Herding Cats

Part 1

"You weren't listening, Benjamin."

"Huh?" Ben replied, glancing around the ornately decorated foyer. "Oh, no, I was totally listening, Mrs. Montrose."

"Then repeat what I just told you."

Ben turned to face her and started counting lazily on his hand.

"The fern needs water twice a day, the rest of the indoor plants only need them at night. Keep the lights on to scare the burglars off. Don't sit on anything in the sitting room, or any of the stuff with plastic on it—"

"You can only sit on the furniture with plastic covers. Everything else is off limits." She leaned up the flight of stairs. "Charlotte, come down here!"

"Coming!" Charlotte Montrose hurried down, though every time her suitcase clomped on a step her mom winced.

"Sweetie, are you sure about this?" Mrs. Montrose said, gesturing at Ben.

"What? Yeah, of course, Ben's great at this stuff. You should see his apartment."

Ben knew full well if her parents had ever seen his apartment, he would never have been allowed inside their house, much less allowed to watch it over their vacation.

"It's just that our phones won't be working on the trip. We won't be able to check on him," Mrs. Montrose said, like she was talking about a child going his first night without a babysitter.

"We won't have to, everything's gonna be fine." Charlotte elbowed him in the side. "Right, Ben?"

"Huh? Oh, yes ma'am, you have nothing to worry about."

Mrs. Montrose looked between them, hoping she could break them up with a glare. When that didn't work, she turned to Charlotte.

"We're going to be late, hurry up and get in the car." Then she turned to Ben. "Only sit on the plastic." She walked out the door, leaving Ben and Charlotte alone.

"I'm gonna miss you." She leaned in and gave him a quick kiss goodbye. "If you do a good enough job here, maybe they'll invite you to come next time."

"It'd be nice," he said hopelessly.

"C'mon, when they come back and see the house as good as they left it they'll realize you're a really sweet, responsible guy and that I'm not just sleeping with you to get weed." She took his hands and gave him a much deeper kiss that she only broke off when her dad called for her from the car.

"Remember, only sit on the plastic." She grabbed her luggage and began to hurry out the door. "Oh, and don't forget you promised to try and fix the auto-feeder!"

"I'll give it a shot," he called back. He closed the door, locked it behind her, waited for the sound of the car driving away, then took off his jacket and dropped it in the floor of the foyer.

Char's plan was doomed from the start. The house basically took care of itself. Her parents wouldn't start respecting him just because he watered some plants and cleaned up all his fast food trash the day before they got home. Still, he wasn't gonna say no to a chance to live in a palace for a while. He hefted his gym bag of clothes up the marble staircase, headed past the upstairs living room — which he noted had a better TV than the downstairs living room — and tossed it in one of the guest rooms. What they did with all this space, he couldn't imagine. What he was gonna do with all this space was pretty obvious: he went back to the room with the giant TV.

There he saw the actual biggest challenge of this job: three cats, lounging just far enough apart on the couch so there was nowhere good to sit. Char's cats, like her parents, had hated him from the start, and the feeling was mutual. Regina, her huge, scruffy Maine Coon, greeted him with a vicious hiss. He got a bit closer, so she stood up and started scratching at his legs. Florence, the Siamese, started awake from all the commotion and took off into the hallways. The smallest, Patti, seemed to think Florence was playing and chased after her. She was apparently a pretty distant relative to an actual leopard, and she had the spots to prove it. Regina continued hissing and swatting, but slowly walked towards the edge of the couch. When she got to the armrest, she leaped off and followed after her sisters.

If only it always went that well. Florence always ran from him but Patti and Regina had both drawn blood before. Fortunately, the cats basically took care of themselves too. The auto-feeder had them covered for food and water, and they had a cat door if they wanted to go out into the family's acreage and chase something. Really, they could have the outdoors and the whole first floor as long as they left him and this TV alone.
He finally flopped down on the couch. The plastic covering squeaked as he settled down into a comfortable position and reached for the remote. It had been a hard first day at work, carrying bags and scaring cats. He felt like he deserved at least a three hour marathon of Cops.

***                                                                                         

An awful grinding sound woke him from his fugue state a few hours later. After it became clear it wasn't going away on its own, he rolled off the couch and followed it. It led him down the stairs, through the foyer, and into the living room. Florence was splayed out in the light from a sunroof, apparently unbothered by the awful noise from the next room. As he crossed the living room, he tripped and landed hard on the tile floor.

By the time he looked up, Florence had already disappeared. He had tripped over some weird wave-shaped scratching toy. Patti spent the most time with the toys, so she had probably shoved it into the walkway. The fall woke him all the way up, and he stomped into the kitchen.

The noise was coming from the cats' auto-feeder. Char had volunteered Ben to fix it as phase two of her plan to make her parents like him, but he didn't even know where to start. He had dropped out of the electrical engineering program before Fixing Random Crap Around The House 201, not that it stopped anyone from expecting him to fix their blender at a glance. He did know a guaranteed stopgap that worked on anything, though. He reared back and gave it a swift kick. The noise stopped, and, after a moment, a pile of cat food and some water poured into a group of bowls. Crisis averted. He could just kick it when it stopped working, and then when they came back he could just tell them they needed to buy a new one. That was probably true anyway.

The feeder dinged, and all the cats came running. Ben watched them eat for a moment.

"You've earned it after that long day of sitting around."

Regina yipped at him in response and went back to the bowl. He had a long day of sitting around to get back to, so he left them to it.

As he walked back through the living room he tripped on another toy. The floor was full of them. He growled, then went to find a box. He wasn't gonna eat tile again. He found one labeled "Cat Toys" in a cabinet gave it its old job back. When all the toys were packed in the box, he sat it up on a kitchen counter. The thump made Patti look up from her food and meow at him.

"That's right, no more hazards for you. Find something else to have fun with."

He shouldn't have dared her, at least not while he was wearing shorts. She sprinted to him and latched onto his leg before he could run, a tiny ball of claws and teeth ripping at his skin. He shook her off and tried to run but she, thinking he was still playing, chased him down and latched onto his other leg. That kept going until Patti got tired of her new toy and wandered off to find one of her old ones. She never drew blood but she sure left a lot of marks. Ben went upstairs and took one Advil for his sore face and another for his stinging legs. He'd earned a lot of Cops after that.

