Six. It's Been a Hard Day's Night

Jase’s loft is a cozy little two-bedroom with an unfortunately stale-weed smell around most of the main area masked by some much more pleasant incense and a whole lot of crystals, candles and charms laid out in sparkling décor around the living room and windows. My first, embarrassing kitty impulse is to start eating the feathers off one of the dream catchers dangling from a lamp right over the head of the sofa. I squash that urge of course and focus instead on the tightness of my empty stomach. I follow Jase into the kitchen and give a desperate “Mow” to indicate my distress.

“I know, kitty,” he responds, rifling through his cupboards. “You’re hungry, right? I don’t have any cat food yet.” And you sure as shit better not buy any. I ain’t eating no Whiskas, thank you very much. “Still, I thought I saw some… Here we are.”

He pulls out a can of tuna, and I accept the offering, jumping eagerly right up on the counter. Finding a can opener is a separate struggle though, it seems. “Come on, Nick, what’d you do with it? What’d you do with like half our utensils?”

Nick is not around to answer. He’s manning the clinic downstairs, and the can opener may very well be lost in the intimidatingly high pile of dirty dishes in the sink. I guess Nick got a major case of the munchies last night and fed that hunger exclusively with grilled cheese, stove top kraft dinner, and tomato soup. The empty soup cans are still sitting out on the counter.

“Dr. Carson should be paying me to live here as the maid,” Jase mutters, sweeping the cans into the recycling bin under the sink.

He looks back to the sealed can of tuna.

He held up his right hand then and started staring with unnerving intensity at his nails. I stiffen in unease, feeling a sudden shift in the air. Some seriously bad vibes, as Jase’s eyes change color and those clean white nails start to darken and thicken into claws. My hair is standing right on end now, but I still watch in intrigued fascination so I can figure out the tricks of this shape shifting. The only requirement for Jase seems to be extreme concentration, and the change only goes as far as his nails, before he drives one claw right through the steel top of the tuna can and rips it right open.

His hands are shaking as he sets the can on the counter, but he closes his eyes, and breaths in deep, and the little tremors stop within seconds, claws retracting back into healthy human finger nails. Those bright blue eyes snap open then, warm with timid pride, and he gives a glowing smile. “And I remain in full control. Not bad, huh kitty?”

I give a mew of enthusiastic encouragement and close my own eyes in mimic of his process. I envision human Cassi – sitting right on his eating bar, about to fall naked from his counter and maybe break something… Damn it. This is not the place to change. But I want to change! I want human hands and opposable thumbs right this very second.

I jump down from the counter and skitter over to the sofa, so I can burrow under the blankets before changing back into a human. The stench of marijuana is far too strong under that knitted throw however, and I instantly start gagging.

“Oh, don’t be scared,” Jase sadly misinterprets my flight. “I didn’t mean to scare you again. I’m human, not a wolf, and I am not going to hurt you. Come on.” He flips up the corner of my blanket, holding up the open can of tuna. “Don’t you want breakfast?”

I give a little sniffle and a sneeze, to which he gives another “Bless you.” and if cats could smile, I would be grinning ear to ear. I pad back over to the counter where Jase sets down my can. Jase makes some scrambled eggs, and I start licking up some tuna juice, thinking that this meal is most definitely requiring some mayonnaise to make it more palatable.

With brunch successfully scarfed down by both of us, Jase starts in on the dishes. He fishes his smartphone out of a drawer and turns on a most excellent playlist of sixties rock and roll to accompany the work, singing along beneath his breath, as he eliminates the tornado of mess left over from his roommate with zero further complaints or grumbling.

I find “Hard Day’s Night,” especially hilarious today, for some reason. Maybe as a cat I can no longer relate to the term ‘working like a dog’, but I did get the shit scared out of me, and after inhaling that entire can of tuna in one sitting I do indeed feel like just curling up and going to bed right now. It’d be nice to find my way back to a human body first though, because I know without a doubt that Jason could most definitely do some things to “make me feel alright...”

