We walked most of the way back in silence. Finally, coming down the street to our row, Alex spoke. "I–I wasn't actually gonnya…mrrr, myakniaow…" she said, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself than anything.
"Oh?" I said, wondering whether she had any compunctions about it, or was just embarrassed at losing herself in instinct.
"'Cause, mya, that's nyat really the kind of bird you eat, anyaway." She frowned thoughtfully, as if rehearsing an argument to herself.
"Isn't much meat on one, for starters," I said, eyeing the pawprints she left on the concrete. "Here, c'mon over to the faucet."
She rolled her eyes as I opened up the spigot out front, but dipped one paw and then the other in to rinse the dirt off. "Geez," I said, glancing over her legs and tail, "you're covered in stickers."
"Rrreally?" She looked down at herself. "Guh, those are the WORST. But it doesn't hurt like gettin' one in nyewr shoe."
"Foxtail's evil," I said. "I think your coat's dense enough to keep it from poking, but it burrows in real good if you leave it. Let's get inside and we can take care of 'em."
She got a bit skittish again before allowing me into their apartment. I wasn't sure why; she smelled wary, but not hostile. Well, I wouldn't intrude on their territory any more than necessary, but I would need a wastebasket; I ducked into the bathroom and borrowed the one by the sink. It was empty save for a few squares of Kleenex dabbed with makeup; I wondered how long they'd been in there.
Alex was waiting when I returned; she glanced toward the master bedroom. "That's…Dad's room," she said pointedly.
"…Mya, okay," I said, for once sensing a trigger before blundering into it, even if I wasn't clear on the specifics. "Gotcha."
We set up shop on the kitchen linoleum. She shied away when I went to touch her fur; I hesitated, but she relented, and I started picking out foxtail barbs and other detritus. It took a bit to get the hang of finagling them out without too much fur coming along, but eventually she stopped squirming and twitching at my clumsiness.
"Oh," she said, scooting around to my side, just out of reach, "you got some in nyewr tail, too."
I craned my neck for a look back. "Figures," I sighed, turning to follow her. "Must've been in with the tall grass." She was right; they were just buried in the fur, and not digging in yet. I'd get them once I was done with her…
But to my surprise, she laid down next to me, facing the other way so I could continue working on her legs and tail, and started picking at my own fur. I winced and hissed as a tuft of undercoat got yanked out; her ears drooped and she gave me an apologetic look. "Mya, sorry."
"'Salright," I said, cringing. "We're both prrretty nyew at this."
For a while, neither of us spoke, getting strangely absorbed in mutual grooming; every so often Alex moved just beyond reach, and I had to follow suit, so that we ended up precessing around the basket. After a bit, she mused, "Cockatoo's nyat a bird you eat either, right…?"
"Not as far as I've ever heard," I said, though someone out there must have a moderately disturbing website devoted to parrot cuisine;° then I recalled the other day. "Mya, thinking about your grandma's?"
° (This is what it's like being a catgirl: no sooner had I thought it than I was embroiled in a three-way struggle between the "right brain" holding onto normal human "cute/amusing = not for eating" impulses, the "left brain" arguing that there was no logical basis for drawing a moral distinction, and a primal instinct that couldn't even grasp the question.)
She gave me one of the more haunted looks I'd ever seen on a grade-schooler. "I, mrrr…I think I'll prrrobably wanna kill him."
"…Ah." Not the kind of thing I was used to hearing out of someone who hadn't even hit adolescence yet; but under the circumstances, more relatable than I cared to admit. "But, well…you like him normally, don't you…?" I ventured, wondering what'd be the usual way to explain to a kid that eating people's pets is Wrong, Actually.
"Nyo," she said indignantly, ears flattening. I felt her tail stiffen and the fur puff out as I picked at it. "He BIT me. On the THUMB."
"I see," I said, trying not to laugh at her reaction. I could relate, having long ago been the target of absolutely psychotic hatred from our neighbor's Cocker Spaniel – though I didn't know if Sra. Gutiérrez was the type to act like you were the asshole for getting on her pet's nerves. "Worried nya might, mrrr…give in…?"
She sighed, shoulders slumping in the kind of liquid pose that sets cats apart from all other vertebrates. "I kniaow it'd make her sad," she said, picking glumly at my tail, "but…what if I just feel like doin' it anyaway? If…if 'm rrreally a cat niaow, is it just somethin' nyew do, even if nya kniaow you're nyat s'posed to…?"