***                                                                                              

The rest of the day passed without incident. The auto-feeder didn't make any more noise and the cats stayed out of the living room, though he could hear them skitter by from time to time. Eventually Cops turned into infomercials and he decided to go to bed. He wandered over to the guest room he had thrown his bag into.

A hardwood chest of drawers with a vanity mirror, neither of which he needed, stood next to the door, and a few fancy looking landscape paintings adorned the walls. The centerpiece of the room was an extremely fluffy looking bed the size of his whole apartment, and the centerpiece of the bed was Florence, fast asleep. He should have just gone to find another bedroom, but he wasn't about to spend this whole vacation getting bossed around by cats. Besides, Florence usually ran at the sight of him. He got up on the bed and shook her awake. She lazily glanced up at him, let out a soft meow, and laid her head back down. She called his bluff. She didn't know she had caught him in a bad mood.

Ben scooped her up and crawled out of the bed. She laid there paralyzed in his arms until he set her down just past the threshold of the door. Before he could shut it, she bolted back onto the bed and glared back at him. He tried again, this time taking her farther out into the hallway. He still couldn't outrace a house cat, and she beat him back to the bed. He groaned, slumped his shoulders, and flopped down into bed next to her. It was his turn to call her bluff. She laid there, back-to-back with him, just long enough to realize he wasn't going to leave, then she popped up and ran off. He rolled out of bed and shut the door behind her. The first day was over. At least cats can't open doors.

***

Ben woke up and rolled out of bed. He hadn't meant to, but fortunately he landed on all fours just fine. Hopefully that was a good omen for the rest of the day. He got up and started to walk, but his steps felt sluggish, so he went back down to all fours. Yesterday took a lot out of him, clearly. He'd better get some breakfast quick. He squinted his eyes in the unusually bright light of the room. Maybe lunch? He must have slept until noon again. He closed his eyes and tried to rub the sleep out of them.

He crawled up to the door and pawed at the knob, but he couldn't seem to find it. He pried his eyes open a little bit, and saw the doorknob a mile away. Even if he were standing it would be at twice his height. Still, in the morning haze it only felt like a mild annoyance. He must have gotten shrunk last night, and that's why he felt so hungover now. He walked blindly back to the bed and climbed back into it. Maybe if he got some more sleep he'd wake up normal sized.

As he circled around, preparing the bed, he noticed a figure in the mirror. He couldn't see it very well in the blinding light, so he leaned back into a defensive stance. The figure did the same. He couldn't find it on the bed so he sprang up and whirled around, looking for it behind him. The figure responded in kind, and must have been faster since Ben still couldn't see it. He ran around in a circle to try and catch it, but it still darted out of view. He stopped and stared right at it staring right at him in the mirror. It had to be on the chest of drawers, that was the only thing that made sense. He prowled forward, then leaped across the gap. The figure leaped too, but rather than meet in the air Ben flew headfirst into the mirror and flopped down on the chest of drawers.

The bump woke him all the way up. What an odd dream. The Chinese takeout last night had tasted funny, it must have messed with his head. He opened his eyes wide, and a wide-eyed cat greeted him in the mirror. It wasn't any of the three he might have expected to see, since it had black and red stripes and bright yellow eyes. A Litten? He reached out to touch it, and the truth finally hit him when its paw met his at the mirror's edge.

He panicked, but only for a moment. If this had happened at his apartment probably would have starved in his room, but here he could get outside no problem. Delivery guys could leave food and water on the doorstep. Char would come home eventually, and she'd use her mountains of money to figure out how to fix this. He started to breathe a little easier. She might not even have to. He'd changed suddenly, he might change back just as suddenly. He sat back on his haunches and let out a sigh of relief. He had nothing to worry about.

Well, he had one thing to worry about. Food, water, and Char were all on the other side of a closed door. Ben walked over to the edge of the drawers and stretched as far as he could, but he couldn't reach the knob. He didn't even make it halfway. He'd seen plenty of videos of cats opening doors on America's Funniest, but the jump looked impossible now that he had to make it himself. He'd made it onto the drawers, but his instincts were in control then and he'd still crashed into the mirror. This target was much smaller, and he had to twist it after he caught it. He glanced around the room for a floor vent, or a huge mouse hole, or a power saw, but found nothing.

Ben studied the doorknob. He wasn't even sure what he was looking for. Part of him was hoping he could go back into the fugue state that brought him over to the drawers in the first place. Back then he moved like he had nothing to fear. Now all he could do was look down at a drop that couldn't be further than three feet, but felt so much larger now that it was three times his height. He took in a deep breath and leaped. The doorknob clicked a little when he landed on it, but he couldn't hold on. He slipped off, but did a full flip in midair and landed on his paws with a thud. Maybe cats did always land on their feet. That gave him a little confidence boost, so he jumped up to the mirror and tried again. This time he almost got a full turn before falling off. His confidence rose, and he believed once again that he had nothing to worry about. All he needed was to put more force behind his initial jump, then he could get enough spin on the knob to turn it all the way. He went down to the opposite end of the chest of drawers, and ran full speed at the door.

Just as he jumped, he heard a click. The door swung open and he flew snout-first into it. It banged against the doorstop and he thudded against the floor, only barely making it onto his paws. He leaned forward and cringed. His brand new snout had taken too much punishment today. When the pain died down and he opened his eyes, he remembered he had three other things to worry about.

Regina's snarling face towered over him. She didn't even need to jump to open the door. Next to her, Patti eyed him mischievously. Florence poked her head out from the gap between them. The noise must have piqued their curiosity. To them he must seem like an intruder.

"Uh, do you understand me?" His voice was raspy and squeaky at the same time. Patti chirped back, Regina hissed, and Florence bolted. He took that as a no. The remaining two slowly moved closer as he backed up. He tried a tightly wound defensive stance, but that only made them move more aggressively. He needed to defuse the tension. Char had told him once cats had a surefire symbol of trust, but just the thought of doing that made him embarrassed. He tried to straighten up, but Regina took a swipe at him. He hissed and tried to swipe back, but he couldn't even reach her. They both tensed back, ready to pounce on him. Embarrassed was better than bloody.

