Entry 382; Day 429
[Voice Post]
((Click.))
((A little soft fumbling, furry sounds, murmurs, a small sound somewhere between purring and a meow. It takes a moment or two. Some sounds like a very small throat being cleared. A pause: a paw needed to be seen to, of course. Then a voice--Cain's voice, but so much smaller, strange-sounding, vaguely...feline.))
Still, City? So I'm to have whiskers and a tail for another day? I really have lost count of the number of times I've endured this. If it keeps up, I may spend more time cursed to be a cat than I am cursed as anything else.
I was cursed to be a crow all of once. Apparently it didn't suit me and I was a cat again the next time this sort of curse came around again.
There was once when Merry and Riff were both here and I went to explore the roof, once when Riff was turned into a child and he found me and named me Noir, and once when Mikaela was here in disguise as Suzette and she tied a ribbon around my neck. And I know there have been other times, of course. I can remember things done while I was in this shape, but I can't quite remember what happened which time. Perhaps that says something about the minds of cats.
This time, however, I am quite alone, and I've another afternoon left to spend in this shape. I can explore the rooftops again if I like, or chase mice in the corridors of the opera house, or visit the garden for the afternoon sun.
I had expected to be back to my usual self by today--or at least something like it, even if still cursed. There seems to be a pattern where a whole weekend is taken up by these pandemonium curses.
Still, the shock of it doesn't fade, no matter how many times one wakes up in a bed that seems far too large, with the light far too bright, and a million different scents and sounds assailing one's senses. And then one sees one's hands have tucked themselves up into paws and been covered over with fur. One sees that even one's nose has been covered in fur. So one jumps--because one can't do anything else--out of bed and jumps--yet again because one can't do anything else--up to the mirror and one sees that, yes, one is yet again a cat. I am still a cat.
I've been a housecat so much that I'm quite honestly getting used to it, believe it or not. The immediate shock of waking up with whiskers is unpleasant, but one rolls over, smoothes one's fur, and considers how best to spend the day this time. I think even Kassandra has gotten used to finding me as a cat certain mornings. She certainly set to washing my face yesterday morning, and she did the same this morning.
I wonder what she'll think of it all come tomorrow--or will she think of it? Perhaps she'll only wonder where I went for the weekend and where that black cat went on Monday. Or perhaps she won't think anything of it at all. After all, Kassandra fell out of the sky during a curse and Merry took her in. Perhaps she knows more about these curses than we realise.
Or perhaps she's only a cat.
If the curses are designed to make us miserable, this one has rather failed with me. I'll go climb a tree or too and chase a butterfly, and try to keep out of the way of the bigger animals that might be about in the City. It's almost rather ordinary. This is what one does when one is turned into a cat by the City.
And, I suppose, on Monday, I'll see a few people I know in the shops or something and they'll say something about how dreadful the curses were this weekend. And I'll agree, of course. And they'll ask what happened to me and I'll say that I spent the weekend as a cat. Though a well looked-after one. Thank you, Rosella, for the saucer of cream yesterday. I may be shaped like a cat, but I think I do much prefer the taste of proper food. It makes me wonder what Kassandra really thinks of the food I give to her. If it's that appalling to me, what does she think?
So, let me see: yesterday I was out wandering the streets a bit, the rafters, the attic, the roof, the garden, the Warehouse--to pay a call on Rosella--Xanadu, the café, and then back here to chase mice in the corridors, then back out to see the City at night.
I should say something to that, really: the City is remarkable through a cat's eyes, but especially at night. The dark corners I always watch when I'm in my usual shape are both darker and brighter, more and less fascinating. Small animals come out of the corners, there are other cats on the rooftops, there are things in the sewers and grates. Beautiful as the City is by day through a cat's eyes--between the gardens and the streets and the windowsills--perhaps it's even better at night.
I think now, though, I ought to proceed with my schedule of things to do while a cat. Perhaps I can find some milk in the kitchen. And then, I suppose, I'll go out again. There are other windowsills to see the world from, and I probably should stop by the café, if only for a moment. I should like to go out again tonight, but I know there are a few who say it's very dangerous: I'm only shaped like a cat, not a real cat. But you have no idea how beautiful it is after dark.
And until then, there's always the roof, the attic, and the rafters to explore.
((A moment or two more of fumbling, a few shuffling sounds: damnable paws. Ah, but there's the button.))
((Click.))
[//voice post ends]
[ooc: What is this? Cat-like talking detected for a second day?! Yes, kitty!Cain is here for the weekend (IDK, I didn't get to spam him around enough yesterday). So, yeah! Cat? He's a kitty cat. And he dances, dances, dances, and he dances, dances, dances.]