My brain, unprompted, dug deep into the archives and unearthed a maddeningly peppy little number out of Romans 7. While that ran on repeat in the back of my head, I tried to think of an alternative that'd be relatable to anybody but me. "Mya, there's this one Star Trek—"
Damn it, so much for that goal…but it was probably the best I'd get. "—and, well, the gist is," I said, trying to stick to the broader point, "we have instincts – even as humans – but we don't have to let 'em control us. Just 'cause part of you kinda wants to do something, it doesn't mean nyew have to do it. We can decide that, even if we feel like it, we're nyat gonna kill today."°
° (I did my best to suppress the Shatnerisms.)
Alex frowned, moving out of reach again. "What about tomorrow?"
"It's a rrrhetorical device," I said, with a dry chuckle. "Every day is 'today' – point is, you do have a say in what you do, no matter what instinct tells you."
We continued grooming each other while she thought it over. "'S dumb that it doesn't just tell you to do…I dunniaow, what you're s'poseta do?" she said at last. "Or…the right thing? That'd make you happy…?" Her brow furrowed as she tried to puzzle that one out; one ear laid back a bit and the other flicked ambivalently. "Is…is that why people…don't get along, sometimes?"
I cocked an ear and stared back at her, wondering what an eleven-year-old was doing tangling with Big Philosophical Quandaries. "Kid, if you ever figure that out, lemme kniaow," I sighed.
She didn't reply, seemingly lost in thought. I almost asked, but didn't want to pry; no point making her uncomfortable when we'd only just started getting used to each other. After we'd gotten the last burs and barbs out, I took the basket and moved away. She gave me a look that was halfway between a feline what-you're-not-done-already? and something else I couldn't read, then turned away, tail lashing moodily.
After replacing the basket, I surveyed the kitchen. It was clean enough, but one look at the pantry and I had to reconsider our dinner plans. "This's all Hamburger Helper," I said, though a second look revealed the recent addition of Tuna Helper to the mix.
Alex looked like she was only just realizing this wasn't normal. "Dad can cook some," she said, a little defensively, "but…he's prrretty tired when he gets home. We useta go down to Abuela Carmen's sometimes, before we had to stay inside."
"Gotcha." I tried not to be too judgemental re: Frank's meal planning – after all, I'd made my own questionable choices in prepping for lockdown – but then, I didn't have a kid to look after. Then again, I didn't have a kid to look after, and I could get plenty fried myself by the end of the day…
Well, I could at least do a bit better – and I'd had enough of Helper by my second year out of college. "C'myan," I said, nodding toward the door. "I was planning on making stir fry, anyaway."
She eyed me dubiously. "Can nyew cook?"
"A bit, mya," I said, shooting her a Look as we left.
"Huh," she said. "Could you do it before you were a girrrl?"
"Wh—!?" I sputtered, feeling my tail frizz. "Kid, it's been like a week. Besides, it's nyat a boy or girl thing. Anyone can do it; just takes some prrractice."
We stopped on my doorstep, momentarily distracted by a distant crow.
"…Pop Asheby always says he only does 'bachelor cooking,' though," she said, one ear straining for any last sign of it before I shut the door. "'Cept the grill. He's rrreal fussy about that."
"Well, it's a stereotype that guys're lazy about cooking, but that doesn't mean nya can't do it. Besides, this's nothing fancy, just cutting stuff up and frying it."
"'Stereotype?'" she queried, as I dug around in the fridge.
"Mrrr, something people assume is true about other people, even if it isn't necessarily so." I rinsed the veggies, set them aside, and fetched the chicken breast.
"Is that Latin?" Alex stood beside me, watching me work in a typically feline supervisory manner. "Why're you usin' nya fork and knife?"
"Greek, I think." My tail flicked as I trimmed the fat. "And I don't like touching rrraw meat."
"When'd they invade England?"
I couldn't help but laugh. "They didn't. I think those bits came in after English was big enough to go pillaging other languages for nyew words."
"…Huh," she mused. I thought she'd continue along that line of inquiry, but instead she put a hand on her hip. "I could cut it up," she said, "if…if nyew needed."