He rolled gently on to his back and exposed his belly. He even let out a gentle meow to really sell his helplessness. He couldn't hurt them if he tried. They had nothing to worry about. The display was enough for Regina, who stood up straight, hissed one more time, and left the room.

It was also enough for Patti, who, seeing that he was looking to play, obliged him. She pounced on Ben, bowling him over and battering him with her claws. They felt like tiny needles poking him through his fur. She wouldn't leave a mark, but it sure stung. He held his paws over his head like a solider getting shelled in a bunker. After a moment he felt the bombs stop dropping and glanced up. She looked expectantly over him. He pushed himself up to his haunches and spread his forelegs wide, trying to make himself as large and intimidating as possible. That might work on a bear, but to Patti he had made himself an easier target. She knocked him on his back and resumed bombardment. He managed to push her off and tried to run, but even as a fast house cat he still wasn't faster than a very fast house cat. She tackled and smacked him around the room until it was clear to her he wasn't going to fight back. She stepped off him slowly and watched him sit there with his paws over his head. Her tail dragged along the ground as she pouted out of the room.

Good riddance. He laid there, stewing in his own humiliation. At least Florence didn't want anything to do with him, that's one less thing to worry about. He peeked out the door to make sure they had left, and then he jumped up onto the bed. It took him a couple tries, since he was still a little dizzy from playtime. The covers and blanket felt wonderful underneath his paws, and he would have fallen back asleep if his stomach hadn't growled. He growled back, and fished around in the pile of clothes on the bed for his phone. Pokémon only ate berries, but he couldn't get those delivered. What did cats eat? Fish, maybe? It was meat, for sure. Chicken. Maybe that funny-tasting orange chicken had turned him into this. Eating it again might cure him. That settled it, orange chicken twice in a row.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket with his teeth and put his paw down on the screen. Nothing happened. He'd charged it all day yesterday, it couldn't be dead. He tapped it again to no response, then tried one of the buttons on the side. The screen lit up with a picture of Char and the time: 9:53 am. The phone tried to recognize his face but, obviously, couldn't. It then prompted him for his password, and he tapped the 2 on the screen. Again, no response. He tried again and again, then with his nose and even his tongue in desperation. The phone went black, as though nothing had touched it at all. He remembered, then, that these things were made to be impossible to open accidentally. They weren't supposed to sense something like pocket fabric, or wool gloves, or pets' paws. Doordash was out of reach, and so was his safe and easy food. He was beginning to have trouble convincing himself this would all be fine.

He walked out into the hallway and carefully went down the stairs. He took them one nervous step at a time, making sure both forepaws were on the lower step before he stretched his hind legs down. He kept his head on a swivel for the other cats too. A figure seemed to be flitting by top of the stairs, but whenever Ben turned to look it'd be empty. He wouldn't put it past any of them to blow him over and knock him down to the floor. He had no idea how the cats could sprint down these. Just looking down at the fall he'd face if he slipped made him freeze up.

After getting down, he saw Patti in the living room, running around frantically like she was looking for something. They locked eyes for a moment, but he shied away from her and she went back to skittering. He was off her radar, that was one piece of good news.

The kitchen looked so much larger from his new height. He couldn't see the countertops, and he wrote the fridge off entirely. Even if he could get to the handle he probably couldn't break the door seal. The food would be in Char's huge walk-in pantry at the far end of the room. The doors didn't have latches, so he pulled one open with just his paws. Inside, it looked like grocery stores did when he was a kid, an impossibly tall altar to the god of boxes, bags, and cans.

Yet, for all it's size, the place may as well have been empty. Sauces, spices, and uncooked pasta, soup cans, broths, and dressings, a box of unpopped popcorn, a whole tower of empty plastic bags and absolutely nothing you could just eat. No chips, no cereal, no jerky, which would have been the real prize. He knew Char was a bit of a nut — there weren't even any nuts, dammit — about avoiding snacks but he didn't know she'd gotten that from her parents. Bastards. Their health food had starved him.

He slumped onto his side and knocked a bottle of chicken stock off the counter. Chicken was meat, and stock was water, right? How long could he live on chicken water? With teeth and claws he tore a hole in the carton and started lapping up the stock. It tasted fine and wet his throat, but his stomach still growled. Where else would he find something solid to eat?

He heard a sharp clinking answer from back out in the kitchen. The auto-feeder had dropped breakfast. He walked out and approached it like a child approaching a plate of vegetables. At least broccoli looked like food. Char insisted that these things were made with real meat and fully nutritionally whatever and actually even better than actual chicken, but they looked and smelled like little clods of dirt. He stood there at the precipice of one of the bowls, working up the nerve to dive in.

He was "saved" by the skittering of claws on tile. He scrambled to the other side of the kitchen and made himself as scarce as he could on open floor. Regina gave him a cursory hiss as she entered, Patti in tow, and crossed over to the auto-feeder. She glanced in the bowl, then back to Ben, then back to the bowl. Satisfied he hadn't stolen any of her food, she and Patti dug in. They sure ate like it tasted good. Patti never had any dignity to begin with, but it was odd to watch Regina eat like food might never come again.

Conspicuously missing was Florence. Maybe she wasn't hungry. That left the left bowl free. He crept up slowly. He didn't need much. Not all of it, at least. Just enough so his stomach would stop growling. And maybe some water. Just a bit. Just something less salty than the chicken stock. Florence wouldn't even notice. As he got tantalizingly close, Regina's ears twitched. He quickly flopped on his stomach, but not quickly enough. She whirled around and slammed him in his snout with her giant paw. She bit him hard on one leg and scratched at his exposed belly. These were not Patti's playful barbs, these were the serious strikes of a very protective sister. He yowled in pain. He was a Pokemon, wasn't he? How many fights was he going to lose to house cats? Still, she was too big to just push off, and his claws couldn't get through her thick fur. As she laid into him with scratches, he felt something start to well up at the back of his throat. At first he thought it was just frustration, but as it grew larger — and warmer — he realized it must be something real. He was a Litten, a fire type. It must be some fire from inside his belly. He balled it up inside his throat, and then moment Regina left an opening he spat it at her face.

