(no subject)
All things considered, Donna didn't much mind being a cat - well, once she got past the bit where a building had turned her into a cat, which wasn't the sort of thing that happened to her every day, not even when she was travelling with the Doctor. (And she still wasn't especially happy about ending up in Paradisa in the first place, and if she ever got the opportunity to talk to whoever was pulling the strings - they would soon come to regret their decision to abduct Donna Noble.)
Anyway, being a cat was nicer than a lot of things - really rubbish temp jobs, for example, like the kind where she'd had to sit in the front lobby of some building and answer phones and deal with office workers with their noses in the air 'cos they had a permanent job pushing paper, and she was just a temporary receptionist who'd be gone in a week, even if they didn't look half as good in a suit as she did. True, there were a lot of things to get used to, like actually walking with four limbs (and a tail!), and the bewildering array of senses, and the tendency to jump at anything that moved in a particularly tempting way, like the Doctor whenever he flapped those wings of his (something in her brain just told her to pounce, and before she knew it, she was in the air, snapping at white tailfeathers).
Still, she had an exceptionally good life for a cat - free reign of the TARDIS, and fish and milk, and Time Lords willing to pet her. If there was one thing Donna loved about being a cat, it was being petted. Oh, God, it was fantastic, better than just flopping down in a sunbeam and lazily dozing there for hours on end, and that was pretty damn good, too, but petting! That was in an entirely different realm of sensation. There really wasn't anything to compare it to; humans didn't go in for that sort of non-sexual touching with other humans (though, Donna thought, if it felt anything like that, it was really a shame that they didn't). It was rather like being massaged, except there were certain places that just made her - well, purr with delight.
The only annoying bit was trying to communicate; you could only get so much across with pointed miaows. At least the castle had had the decency to turn the Doctor into something that could speak; she hadn't had quite as much luck (though she was, to be fair, just as talkative as the Doctor was under normal circumstances). She'd managed some sort of clumsy writing with a bit of ink and her claws, but it was hard work, and housecats were inherently lazy, and she saw no reason why she should spend her time trying to keep up with the journals when she could be shedding on one of the Eighth Doctor's velvet jackets. (Ginger hair really tended to clash with dark green velvet.)
She wondered how long the castle would keep her as a cat, if she would feel her humanity slowly slipping away, gradually overriden by animal instincts. They were there; they'd been there since she woke up as a cat, but so far, the cat had been content to stay at the back of her mind, except for the occasional especially feline moment. But what if she became more and more cat, and less and less Donna? When she found herself particularly enjoying something, she worried about that instead, hoped that fretting over it would help her remain herself. Because the Doctor had said she'd turn back, but...he'd been wrong before.
Anyway, being a cat was nicer than a lot of things - really rubbish temp jobs, for example, like the kind where she'd had to sit in the front lobby of some building and answer phones and deal with office workers with their noses in the air 'cos they had a permanent job pushing paper, and she was just a temporary receptionist who'd be gone in a week, even if they didn't look half as good in a suit as she did. True, there were a lot of things to get used to, like actually walking with four limbs (and a tail!), and the bewildering array of senses, and the tendency to jump at anything that moved in a particularly tempting way, like the Doctor whenever he flapped those wings of his (something in her brain just told her to pounce, and before she knew it, she was in the air, snapping at white tailfeathers).
Still, she had an exceptionally good life for a cat - free reign of the TARDIS, and fish and milk, and Time Lords willing to pet her. If there was one thing Donna loved about being a cat, it was being petted. Oh, God, it was fantastic, better than just flopping down in a sunbeam and lazily dozing there for hours on end, and that was pretty damn good, too, but petting! That was in an entirely different realm of sensation. There really wasn't anything to compare it to; humans didn't go in for that sort of non-sexual touching with other humans (though, Donna thought, if it felt anything like that, it was really a shame that they didn't). It was rather like being massaged, except there were certain places that just made her - well, purr with delight.
The only annoying bit was trying to communicate; you could only get so much across with pointed miaows. At least the castle had had the decency to turn the Doctor into something that could speak; she hadn't had quite as much luck (though she was, to be fair, just as talkative as the Doctor was under normal circumstances). She'd managed some sort of clumsy writing with a bit of ink and her claws, but it was hard work, and housecats were inherently lazy, and she saw no reason why she should spend her time trying to keep up with the journals when she could be shedding on one of the Eighth Doctor's velvet jackets. (Ginger hair really tended to clash with dark green velvet.)
She wondered how long the castle would keep her as a cat, if she would feel her humanity slowly slipping away, gradually overriden by animal instincts. They were there; they'd been there since she woke up as a cat, but so far, the cat had been content to stay at the back of her mind, except for the occasional especially feline moment. But what if she became more and more cat, and less and less Donna? When she found herself particularly enjoying something, she worried about that instead, hoped that fretting over it would help her remain herself. Because the Doctor had said she'd turn back, but...he'd been wrong before.