Her tone, which aimed to imply that it was all the same to her, had me suppressing a smirk, but couldn't keep my ear from twitching. "I don't see why not," I said. "Er, are you okay using a knife…?"
"Myeah," she huffed, slightly indignant at being taken for less than Very Grown-Up.
"Okay," I said, setting the cutting board atop the little pull-out cutting board above the cutlery drawer° so it'd be easier to reach. "It's all trimmed; you can dice it into chunks, about yea big. Mya, wash your hands, though," I added, recalling that she'd been on all fours earlier.
° (The one you never actually use as a cutting board because it's too much trouble to remove and wash afterward.)
She reluctantly rinsed her hands and wiped the fur on her jumper, then touched her paw-pads to the meat and squirmed a little. "It's all slimy," she said, with audible distaste.
"I think that's just prrroteins and meat juices," I said. "Want me to do it?"
She prickled at that. "I can do it," she retorted. "I was just sayin'."
"Mm-hm." I moved down the counter a space and began dicing the veggies, slightly dreading the onion; even the peppers stood out to my enhanced nose, and I knew that evil little bulb would put up a fight before I sautéed it into submission. But I got fairly absorbed in the work, though Alex kept thwapping my skirt with her tail; I couldn't tell if that was deliberate.
She was clumsier with the knife than she would've liked me noticing, but didn't cut herself. I saw her experiment with her claws, but they were more suited for snagging than slicing; she did end up using them on the gripping hand. The onion, unsurprisingly, socked me right in the soft tissues, but it didn't make my eyes sting any worse than usual.
We finished around the same time, and Alex rinsed the gunk from her hands thoroughly; I felt a bit guilty for letting her do the part I disliked when she obviously didn't like it either, but I had offered her an out; if she was too proud to take it, I guessed that probably counted as some kind of valuable lesson or something. I started heating the oil and set the rice microwaving;° Alex wandered over to the TV again.
° (About once a year I'd tell myself I should really get a rice cooker and move up to the non-Minute stuff; I steadfastly failed to ever get around to it.)
"I think 'Star Trek' is, like, as old as I am, isn't it?" she said.
"You're thinking of the one movie," I said, cringing and striving mightily against my instinct to editorialize. "The show's older'n both of us put together."
"Huh." She squatted and began rifling through my media collection; I had to suppress a little flare-up of territorial prickliness. "Is this a record of it? Do they make records of TV shows?"
"LaserDisc," I said. "It's like a DVD but, um, record-sized."
"Is that a 'retro' thing?"
"More of a 'the library was throwing them out' thing," I said, keeping an eye on the skillet, "but they are old, if that's what you mean."
"Oh. I thought it was like how you drive a really old car," she mused, finger to her lip and one ear twitching.
"Not so much 'cause it's 'retro' as I just…kinda like it," I replied, as the scent of hot oil filled the air. "That, and I spend my whole workday fighting with machines that do what you didn't tell 'em to, don't do what you did, or try and guess what you told 'em and do something else instead. I like having at least one thing around that just does what I tell it."
"I don't think it goes very fast, though." She started a little at the sudden crackle when I dropped the meat in.
"Well," I called over the noise, "if I try to make it do something it can't, that's on me."
Alex took that kid-making-a-suggestion tone again. "Couldn't nyew put, like, a bigger motor in it?" She didn't think to raise her voice, but my ears were already turned as far toward her as they'd go.
"Sure," I said. "But you apply too much torque and it just lifts the front end off the pavement and you can't steer."
"What if you put something heavy in front?"
"Then nyew're wasting the power you got from the engine." I tossed in the veggies and shrugged. "Nya can tweak things some, if you wanna be a hot-rodder, but it's a balancing act – and there's no point trying to force things to be what they aren't."
"Oh," she said; then, after a moment, "…Mya think so?"
"Sure," I said, batting things around the pan and getting a little absorbed in it. "It's not like it has to be fast, anyway; I'm never in that much of a hurry."
"…Huh." She sounded like there was something on her mind, but didn't elaborate. Again, I nearly asked, but remembered how it'd irk me when my mom did that; I stirred in the seasonings instead, letting them cook in and savoring the smell of caramelizing soy sauce. Say what you might about the indignities this stupid virus inflicted, it turned even basic cooking into an olfactory experience.