Far from from a fireball, it was just a few embers and a bit of hair. Nothing that would win him the fight, or any real fear from the other cats, but the embers did catch in Regina's fur. She had to take a moment to pat them out before they became a real fire, and that gave Ben time to escape. He ran back for the pantry and closed the door behind him. After a moment, he heard the sound of something — more likely someone — slumping up against the door. He tried and failed to push it back open. Regina hissed at him from the other side, so he gave up. He had made fire, somehow. Maybe he could do it again if he just gave it time. Until then, he lapped at his chicken water in the light of the cracks in the door.

***                                                                                    

After a while, he heard Regina get up from the door and wander off. After another while, he was sure she wasn't just waiting to ambush him on the other side. He pushed the door open and poked his head out. He saw Florence at the entry to the living room staring at the pantry, but she darted away as soon as their eyes met. He didn't see anyone else, so he stepped out into the kitchen and walked very carefully towards the auto-feeder. Florence had clearly had her breakfast while he was in the pantry, but none of the three of them had cleaned the whole bowl. There were scraps of food and bits of water in the bottom of each. It would have to be enough. He started with the water, which tasted a little stale but felt soothing and cool on his tongue. His only real complaint was that there wasn't enough. It was surprisingly refreshing. Then he turned to one of the food bowls, desperately hoping his eyes and nose were lying to him and it would also be surprisingly refreshing.

The first bite tricked him into thinking it wouldn't be so bad. The pellets were unpleasantly hard but strangely devoid of flavor, which was better than his worst fears. As he kept eating, though, the awful reality began to pool in the back of his throat. It smelled like dirt because it had a dirty aftertaste that lingered in his mouth as he continued to eat whatever he could. He grimaced as he swallowed down the last bit. It, with the water and the stock, was just enough to settle his stomach. He gagged a little on his own saliva. Next time he'd drink the water last.

Part 2

Ben laid on the couch and stared at the blank TV screen. He hadn't been able to turn the damn thing on. He didn't have precise enough control of his toes to press the buttons, even on his forepaws, and when he tried hitting the power button with a whole paw he would mash four or five other buttons and the remote wouldn't respond. There was a button on the TV, but of course he couldn't reach it, and there was no way he was going to jump onto something that expensive and fragile. No TV and no phone left him with nothing to do but nap, sit around, and find other places to nap and sit around.

It also left him with no information. Why had this happened to him? He doubted Googling "I turned into a Pokemon" would get him anything useful --- or pleasant --- but maybe if it had happened to someone else...

What if it had happened to someone else? What if it was happening all over the place? What if they didn't know what was causing it and didn't know how to fix him? What if it had happened to everyone? He had no way of knowing anything happening outside of Char's house. The power was still on, so it couldn't be apocalyptic, but it could still be really bad. Most Pokemon were cute little guys like him but plenty of them were serious threats to anyone around them. Did everyone all transform at once? Char was on a plane the night he changed, what if one of the passengers--- or the pilot---

He sprang up to all fours. How could he have forgotten that he had to water the plants? It was his only real job. It wouldn't be easy at a foot tall, but if he changed back in a couple of days and the Montroses came home to a dead fern they'd never believe his excuse. For the sake of his relationship, he must keep these plants alive.

Luckily, all the plants were downstairs with the kitchen. Unluckily, all the plants were downstairs with the cats. They had left him to his devices upstairs all day, but there was no telling how things would go if he intruded on their domain. He scrunched his still-sore snout and headed into the unknown.

As he passed through the living room, Patti burst through the cat door yowling in pain. A bit of blood stained her leopard-spotted foreleg. She must have cut herself playing outside. Char was very lax about letting the cats come and go as they pleased, but Patti always worried her. She had a lot of energy to let out and used to come home hurt all the time.

At Patti's call Regina hurried in from a hallway on the far side of the room. Patti held out her injured foreleg and meowed pathetically. Regina studied it for a moment, then held her leg to the ground and licked at the cut. Patti yipped with each lick, but over time she yelled softer and softer. Eventually she stopped complaining and Regina examined her handiwork. Convinced the wound was properly clean, she moved on to clearing the mats in Patti's fur. Patti complained about that too, more like a child complaining about their mom trying to fix their hair, but stayed mostly still.

Ben glanced down at the foreleg Regina had bitten. Even after a few hours, it still stung. Should he lick it? He cautiously brought it to his mouth, stuck out his tongue, and gave it a quick lick. It wasn't as unpleasant as he expected in either direction. The wound felt a little better, and his fur didn't feel so weird on his rough tongue. He still swallowed a mouthful of fur each time, so he only gave it a couple more quick licks.

Patti looked at Ben from across the room and gave him a playful meow. He cringed and shrunk back again, and she once again lost interest. Unfortunately, Regina turned to look at what Patti was meowing at. Realizing she had no idea where Patti got that cut, he scampered off into the kitchen before she started to suspect him.

***                                                                                    

All he needed was water and something to carry it in. He could only get water from the sink, so the container had to be something he could get onto and off of the counter. Wait, could he get onto the counter? He had to crane his neck back just to see the top of it. It wasn't much higher up than the bed, but a jump onto granite and a fall onto tile could go a lot worse than a jump onto memory foam and a fall onto carpet.

His body had been doing things on its own, though. The jump onto the chest of drawers this morning, and the little tuft of embers that had saved him from Regina had both come from nowhere. Maybe he could tap into whatever that was, let it do the work. But what had caused it? Sleepiness? Fear? He wasn't sleepy when he breathed fire, and he wasn't scared when he jumped.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. He thought his reflection in the mirror was an unfamiliar cat, and Regina had rung his bell pretty good. It wasn't exactly fear, and it wasn't exactly sleepiness, but it was something similar to both. An empty mind and a ready mind at the same time. The zone. He looked up at the counter again and felt tense. Now all he needed was to empty his mind. He took a deep breath and thought of Cops.

Without even asking for permission, his body leaped onto the countertop. It felt like something else had picked him up in a warm embrace and lifted him up there. He'd have to keep that in mind if he ever had to do something this hard again.

He scanned the countertop for a container, but only found some loose kitchen utensils. There was a measuring cup that could work in a pinch, but it was made of glass and didn't have a lid, so he probably couldn't get it safely to the ground. He also saw the box of cat toys he had put up the day before, placed just right to give him a boost up to some of the cabinets. He'd given himself a little gift by accident.

