abandon my morning routine and stalk straight outside to prowl. My tail lashed and my ears flicked to and fro, tracking the subtle reflections of quiet Friday-morning apartment sounds off the walls around me and feeding my brain an aural map of the place in a way I'd never truly experienced before.
It was only when I got to the bathroom and looked in the mirror that I processed that last bit; sure enough, my ears stood proudly atop my head, fully-grown and independently mobile. The fur was all grown in as well, the coloration unchanged from yesterday: a uniform soft gray on the outside, and tufts of white fuzz within. For a minute or so I just watched as they explored this new sonic space, gently modulating the drone of the fan as they turned this way and that.
I glanced back at my tail; yep, a dense but short-haired coat in plain old gray, with a white tuft at the tip. It was nearly as long as my legs now, and carried itself with more assurance, curving up away from the floor and stirring restlessly. Geez, I thought, was there any part of me that wasn't all twitchy this morning…?
The curves of my legs and butt were more pronounced, I noted – still fairly modest, but hard to stop noticing considering I'd never had them before. I'd continued to fill out in the bust, too; enough now for the pajama shirt to drape revealingly over my breasts even without the hem tucked in. They were less sore than yesterday, at least, but still tender.
The weight was definitely noticeable, but I felt less off-kilter overall; my brain did seem to treat the tail as a counterweight, and my limbs had settled into their final proportions. I remembered feeling off, back at the start of the week – like my body was a suit that didn't fit quite right, I'd thought – and that feeling was gone, now; this damned virus must've re-wired my mental map early on, and now the rest of me was put together to match it…
It was a basal relief to be rid of that – I hadn't realized how much I had felt it 'til it was gone, like when you finally locate and kill some appliance with a whining power supply and are left in blessed silence – but it got me feeling all weird to think about it. I hadn't asked for any renovations, dammit, and it was a dirty trick to alter the blueprints on file before I'd even noticed, to deny me the opportunity to feel viscerally wrong about it. Okay, maybe it'd be stupid to want that, but still!
Then I glanced back up, and had a whole new thing to feel all weird about. The face in the mirror was clearly a woman's; not strikingly beautiful, but fully within the usual parameters for an adult female Homo sapiens…or whatever weird subspecies or sister taxon we'd° end up classified as.
° (God, I thought, that was a "we" there…)
It was strange, but not alien; me, yet not-me. I ran over the clichés in my mind: "what I'd look like as a girl?" Well, arguably, but it wasn't like I had access to some alternate universe where I'd been born this way to compare against. "A younger version of my mother?" The influence of heredity was clear, but…no, not quite. "The sister I never had…?"
…Oh hell, I thought, I did look like a brunette Caitlin. Not exactly – my chin was a bit sharper and the cheekbones more pronounced, the face overall a bit less round – but put us next to each other and there'd be no missing it: I was obviously my little sister's older sister.
But not, I noted with a sigh, her big sister; I didn't have a measuring tape to hand, but by all the familiar reference points of my bathroom mirror, I'd probably lost a whole head in height over the course of the week. I tried not to get self-conscious – I'd had enough of that in grade school, when she hit that pre-adolescent growth spurt that girls tend to° – but I knew damn well where it'd put us, relative to each other…
° (Between that and puberty taking its sweet time with me, she was the taller one for several years, which was horrendously awkward for both of us. She felt like a gawky giantess, I felt like a shrimp; and my peers definitely noticed. I might've developed a complex over it, if I'd ever related to them in the first place.)
And yet I wasn't some petite little waif; if I had to guess, I was still comfortably north of five feet,° my hips definitely hadn't shrunk, my limbs and digits were slenderer but not exactly delicate, and if my shoulders were narrower, it wasn't by a whole lot. But then I wasn't full-figured enough to qualify for "shortstack" status, either; I was just kinda…short.
° (Not counting the ears.)
It was a weird thing to be irked at, but for some reason I found myself feeling that way. It wasn't like I wanted to be a dainty little flower or a statuesque goddess or any of the other things my brain wouldn't stop imagining me getting stuck as, but this? How in the hell did it make any sense for me to go through something so completely out of the ordinary and come out so…ordinary?
Hell, it was even weird trying to apply that descriptor to myself. A lot of people say "plain" of a woman when they really (fairly or not) mean "gawky and kinda ugly," but this wasn't that. Looking at the face in the mirror, there wasn't anything unpleasant about it, æsthetically; it just…didn't stand out, despite the cat-ears. But then, I didn't want to stand out – so why did that annoy me?