When it was ready, I took it off the burner and set the table. It took me a minute to clear another place amid the paperwork that accumulated there; I made a mental note to go through it later. I'd probably never need years' worth of prior W-2s, DMV renewal notices, etc. – but then, maybe I should hang onto them at least 'til I'd slogged through whatever bureaucratic nonsense it took to update my ID…
Dinner turned out reasonably well, apart from the occasional wisp of silky black fur I had to pick off my tongue; next time I'd have Alex dice the veggies or tend the rice, if she wanted to help. She seemed to like it okay, but picked out the onions with visible disgust. "Don't like 'em, huh?" I queried; I hadn't thought of that 'til now.
"They're gross," she said irritably, and gave me another look like she was expecting pushback. "Do I have to eat 'em?"
I shrugged. "Not if you really don't want to."
She eyed me warily. "I thought they're s'poseta be good for you or somethin'."
"Something like that, mya," I said. "But you're not gonna die without them. And it's prrretty normal for kids not to like 'em; I kinda forgot."
"Is it…?" she said, one ear twitching curiously.
"Caitlin and I both hated onions when we were your age," I said. "It's something about how your tastebuds change as you get older, I think."
"Does that happen?" she asked, not quite between bites. "I thought it was just that grrrownups make you get used to stuff."
"No, there's a lot of things about the body that change as you mature," I said, thinking for a moment how strange it was that we say mature like it's a value judgement instead of just the outcome of a natural process. "My dad let me have a sip of his beer once, as a kid, and I hated that, too; niaow I enjoy it. It's just how it goes."
Alex frowned, thinking something over as she chewed. "Do…d'you think it's different if you're a…a cat?" she asked uneasily.
"Good question," I said. "It definitely has some effect on nyewr tastes. Like, I'm gonna guess you prrrobably also like fish a lot more than nyew used to…?"
We both nodded knowingly. "But we might not really know how much 'til we've had time to adjust," I said. "And it might depend on how far you change, and everyone's prrrobably different…"
She gave me a Look. "Doesn't that just mean nyew dunniaow?"
"I'm as nyew to this as you are," I shrugged, tail flicking. "And nobody's been a catgirl for more than a few months now. We've had thousands of years to get used to being human." And some of us're still figuring that out, I thought, but didn't say it.
"But if it changes what you like," she said, "what if it, like, made nyew nyat like things you useta? That wouldn't even be fair." She hesitated. "…Does that happen when nyew grow up?"
"Not to nearly the same extent," I said. "It's less that you stop liking stuff as you discover other stuff you like more, or you just can't take as much of it." I sighed wistfully, recalling how, long ago, I could handle like eight s'mores in one sitting.
"…Huh," she said. "I guess that's better'n just nyat liking stuff anymore, kinda." She thought for a moment. "I don't really like getting wet, but I think that's just 'cause I've got fur niaow."
I nodded; it was still a challenge to shower without getting my tail completely bedraggled. "Mya, there'll prrrobably be other stuff," I said, "but we won't know 'til we discover it."
Alex didn't say anything more, for a bit; when we'd finished and I was clearing the plates, she mused, almost to herself: "I wonder how manya the other kids'll be different…?"
"In nyewr class?" I asked.
"Mel said Tabbi turned into a cat," she nodded, "but I dunniaow about anyaone else." She frowned. "She didn't even say if she was all cat like Miss Nyacole, I think. 'Calico' is one like Scraps, rrright?"
"Mya, that's right," I said, dishing the leftovers into a Tupperware for lunch tomorrow. "She a frrriend of yours?"
"Nyat really…?" She shrugged. "I dunniaow. I don't even get a lotta the boys in my class."
For a moment, I said nothing. My first instinct was to be Helpful And Encouraging – it'll get better, you'll get the hang of it, etc. – but…did I mean it? It was hard to square the sentiment with my own experience, and the thought of trying to fake enthusiasm really didn't sit right. "You're nyat alone," I reiterated, finally.
"…Does that get better when nyew grow up?"
I set the skillet in the sink, filling it with water; I'd come back for the dishes later, once I'd gotten her to bed. "…Still figuring that out myaself."
Alex didn't reply at first; she just stood there, shifting her gaze from side to side and scuffing her paw on the linoleum, tail lashing. "If…if you do," she said at last, "can nyew tell me…?"
