cat-scratch fever

Chapter 1

The cat-scratch fever was taking its time transforming her into a creature of the night, searching for more than the irony taste of mouse blood to fill the void of her past life. Wandering the empty neighborhoods late at night was something she was getting used to, as was her increasing awareness of the world around her. Being homeless wasn’t a worry anymore; she was perfectly fine finding a small dark place to lay her head.

Each night, she had the same dream, a recap of that rainy afternoon with the gray cat from the dumpster behind the Chinese restaurant. Each night the dream brought a little less anxiety of the event and a little more acceptance of her fate. She could still feel the tearing of her skin with each slash of its claws, but the initial shock of the pain had all but disappeared by the 3rd night. Each morning she woke up feeling a little more cat-like, especially when the fur began to come through and cover her skin and her nails began to point.

She still had no idea why this was happening and each night in her dream she asked the cat for the purpose of this right before he scurried off into the shadows. His whisper-like meow before darting off left her wondering still; could she have been chosen for some mission? Could there be some sort of pharmaceutical explanation? She had done the acid one time over a month ago, there is no way the effects of that high were this everlasting. She had heard about cat-scratch fever from her too-good-for-anyone-else older brother and his medical school buddies, but nowhere did they say that a side effect was turning into a cat. She didn’t even get a fever after the first attack, which was weeks ago anyway.

She couldn’t figure it out, and as the days went on her mind frame was changing anyway; things she understood or could reason about were becoming less important to her. Her curiosity was heightening, even with things she used to just know about. She had urges to chase things, like a game, and didn’t care if she caught whatever she was chasing or not. The urge to take random naps had increased, as were the uncaringness of where she napped. It was curious to her, also, how she could be instantly awoken from the naps fully alert, and then be able to return to peaceful slumber with no problems.

She had almost no fear; the darkness of the night, the uncertainty of the day lay no bearing on her anymore. If she needed to drink, she found a puddle or a leaking hose faucet. Hunger was cured by finding scrap food in the dumpster. Relieving herself took place in bushes and she didn’t care who saw and felt her places were private enough.

She could feel other parts of her body changing physically as well; her nails were growing rapidly and pointy, her ear holes were beginning to close up, but the bumps on either side of her head were forming. Her eyesight, especially at night, was changing and getting stronger (she didn’t need her glasses anymore) and she could feel something growing at her tailbone. She felt lighter and thinner, more agile and with more energy. She knew what she was becoming and somehow, she accepted this with no fear at all.

Her life before this wasn’t a fairytale by any means, and when she snuck out that last night she vowed to never return to that house or that “family”. She was going to make it on her own and leave them all behind, as if any of them cared anyway. She would survive, she would prevail, no matter the cost. As she had stared up at her childhood home one last time that night, she knew it was now or never to escape, and she had to give up all her fears and just make it.