Before he could hop onto the lid, he heard a soft thud behind him. Patti had joined him on the counter. She wasn't allowed up here, and by the mischievous look on her face she knew it. Still, Ben absolutely did not want her to start playing with him all the way up here, so he gave her a little deferential bow instead of a scolding. She chirped at him in response and cocked her head. She didn't seem to understand why he always slunk away from her. He slunk off anyway, leaving her to her thoughts.

Ben hopped up onto the lid of the toy box and opened one of the cabinets. Ceramic plates, total bust. Patti, meanwhile, crossed past the sink and started scratching at the toy box. She was scratching at the wrong tree. Ben couldn't get the box down at this size, and after the way he'd been treated he didn't want to anyway. He opened another cabinet full of nice looking wine glasses. No shot, if he broke any of these Mrs. Montrose would kill him with it. Patti hopped down into the sink and started pawing at the faucet head. Ben opened the final cabinet and, hidden in the corner like a shameful secret, sat several plastic Tupperware bowls. Paydirt. Unbreakable, with lids, and even if something did happen to them nobody would care. He tugged on a tower of them and pulled them onto the toy box, then started trying to pry one out. Without fingers it was a bit harder than it looked.

It took him a moment to notice the soft grinding of glass on rock behind him. He turned to see Patti batting away at the measuring cup from inside the sink. She had almost gotten it to the edge of the counter and she didn't look like she was going to stop there. Ben scrambled down and slid in the way of the glass before she could shatter it on tile below. He leaned a little precariously over the edge, so he pulled himself, along with the glass, further onto the counter.

"No!" he growled at Patti, who only meowed cheerily back at him. She hopped out of the sink as Ben rolled over onto all fours. He didn't trust Patti not to try again the next time he turned his back. She only seemed interested in pushing it around, so he figured it'd be enough to get it off the counter. He stepped into the sink, grabbed the cup with both forepaws, and lowered it slowly. The glass clinked as it touched the bottom of the sink.

Then another glass clinked. His ears perked up and he peeked out from the sink. Patti was on top of the toy box, rolling one of the wine glasses back and forth from edge to edge. It barely caught on the lip each time. Ben scrambled out of the sink and Patti, startled, gave the wine glass a much harder smack than before. It went sailing towards the edge, and only survived because Ben dove for it. He and the glass slid along the toy box until he banged his snout on the wall. The glass, at least, was unscathed.

"No!" he growled again, picking himself up. "I'm trying to leave you all alone." She wasn't listening, she was already poking at the plates.
He reared back and pounced on her. He pulled her away from the cabinets, but she rolled pretty easily out of his grip and pounced back on him. Her eyes were wide and her ears were perked up, happy that he was finally going to play with her. Ben tried to become the flurry of claws and teeth Patti had been this morning but he just couldn't move right in this unfamiliar body. He got in a few soft smacks that felt very playful to Patti. She responded with a few of her own, which were noticeably softer than this morning. They flopped around on the lid of the toy box until they both realized, too late, that they had reached the edge.

Ben's back caught on the lip of the lid and kept most of him on the box, but Patti wasn't so lucky. She let out a shriek as she went sailing over the side. She dug her claws deep into Ben's foreleg and he caught her, involuntarily, before she could take the massive fall. He pushed his hind paws and his free fore paw against the lip, trying to save himself from getting dragged down with her. He tried to empty his mind but the pain from the claws and the weight was too intense. He glanced over the side, and above the steep drop he saw Patti, eyes wide and pleading. He steadied his hind legs as best he could, then reached down and dug into one of her forelegs with both of his forepaws. She yelped, but seemed to understand it had to be done. Since she was properly latched, Ben pulled himself onto his haunches and started trying to haul her up. It went easier than he expected. For a Pokemon he was weak, but for a cat he was more than strong enough to pull her up the side.

Patti licked at her scratched up foreleg while Ben stomped over to the cabinets and closed them all. He scanned the rest of the counter, and, satisfied there was nothing else for her to play with, slumped down and closed his eyes. His foreleg stung and his shoulders ached. He wasn't made for this much excitement. Maybe he should have just stayed on the couch.

After a moment, Patti walked over and gave him an apologetic lick on the leg she had scratched. That stung more, but he didn't have the will to properly shoo her off and his halfhearted swats couldn't deter her. After a few more licks, it began to sting less, and eventually it barely hurt at all. The rhythmic lapping started to feel kinda nice on his fur. He glanced up at her and she looked determined. He let her keep apologizing for a bit longer, before getting back up and grabbing one of the Tupperware bowls in his paws. He still had a job to do.

Patti followed him. She seemed intrigued, especially when he dropped the bowl into the sink. Ben worried she might try something, but she only watched as he maneuvered it beneath the faucet and turned it on. It only just occurred to him that as long as he could get up here he wouldn't have to lick drops out of the cats' bowls anymore.

It also occurred to him that he was a Fire-type. Would water hurt? Obviously drinking it was fine, but flowing water on his fur... Well, better to find out now than in an emergency. He slowly, gingerly, apprehensively reached out his good paw towards the stream. Then his bad paw slipped.
He landed face-first in the bowl and the stream of water rained down on the back of his head. He'd only just gotten himself out of the accidental swirlie when Patti jumped down and dunked her head in the bowl after him, splashing a bunch of water all over them both. She looked back up at him, wet and confused.

"That wasn't a game, I just..." Ben trailed off. Why was he talking to the cat? His wet fur felt unusually heavy and uncomfortable, but not painful. Patti shook herself off, flinging water all over the sink and Ben. He growled and did the same, but that only made her shake more, and soon they were both standing there in the sink splashing water on each other like kids at the pool. Eventually they both got dry enough and the bowl filled. Ben turned the faucet off, took a long drink from the bowl, and then slapped the lid on. He had to use his whole body weight to seal it tight enough. The bowl had become quite heavy but Ben only had a bit of trouble getting it over his head and onto the countertop. He looked over the side at the sheer drop. He had no chance of going down with the bowl. The only option, and he sighed as he thought this, was to knock it off the counter.

He let Patti do the honors. She must have been unbelievably bored to get any enjoyment out of nudging a bowl of water around. Probably about as bored as he had been all afternoon. He glanced over at the toy box. It wasn't like he could trip on them anymore. Maybe he was strong enough to push it, and maybe it'd get her off his back.