My fine singing wolf-man smiles over at me in wonder after the dishes are done, when I turn the cold water tap back on and lap up some water and wash out my mouth. “You are one smart kitty.”

And you are one great guy. I just need to show you that I too am a shape-shifter, and we will get along perfectly, I just know it.

After the initial freak out and the awkwardness blows over that is and I find my way to some clothes.

Jase sprays some air freshener around the loft, lights some incense, then goes to throw the food-stained sofa blanket in the wash. Left with some blessed privacy then, I jump to the floor and focus real hard on returning to my human self.

Nothing. Freaking. Happens.

I sprawl out on the floor in utter depression then, thinking I will most definitely indeed be trapped forever as house pet to my first and only love.

Jase finishes cleaning the loft in an hour, scooping me up from my sad spot of kitchen floor right near the end, once I get in the way of his sweeping. “Want to move this to the bedroom, miss? You’ll be a lot comfier.”

Good God this is awkward, and I find myself incapable of meeting his eyes now as he sets me down right on his bed. This room is incredibly neat, controlled, and clean, in sharp contrast to the common space. There are more of those crystals on his dresser and night-stand though, and another dream catcher hanging from the headboard that starts my kitty claws kneading his covers with the urgent need to bat and attack those dangling feathers and beads.

My paws start kneading all the harder once Jase strips off his shirt and jeans and starts working out, right there at the foot of the bed in nothing but his briefs. I find myself purring again. Then find myself burrowing beneath the covers in shame to forcibly blind myself and keep my horridly crude brain from leering at him.

I can hear him showering now though, and I give one last ditch effort into changing back into Cassandra to surprise him as he comes out.

No dice.

I look for something to start typing a message with, but neither Jase nor his roommate have a computer with a keyboard like the one downstairs, and I don’t think Jase would react well to me carving jagged letters right into his drywall. I probably wouldn’t even get through a full word before he tossed me out into the cages downstairs.

Jase’s dinner involves a pan-fried steak from a freezer just packed full with meat, and I find myself sitting down beside him on the couch and eating right from his plate. He finds it adorably cute, and not at all irritating, cutting me off little cubes and holding them out to me in offering. I even try the mashed potatoes, and find I like them just as much in cat form as I did as a human. Jase is really just an excellent cook, and I try to tell him that. But all he responds with is, “No, sorry. No more for you. It’s gonna upset your stomach. I really got to go out shopping tomorrow, get you some proper kibble.”

He apparently has no time to do so now, because the sun is already setting. He sits down cross-legged on the floor and starts to meditate, keeping his fists curled in strangely aggressive, rigid hold as he does so. Nick comes in the door and heads straight toward his room, saying not one word to Jase, but setting some strange vial of liquid on the coffee table beside him as he passes.

Jase pops the cork and downs it in one swig without ever opening his eyes, murmuring beneath his breath, “If they call tonight, only then will I change. And I will stay in control, and I will stop them.”

Maybe controlling his shape shifting is not as easy for Jase as I first assumed. He certainly looks to be struggling with it, brow stained with sweat and eyes staying squeezed firmly shut as the light of the full moon beams down on him through the window.

I stay watching him for about a half hour before I get bored and jump up onto the window sill, peering out at the rusting fire escape and the trashy alley below. Jase’s loft really does not have much of a view, I will tell you. I intend to spend most of my night here staring right at that lovely, full moon.

Then right around midnight, I catch sight of the black wolf, sniffing through the alley below. He sniffs around the dumpster, follows the trail right up to the cardboard box I was hiding inside just that morning. That snout lifts and cruel yellow eyes focus right on the stupidly curious cat, sitting openly outlined in Jason Galanis’ window.

I jump down in an instant, but it’s already too late. Psycho Mike and his witch know exactly where to find me now, and it’s only a matter of time before they force their way inside.