((Click.))
((A little soft fumbling, furry sounds, murmurs, a small sound somewhere between purring and a meow. It takes a moment or two. Some sounds like a very small throat being cleared. A pause: a paw needed to be seen to, of course. Then a voice--Cain's voice, but so much smaller, strange-sounding, vaguely...feline.))
Still, City? So I'm to have whiskers and a tail for another day? I really have lost count of the number of times I've endured this. If it keeps up, I may spend more time cursed to be a cat than I am cursed as anything else.
I was cursed to be a crow all of once. Apparently it didn't suit me and I was a cat again the next time this sort of curse came around again.
There was once when Merry and Riff were both here and I went to explore the roof, once when Riff was turned into a child and he found me and named me Noir, and once when Mikaela was here in disguise as Suzette and she tied a ribbon around my neck. And I know there have been other times, of course. I can remember things done while I was in this shape, but I can't quite remember what happened which time. Perhaps that says something about the minds of cats.
This time, however, I am quite alone, and I've another afternoon left to spend in this shape. I can explore the rooftops again if I like, or chase mice in the corridors of the opera house, or visit the garden for the afternoon sun.
I had expected to be back to my usual self by today--or at least something like it, even if still cursed. There seems to be a pattern where a whole weekend is taken up by these pandemonium curses.
Still, the shock of it doesn't fade, no matter how many times one wakes up in a bed that seems far too large, with the light far too bright, and a million different scents and sounds assailing one's senses. And then one sees one's hands have tucked themselves up into paws and been covered over with fur. One sees that even one's nose has been covered in fur. So one jumps--because one can't do anything else--out of bed and jumps--yet again because one can't do anything else--up to the mirror and one sees that, yes, one is yet again a cat. I am still a cat.
I've been a housecat so much that I'm quite honestly getting used to it, believe it or not. The immediate shock of waking up with whiskers is unpleasant, but one rolls over, smoothes one's fur, and considers how best to spend the day this time. I think even Kassandra has gotten used to finding me as a cat certain mornings. She certainly set to washing my face yesterday morning, and she did the same this morning.
I wonder what she'll think of it all come tomorrow--or will she think of it? Perhaps she'll only wonder where I went for the weekend and where that black cat went on Monday. Or perhaps she won't think anything of it at all. After all, Kassandra fell out of the sky during a curse and Merry took her in. Perhaps she knows more about these curses than we realise.
Or perhaps she's only a cat.
If the curses are designed to make us miserable, this one has rather failed with me. I'll go climb a tree or too and chase a butterfly, and try to keep out of the way of the bigger animals that might be about in the City. It's almost rather ordinary. This is what one does when one is turned into a cat by the City.
And, I suppose, on Monday, I'll see a few people I know in the shops or something and they'll say something about how dreadful the curses were this weekend. And I'll agree, of course. And they'll ask what happened to me and I'll say that I spent the weekend as a cat. Though a well looked-after one. Thank you, Rosella, for the saucer of cream yesterday. I may be shaped like a cat, but I think I do much prefer the taste of proper food. It makes me wonder what Kassandra really thinks of the food I give to her. If it's that appalling to me, what does she think?
So, let me see: yesterday I was out wandering the streets a bit, the rafters, the attic, the roof, the garden, the Warehouse--to pay a call on Rosella--Xanadu, the café, and then back here to chase mice in the corridors, then back out to see the City at night.
I should say something to that, really: the City is remarkable through a cat's eyes, but especially at night. The dark corners I always watch when I'm in my usual shape are both darker and brighter, more and less fascinating. Small animals come out of the corners, there are other cats on the rooftops, there are things in the sewers and grates. Beautiful as the City is by day through a cat's eyes--between the gardens and the streets and the windowsills--perhaps it's even better at night.
I think now, though, I ought to proceed with my schedule of things to do while a cat. Perhaps I can find some milk in the kitchen. And then, I suppose, I'll go out again. There are other windowsills to see the world from, and I probably should stop by the café, if only for a moment. I should like to go out again tonight, but I know there are a few who say it's very dangerous: I'm only shaped like a cat, not a real cat. But you have no idea how beautiful it is after dark.
And until then, there's always the roof, the attic, and the rafters to explore.
((A moment or two more of fumbling, a few shuffling sounds: damnable paws. Ah, but there's the button.))
((Click.))
[//voice post ends]
[ooc: What is this? Cat-like talking detected for a second day?! Yes, kitty!Cain is here for the weekend (IDK, I didn't get to spam him around enough yesterday). So, yeah! Cat? He's a kitty cat. And he dances, dances, dances, and he dances, dances, dances.]