Patti jumped happily when she finally sent the bowl sailing to the ground. She jumped again when it landed with a huge thud.

"You better get ready, this next one's gonna wake the neighbors." He cringed after he said it. He had to stop talking to the cat.

He steadied himself between the wall and the toy box and started to push. It didn't take a ton of effort when he had leverage from the wall, but that only bought him two or three inches. Once he had to push it on his own, it would barely budge. He tried several different positions but his hindpaws always lost their grip. He shoved away mindlessly until he felt, by accident, the zone. His body repositioned itself on its own, and inch by inch he shoved the box closer and closer to the edge. Finally, it fell to the floor with an enormous bang. The lid popped off and the toys spilled out into the kitchen. Ben jumped down after it and poked at a toy mouse with his paw until he realized what he was doing and shook himself awake. The zone had saved him again.

Patti was already digging through the box, knocking scratching posts and stuffed animals out into the kitchen floor, so he shoved the Tupperware bowl out of the kitchen and began to water the plants. Compared to getting the water, pouring it was easy. It took quite a while and he spilled it here and there, but not on anything expensive. He gave the fern a double portion, no way was he going to do all this twice a day. Satisfied with a job well done, he went back to the kitchen to figure out what to do with the bowl.

Patti was still there, going crazy on a scratching post. She perked up when he came back and went to digging in the box again. Ben tried a few times to chuck the bowl back up onto the counter. His body was no longer built to throw, but his raw strength was more than enough to get an empty plastic bowl a few feet in the air, and he got it in the sink after a few tries.

He went to leave, but Patti got in front of him and dropped a stuffed animal at his feet. It was a cat, black and red with big yellow eyes... it was a Litten. It was him.

He couldn't take his eyes off it, and for the first time he really thought about what he was now. A Pokémon. Something some Japanese guy made up to sell toys. A fire breathing monster and a weird looking cat. A stuffed piece of junk for pets to tear up. He felt like he shouldn't exist, and then for a moment he felt like he didn't. A hiss came out of his throat.

Patti woke him up. She moved around next to him and bumped him with her side. He looked at the stuffed Litten again, closer. It wasn't just a toy that looked like him, it was his toy. He used to have loads of stuff like this from his crane game phase, and Char had taken some to give to the cats. It must have smelled like him too. Little stitch marks covered its joints. Char wouldn't have bothered repairing a stuffed animal if Patti didn't love it to pieces.
He looked at Patti, who looked back at him excitedly. All this time he thought she played rough with him because she hated him. He just smelled like --- and eventually looked like --- her favorite toy. She sincerely wanted to play the only way she knew how.

She tensed up, ready to pounce, not at him but the toy. She stared him down expectantly. She wanted him to join her. He still felt a little confused and mad at the thing. It couldn't hurt to give it a piece of his mind.

He reared back and they both leaped on it, twin flurries of claws and teeth laying into the fuzzy toy. Ben would knock it across the room and Patti would drag it back by its ears or tail and they would pounce on it again and again. His heart raced like it hadn't in years. Eventually she got bored of the stuffed animal and led him over to a scratching post. And, well, it was better than sitting around so he tore into that too. His claws even felt neater afterwards. He was enjoying himself too much to stop, so he came up with a game of his own. He chucked a toy up as high as he could and Patti tried to snatch it out of the air before he could catch it. She caught more than she missed, but he made her jump for a fake throw once, so in his mind they were even. Then he grabbed one of those cat fishing rods with the fluffy thing at the end and started swinging it. It hypnotized Patti, but after a bit it hypnotized him as well. They both sprang for it at the same time, collided in the air, and landed in a ball of fur on the cool kitchen tiles.

Ben started to breathe heavy, his legs went a bit weak, and his stomach growled. He didn't eat well enough to exert himself like this. Patti seemed to notice and pulled the stuffed Litten over to him to hold. It felt strangely comforting. He laid there, watching her play, until the food dropped again.
Ben thought about making a run for the bowl, but he felt weak and the memory of the beating he got this morning loomed too large. He shut himself up in the pantry and licked at the chicken stock while he waited for the other cats to eat. Just like this morning, Regina locked him in while Florence ate, and just like this morning he waited a few minutes after it seemed like she was gone to make sure it wasn't a trap. He cautiously headed towards the food and, once he was sure the coast was clear, dug in. He noticed there was a bit more left over in Patti's bowl this time. He'd have to thank her somehow. Maybe he'd go back to the crane games and win her a new toy when this was all over.

***                                                                                    

He woke up the next day and stared at a blank TV screen. He wondered what would be on it if he could turn on the news. He wondered if he'd ever see another human being again. He wondered if this would ever end.

He wondered what Patti was up to. He ought to go find out.

Part 3

After a few days, time began to get wobbly. The difference between night and day became slight. Ben could see almost as well no matter what time it was, and he didn’t sleep as consistently anymore. He had napped plenty as a human, but never this often and never this short. He could rest his eyes for a few minutes, pop up, wander around the house for a while, then plop down and fall back asleep right there on the floor until a stray noise woke him up again.

The only real constant measure of time was the clinking of the auto feeder every day at 10 am and 7 pm. That and the ensuing scrabble of paws on tile he could hear from across the house. He would head down to the living room and wait for his turn to eat the scraps. Things quickly got to the point that eating his leftover dirt pellets felt like a highlight of the day, if only because it stopped his stomach from growling for a while. Sometimes Patti would play with him, but his endurance and her attention span were both short.

He had made some small effort to try and learn to breathe fire, more to kill time than anything else. If he had become a Psychic type or something he might have tried harder, but fire was too dangerous to just spew all over the place, and he wasn’t any good at it. He had burped out another tuft of embers once, but never again, and never anything that properly felt like breathing fire. The zone couldn’t help him because it just didn’t stress him out enough. So he couldn’t breathe fire? It’s not like he ever needed to.

Occasionally he glanced at the cat flap and had some stupid ideas. The Montroses owned a ton of land in the area and left most of it as forest. Apparently it had huge trees, a cute little stream, and some adorable woodland creatures living in it. Char made it sound idyllic, but she didn’t have any reason to fear it. One time Ben decided to poke his nose out of the flap and see what it was like. The cats did it all the time, but he couldn’t even get off the patio. He had never felt so small, looking up at the infinite sky and the endless trees imagining the untold dangers that could populate them. He sat there paralyzed until a bird’s caw made him haul ass back into the house. Inside felt oddly large but mercifully finite, and the only thing he had to fear was Regina. It’s not like he had any good reason to leave anyway.