I sighed, shook my head, and returned to staring at my new reflection. I drew up one corner of my mouth, watching the way my cheek bunched up under my eye, revealing my fangy canine° teeth, then relaxed it; stuck out my lower lip, and drew it back in. I cocked an eyebrow, blinked, frowned, scrunched my nose and peered into the glass.
° (Was that…what, a cat-pun-by-association? Damn it.)
It was deeply strange, looking into the mirror and seeing another face: a different flavor of strangeness from the last couple days, when it was still a work-in-progress. This…was probably it, or near enough, and my brain seemed to realize that; I recognized this face, even though it wasn't the one I'd grown up with. Watching it respond to my commands…
It was too familiar to feel creepy, but the thought that this was the "new me" got me a unique kind of miffed, like if you came home one day to find that someone had rearranged your living room, and they assured you that it was really okay because they'd carefully studied your habits to make sure you'd adapt to it; even if they were right… Just who the hell do you think you are!? I thought, incensed. That's my face – who said you could have it!?
But that got me nowhere; I knew perfectly well that it wasn't some other-self there, someone I could be justifiably mad at. I closed my eyes and thought back, recalling the face that'd looked back at me just a couple weeks ago; I still could remember him, and that was a comfort, but it was no use – he wasn't me anymore. Instead, the job had fallen to the creature in the mirror. It was like I'd been brought in as an understudy for myself.
I stood there feeling all weird and restless, the experience just uncanny enough to set me a little on edge. My tail gave an agitated lash, and I realized my ears had angled back as I'd gotten all worked up. Was it all over now? Was this who I'd be from…from now on?
Or…was this really it? What if there was some last surprise in store, just when I'd vaguely started coming to terms with the notion? I hadn't read as much on the process for more extreme changes, but I hadn't heard of any last-minute left-field stuff…but did that mean it couldn't happen? What if I ended up too far gone to ever live a normal life? But…would this ever feel "normal" to me?
Did…did I want it to…?
With a groan, I set that question aside, and tried to focus on my morning routine instead.
Showering was still…novel, particularly as things had developed up top; there was a defined "underboob" area yesterday, but there was more of it now, and the "valley" between the breasts was more distinct. At least I didn't have to handle them quite so gingerly, I thought…but then I accidentally flicked a nipple, and I twinged at the one-two punch of ow-shit! tenderness and a whole other kind of sensitivity that I really was not ready to deal with yet.
My fur somehow got even more soaked than yesterday, to boot; I had to wrap my tail in the towel and wring it out two handspans at a time, while the dumb thing twitched and thrashed with my own annoyance. By the end it was still damp, and the fur was all mussed, which drove me crazy. I spent another couple minutes straightening it, and had to suppress the urge to just curl into a ball and groom it out with my tongue, which was a mortifying thought. That was it – I had to get a blowdryer.
It was a passing thought, but it slotted neatly in with my urge to go out. I was used to buying stuff online, but it'd take days; if I just went and got one I could have it ready tomorrow morning and – hopefully – stave off any further awkward grooming instincts. Besides, I kinda wanted a beer, and for all Nicole's thoughtfulness, she'd neglected that part of restocking the fridge. I felt more than a little nervous at the thought of being out in public like this, but I'd have to get past that hurdle, sooner or later…
I dried my hair and tidied it up as best as I could – a hairbrush, I could get one of those while I was at it – and dressed in the clothes I'd borrowed from Nicole, still feeling a little weird at how fluttery they were; I tucked the hem of the blouse into the waistband of the skirt, which helped somewhat, but emphasized my waist and hips more than I'd anticipated. Gah, just figuring out how to dress like this would be a whole separate challenge, wouldn't it?
This was the point where I'd don my glasses, normally…but a glance down at them, resting on the sink counter with earpieces out, called attention to an obvious issue. I knew this was one of many little "furgonomics" problems° faced by catgirls trying to fit into a world designed by and for humans, but I hadn't given much thought to it applying to me at some point.
° (As the Internet had insistently dubbed the topic.)
I could've gone without – my good eye was enough for reading at short distances, and I didn't have depth perception worth a damn in any case – but a glance in the mirror made me reconsider. I'd worn glasses since I was ten; I'd long since gotten past feeling embarrassed by it, and by now it almost felt wrong not to have them, like they were a part of me.° If I did have to face the world as…this, I was damn well gonna hold onto one stylistic choice I kinda-sorta cared about.
° (That was one reason why I'd never gotten contacts. Total inability to stick a finger in my eye without flinching and shying away was the other.)