I felt a twinge in my chest at that, and had to fight the urge to pick her up, still worried about making her uncomfortable. In spite of that, I couldn't hold back a rueful chuckle. "You'll be the first," I said. "Well, honestly, you'll prrrobably beat mya to it."
"Then…then I'll tell you, okay?" she said, her ears perking a little.
I couldn't help smiling at that. "Right, it's a prrromise." I hesitated briefly, trying to think what I could say that I did mean. "…For what it's worth," I added, "you maybe don't have to totally get someone to be friends with them."
"Nya rrreally think so?"
I shrugged. "I'm starting to suspect it, anyaway."
She nodded thoughtfully, then frowned. "…I don't really wanna go back to school, though."
I laughed. "Can't say I blame myew," I said, "but there's no helping that."
"Guess nyat," she grumbled, and fixed me with a pointed stare. "Do I really have to do the homework stuff…?"
"Well, I won't make you," I replied, "but your dad might apprrreciate it."
She shrugged and sighed, ticking her ears back and jamming her hands into her pockets. "I guess."
"Cheer up," I said. "Eventually, when nyew have to spend most of your day on stuff you'd rather nyat do, they at least pay you for it."
- - - - -
We returned to her apartment and spent the next hour-ish reviewing the packet from her school. Thankfully it focused more on summarizing what they'd covered than checklisting the busywork she'd missed, and we were able to make a reasonable start. Eventually, though, I could tell her attention was flagging.
"Think we can leave it there for tonight," I said. "You seem kinda tired."
Alex bristled slightly. "I'm nyat tired," she said, though she was only too happy to put her schoolwork away.
I glanced at the clock – it was nearly ten. I wasn't inclined to be a hard-ass, and to an extent being a catgirl makes you naturally crepuscular, but I did have work tomorrow, and she'd have to get back into whatever they were doing for a class schedule. I was dithering over how to cajole her when I found myself yawning – which, inevitably, got her yawning as well.
"There," I laughed, "see?"
She frowned and turned away, in a perfectly cat-like refusal to acknowledge. "I wannya stay up!" she insisted. "I'm nyat a little kid."
By now it wasn't a surprise when she got prickly over what she saw as babying, but something in her tone made me suspect it had more to do with being up when Frank got home. But that wouldn't be 'til morning…
"Well," I said, angling for a compromise, "you could at least get ready for bed now; that way you won't have to do it later, however late you're up."
She almost pushed back, but relented. "…Guess so," she said, slouching off to the bathroom to brush her teeth. I watched her go; she had the same odd, steppy gait as Nicole, which must've been due to the digitigrade paws. She'd moved like that earlier, but I'd assumed it was from walking barefoot on asphalt and rocky soil.
She ducked into her room, returning clad in an undershirt that was large enough to approximately count as a nightgown, and sat down beside me on the couch, staring expectantly into the middle distance; I wondered how often she'd done this before.
I wondered, too, if I should be trying to entertain her or something – but being a catgirl also makes you naturally prone to find sleep where you can get it, and we'd hardly been there two minutes before her head started nodding and her eyelids drooped. She caught herself a couple times…but couldn't fight it for long, and slumped against my shoulder. I smiled slightly, remembering a time or two when my sister'd done the same.
Then she slumped further, so that the side of her head pressed into my breast, and an ear tickled my chin – which was not an experience I'd had with Caitlin, and which triggered a whole weird cocktail of confusing feelings. Soon enough she was lying across my thighs, instead…but the emotional jumble persisted.
Well, I thought to myself, she must be asleep now, and there was a light blanket folded up on the back of the couch. If I could cover her up and extricate myself without waking her, she should be fine here 'til her parent got back, and I could go do the—
Alex stirred softly in my lap. "Mrrr, M'zz Kit…?"
—well, I'd jinxed it, hadn't I. "Mya?" I said.
"'re myew gonnya leave?"
There was nothing accusatory in her tone, but I felt guilty as hell regardless; screw it, the dishes could wait. "I'll be here 'til your dad's home," I replied, reaching up for the blanket and draping it over her.
She nodded sleepily and nuzzled into my stomach. "'Kay."
I folded my glasses, pinned them to my collar, breathed deeply, and let out a sigh; then I reached down and absent-mindedly began to scratch behind her ears. She nudged into the touch and finally relaxed into sleep, purring softly. I leaned back against the couch, starting to purr as well – and before long, I drifted off myself.