Regina, for her part, looked at him cross every time she saw him but otherwise left him alone. Patti’s seal of approval didn’t make him one of the family, but she didn’t seem to mind him as much. He could even catch a few glimpses of Florence if he turned around quickly enough whenever he started to feel like he was being watched. One time she even let him watch her lay out in the light of the sunroof. That trust didn’t get him any more food, but he felt a bit safer around the house knowing they didn’t mean him any specific harm.

A few lazy days passed like that, and Ben started to get a little comfortable. He was hungry but not starving, lonely but not crazy, and confused but not desperate for answers. It didn’t feel much different than living at the apartment, at the end of the day. Every time he woke up he hoped it’d be as a human, but when it wasn’t he didn’t mind, because he knew he only had to make it a few more weeks. He would think to himself, “Char will be home soon,” and go about another lazy day.


An awful grinding sound woke him from his dreams one morning. After it became clear it wasn’t going away on its own, he rolled off the couch and followed it. It led him down the stairs, through the foyer and into the living room. He groggily passed Florence’s sunbathing spot and some of Patti’s toys as it led him into the kitchen. He woke all the way up when he finally realized what it was.

The noise was coming from the auto feeder.

The other cats trailed in behind him. They all knew that it should be time for breakfast. They stood there at the end of the kitchen, waiting for the tinkle of food. Eventually the grinding noise stopped, but the food never came.

Ben and Florence both dashed to the machine. Florence picked at the flap that would normally let the food loose. Ben knew better, these things were designed so cats couldn’t do that. He began banging on the side, first with his paws, then with his head, then he ran back and slammed into the machine shoulder-first. That startled Florence, who jumped back to her sisters. They both gave her a quick nuzzle as Ben slammed, again and again, into the broken feeder. Maybe his small frame didn’t have enough force, or maybe he’d just gotten lucky when the kick worked the first time, but he couldn’t get it working again.

Regina yipped a command at Patti, who nuzzled Florence one more time, gave a soft meow to Ben, and followed her out of the cat flap. Florence paced around nervously until she noticed Ben looking at her and bolted. That left him alone.

He climbed to the top of the machine and started tugging on the lid. This, he knew, was the first thing the guys who made this would try to prevent, and if it had any chance of working he would have done it days ago. He did it anyway. He had no better ideas.

After exhausting himself on the lid, he glanced at the window and had a series of even worse ideas. He could make a run for town, but even if he didn’t get caught by a hawk it would be too far a walk to make on an empty stomach and the best food he could hope for would be in a garbage can. He could try for one of the neighbors’ houses, but those were still a pretty good walk away and according to Char they both owned a few big, aggressive dogs. Plus he had no idea how anyone around these parts would handle a wild — or talking — cat. He could try to hunt in the woods, but… but what, exactly? He didn’t know how to hunt, but he didn’t know how to leap three times his height or spew embers either. Something inside of him did, and he was more than scared enough to drag it out.

Ben went out the cat door and stood on the patio. He let the weight of the empty sky sit on his shoulders for a moment, took a deep breath in, and thought of a particularly funny episode of Family Feud. His body stepped forward towards the edge of the patio and stood on the precipice of nature.
Then his paw came to his face and his tongue began to clean his matted fur. After a few licks Ben’s mind came roaring back. It was impossible to stay clear headed when even the zone was failing him. Did he empty his mind of the hunger pangs too?

Maybe whatever instinct overcame him would only focus on immediate problems. There was no food nearby, but his fur was getting pretty gross. If he went into the zone near a squirrel maybe his body would do what he wanted. All he had to do was get near a squirrel, then.
He glanced out past his paw at the forest outside. Easier said than done. He had lost a fight clean to a housecat a few days ago. He stood no chance against a coyote, or an owl, or a fox. Or a bear. Did they have bears in woods like these? What about wolves?

He heard a rustling sound in the woods and skittered under a chair. After a tense staredown with the great outdoors, he saw Regina and Patti walk out with a dead finch in tow. Patti ran into the house as Regina laid the bird on the patio and started plucking its feathers with her mouth. All the cats were rescues, but Patti was an abandoned show cat and Florence came from a kitten mill. Only Regina came from the streets, and only she had ever prepared her own breakfast. By the time Patti returned with Florence, who looked about as comfortable on the patio as Ben did, the bird had been plucked clean. The sight of food calmed her down a bit, and the trio dug in.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to go out into the woods after all. He had survived off their leftovers so far. Maybe Regina could hunt enough for all of them. The cats finished eating and Florence skittered back into the house. Regina took a look around — with an especially long glare at the chair he was hiding under — then she and Patti went back into the forest. Ben approached the carcass and his empty stomach dropped. They had almost picked it clean. He managed to get a sliver of muscle off the rib, but they’d have to bring back a hundred birds for it to be enough.

He stood at the precipice of the patio again, swallowed as much of his fear as he could, and stepped onto the grass. It felt odd, ticking his fur all over his legs. He slunk through the yard, step-by-step, until it gave way to loose dirt and fallen leaves. The cover of tree canopy brought him no relief, not when he had to work to maneuver over something as small as a root. His new, powerful ears worked against him too. His brain was calibrated for human hearing, and every rustle of leaves sounded like it was happening right next to him. A few times he got so scared his mind blanked on its own. His instincts would clean his paws again, and he’d only wake back up when he got mad at the wasted time.

After a bit of wandering, he heard a consistent rustling he believed could be more than the wind. He glanced around and spotted a squirrel sifting through a pile of dead leaves a few yards away. Jackpot. He emptied his mind and, for once, his body seemed to comply. It hunched down low and crept very slowly towards the unsuspecting squirrel, step-by-gentle-step, inch-by-quiet-inch, until it was only a few feet away. His body hunched back, and after a few seconds of analysis, it pounced.

Many people think of predators as these perfect athletes, fully aware of their own capabilities, forged by their instinct as the ultimate killing machines. Ben had seen hours of America’s Funniest Home Videos and should have known better. He should have known the subtle scratch of a claw on dirt could alert the squirrel, he should have known he might eat a face full of leaves, and he really should have known that perfect predator instinct might still slam headfirst into a tree trying to chase the squirrel up it.