Luckily, I found an elastic band in the drawer under the sink, dating from the period when optometrists insistently gave them to you every time you got a new pair.° I had to cinch it as tight as it'd go and rest the earpieces atop the ridges of my temples just so for them to stay in place, but it did work, sort of. I'd have to look into…what, pince-nez? at some point, but that'd do for now.
° (Presumably on the theory that it'd encourage you toward a more active lifestyle…? I never did figure that one out.)
I looked back into the mirror and, oddly enough, felt better about what I saw. This was still all weird and confusing, but the surly, bespectacled brunette mutant freak reflected there felt a whole lot more like me than any of the fevered speculations my brain had been conjuring unprompted the last few days, at least. As long as I could just function, I thought, rounding the corner out of the bathroom and—
Wait. My ears perked; my eyes darted to the corner of my vision. I'd caught motion; something was there.
I could sense it – a presence, hovering just out of view behind my shoulder. Already restless, my muscles tensed and my focus sharpened. Not too sudden – move too hastily and I'd give myself away – but if I could just…
Ha! I whirled 'round to catch it – but it was gone. The crafty little bastard; I could feel it behind me, still. I'd been too slow – but I wouldn't make that mistake again. I twisted around once more—
Damn it! I could just see it out of the corner of my eye before it disappeared. Nothing for it, then; if I wasn't quick enough this way, I could use all of my limbs instead. I crouched on all fours, muscles tensing, absolutely intent on apprehending this menace.
I sprang, throwing my front half to the side and contorting my whole frame to lunge back towards it – but it was already engaging in evasive maneuvers of its own. Round and 'round we went, bounding in as tight a circle as I could manage; with every turn, I was more fiercely determined to catch and kill!
…
Realization came on all at once, like a flying brick wall. I lurched to a halt mid-bound, planting my palms in the carpet so hard that I almost somersaulted before dropping back to my haunches. That was…I'd been…
That…that did not happen. Nobody could prove it had, they weren't there. They weren't there to see nothing happen, because nothing had happened. Picking myself up off the floor after a couple minutes of vigorous nothing, I licked the back of my hand, straightened my hair, adjusted my glasses, and went to my nightstand for my wallet and keys.
Getting out the door presented its own challenges; for starters, I had no pockets for my wallet or phone. I made do with a spare grocery bag, but I felt like a tool; I'd have to suck it up and get a purse…satchel 'til pants were an option again. (Maybe not even then, if my sister's gripes about women's jeans were to be believed.) I'd need new shoes, too, but my flip-flops would work for now; cripes, this was turning from a quick errand into an expedition, and I hadn't even left the house yet.
Then came the door itself. I stood there for a minute, trying to steel myself; it'd been one thing trekking to and from Nicole's, but now I was going out – out of my territory and into the rest of the world, where other people were,° to face society for the first time as something different, on a couple of levels…
° (HIC SVNT HOMINES)
I could do this, I told myself; there was no reason I should have to care what The Masses made of me, no reason it should bother me if they found me weird or unsettling. I chose to remove myself from these considerations, purely of my own accord. I could go out like this and run my errands, and it wouldn't be awkward or embarrassing; and I could come home, have a beer, and relax like a basically together adult-type person…
And then I took a deep breath, opened the door, stepped outside, and shut it on my tail.
Not hard, thankfully; I've never been in the habit of slamming doors. But I let out a loud, startled, and very feline yowl all the same, and my muscles reflexively clenched in response to the pain – drawing in my arm, which was still clutching the handle, and pinching it tighter still. By the time I'd extracted myself, my poor tail required a whole minute of gentle rubbing to feel anything like better.
This has become a rite of passage for transformees. The basic problem is that, while your brain already has a map of your new body, all the familiar actions you've compiled in muscle memory over the years don't just magically adapt – you know where your tail is, but then you execute the door-exit routine in your mental library and only learn that it's out-of-spec the hard way. It's a mistake pretty much everyone makes once, but very few people make twice, at least in the same way…
…So of course I went to get in the car, and immediately clotheslined my ears on the top of the doorframe.
It was much less painful, but plenty annoying; getting situated was pretty weird, as well. There wasn't room to thread my tail between the seat-back and the base; maybe later I could pry the cushions apart to make a gap, but for now I had to let it pass between my legs, which felt weird on principle and had the fur brushing against my inner thighs as I worked the pedals. The tip kept poking around curiously under the dash, to boot.
I also had the nagging feeling that my ears were just shy of brushing the headliner; at my new height they probably weren't, but it felt like it. And it turns out that, no, there is no way to wear a shoulder-belt across your breasts that isn't awkward and irritating. They were back to being sore, too, after all the jostling around during my bout of nothing; I really would need a bra, I thought with a sigh.