His head shook itself off and began to lick at his paws again, as though there were any chance of preserving his dignity after all that. His ears swiveled around and caught another rustle a few yards away. Again his body slunk in the direction of the noise, which turned out to be a chickadee on its own hunt for worms. Unfortunately, his big, fat head was too much to conceal and the bird flew off before his body could close the gap. Then a rabbit outran his legs with a piece of grass still in its mouth, then a woodpecker pecked its way out of his paws.

He came to after that, even weaker than before, and a little delirious. It took a few minutes to stop feeling like he was watching his own life on a screen. He wasn’t quite sure how long he had been in the zone, but it was longer than ever before, and he only felt hungrier for it. He stomped around in the dead leaves. The wind whistled through the trees and it felt like whole forest was laughing at him. Even his stupid instincts couldn’t get breakfast.
He realized he had stomped his way to the stream. It’d be a good source of water if he ever got too tired to jump for the sink, at least. He noticed Patti drinking from it a bit downriver and growled at her.

“Some friend you turned out to be.”

She glanced back at him. What she said was “meow,” but what she meant was “there’s not even enough for three.” She looked as tired and scared as him, and for the same reason. The food had stopped and the hunt was going badly and all the humans were gone.

A loud meow rang out from the woods. It seemed Regina had better luck than either of them. Patti perked up and started off in the direction of the house. She turned around and yipped at him quietly one more time before she left.

He stared down at the stream as it flowed gently on by, and at the reflection of the sullen cat that looked back at him. The sullen Pokemon that looked back at him. A Litten was different from a regular cat in more ways than just head size and eye color. Something deep within him could breathe fire. It was the one advantage he had over the cats if he could tap into it.

“Make fire or we die,” he told that sullen cat. Then he looked forward and emptied his mind.

His body began to groom itself again.

Ben couldn’t even muster the anger to properly regain control. Maybe if he just let it finish cleaning up it’d listen to him next.

In the zone the instinct made the decisions and dulled his consciousness, but it didn’t dull his senses. He felt his rough tongue on his fur as strongly as before. He felt the mats loosening up and the hair sliding down his throat. He felt cleaner and nicer and just as hungry.

Then he felt a ball of fur start to well up in his stomach. He felt a spark of heat ignite in his throat. He felt his lungs feed the fire inside him. He heard the explosive woosh as it blew it out in a steady stream.

He felt cool water down his throat. His body had taken a drink, as though it had done nothing special at all.

Ben came back again, a little embarrassed. He should have trusted his body. It wanted to live too, and it knew itself better than he did.

He tried to replicate those feelings on his own. Forcing the hairball was easier than it seemed. It felt basically the same as forcing a burp, and he had plenty of experience at that. Igniting it took a few terribly uncomfortable tries. He had to hold it in the back of his throat like a fuzzy loogie until he could figure out exactly what set it off. He went back into the zone a few times to get the feeling right, and every time he came back he felt a bit more disoriented. It was his first time outside the bounds of human ability. The first time he was ever trying to be a Pokemon. He hoped it wasn’t a point of no return. After he finally built up some strange, raw energy in his throat, the hair ignited. In his excitement he blew hard, and a quick burst of flame wooshed out of his mouth. He had breathed a bit of fire. He took a quick drink from the stream and licked his paw. It was a great start, but a bit wouldn’t be enough.


That night, Ben answered one of Regina’s dinner calls. Practice had taken about all the energy he had, so he staggered slowly up to the porch. By the time he got there the cats had all gathered around another finch. Regina had only just finished preparing it when Ben stepped up to them. She tensed up and hissed, ready to give him another thrashing if he wanted to go at it. He hissed back and shot out a quick burst of flame. All three scattered — Florence to the house and the other two underneath some furniture. Regina stayed tense, but she knew better than to play with fire. Patti looked lost and wounded, just like he had looked at the stream. Ben turned back to the bird, took a deep breath in, and blew a steady stream of fire onto it. After he ran out of breath, he examined his handiwork. He picked off a bit of the layer of burnt skin and found that the inside had cooked — not very well, but enough. He picked off more of the skin and exposed most of the good meat.

Then he took a step back. He looked to Regina and Patti and beckoned them over with his head. This wasn’t a theft, it was a peace offering. They all stood, unmoving, for what felt like ages, before Patti cautiously walked over. When Ben didn’t make any further moves, she leaned down sniffed at the bird. Her face lit up — it reminded her of the smell of her usual food. She took a bite and liked it so much she dug in like it was a proper dinner. Regina slowly made her way to Ben, glowering at him the whole time. He kept his head high, even though he could still remember the sting of her claws. The staredown ended when her stomach growled. She ate slower and more cautiously than Patti, but her swaying tail betrayed her. It tasted better and sated her more than before.

Ben left them to the food and went in to the house. As he went into the kitchen he heard the flap swing open again. Hopefully that was Florence. He pulled the pantry door open and took a long drink from the chicken stock. It gave him just enough strength to shove the bottle out to the porch.
“Hey!” he grunted at the cats. They all looked up from the finch. Florence stayed out of the way, but the stock’s strong scent drew Patti and Regina to the box. They could tell right away it was food — not proper, filling food but enough to tide them over when the hunt was lean. Ben moved far enough away that Florence felt safe to approach, but he didn’t make a move on the finch. Regina turned and stared him down one last time. He met her stare, unflinching on the outside at least. His message was clear. He couldn’t hunt, but he could make their food go for longer. Without him they would all starve eventually. Together they could all survive. Regina went to the finch, pulled off a chunk of it, and dropped it at his feet. Her message was clear too. Welcome to the family.

That half-cold half-overcooked chunk of bird tasted like a steak from God’s own grill.

After he finished eating, he remembered he could barely stand. The adrenaline must have kept him going through the end of his plan, but he needed to sleep. He couldn’t make it up onto a couch, much less up the stairs to get there, so he just went inside and flopped down on a rug, content that when he woke he might merely be hungry and confused.

Edit

Pub: 14 Aug 2025 04:54 UTC

Edit: 04 Sep 2025 07:11 UTC

Views: 86