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Storia MidReal
Inked Feline: A Tale of Transformation
Scenario:I got a tattoo of a cat on my arm. I awoke the next day to find that I'd become a cat exactly like the one in my tattoo.
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Michael Jennings
transformed cat, no relationships, sleek black fur, curious and resourceful
Dr. Thomas Huxley
veterinarian and secret magic practitioner, acquaintance of Michael and Sarah, middleaged with sharp eyes, wise and secretive
Sarah Lee
tattoo artist and friend of Michael, friend of Michael, vibrant with colorful hair, creative and empathetic
Chapter 1
I woke up a cat.
Not in the metaphorical sense, like I’d been out drinking and woken up with a woman who was now clinging to me like a limpet, or even the literal sense of waking up with a hangover so bad it felt like I’d been hit by a truck.
No, I mean I actually woke up as a cat.
A sleek black one, to be precise.
I stared at my paws for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, trying to make sense of them.
They were small and furry and had claws that could do some serious damage if they wanted to.
I flexed them experimentally, then looked down at my body.
The scariest thing of all was that I didn’t hurt.
Not even a little bit.
It should have been strange—my body had ached for as long as I could remember, but there wasn’t even a twinge in my back or my knees or any of the other places that normally gave me grief.
But it felt so good not to be in pain that I couldn’t bring myself to care about the fact that I appeared to have turned into a cat overnight.
How had this happened?
I tried to think back on the night before, searching my memories for some explanation for what was happening to me.
Had I eaten something weird?
Taken some drugs?
Been bitten by a radioactive animal?
Nope, nothing came to mind.
I sighed and tried to push myself up onto all fours, only to realize that I was already on my feet.
It was disconcerting to say the least, and it took me a moment to find my balance.
Once I did, I tentatively moved forward and was surprised at how easy it was to walk on four legs instead of two.
Apparently the human mind had no problem adjusting to new bodies, even when those bodies were supposed to belong to an entirely different species.
The whole thing was ridiculous, and part of me kept waiting for someone to jump out from behind a curtain, yelling "Gotcha!" at the top of their lungs because there was no way this could be real.
Or was there?
Maybe I was dreaming?
That would make more sense than this being real, wouldn’t it?
But if I was dreaming, why did everything feel so solid and real?
And how come I was still asking myself all these questions if I was just asleep?
It didn’t add up, and no matter how I looked at it, the only explanation that made any sense was that something had gone wrong when I got my tattoo yesterday.
Maybe Sarah had used some weird new ink on me and it had somehow seeped into my bloodstream, causing me to turn into a cat against my will.
Only I didn’t spring at all.
In fact, I barely moved, and it took me a minute to realize why—my muscles weren’t as strong as they should have been for an animal this size, which meant that either I was still getting used to using them or this was some kind of sick joke and I was actually going insane.
I hoped it was the latter because the idea of being able to turn into a cat at will was both awesome and terrifying in equal measure, and if I really could do something like that then there was no telling what other powers might be lurking inside me just waiting to come out.
Disconcerted and not entirely sure what to do next, I turned my attention to my surroundings and tried to make sense of them.
My vision was sharper than it had been when I’d gone to bed the night before, and colors seemed more vibrant somehow, as if someone had turned up the saturation on the world around me.
There was an odd smell lingering in the air, too—a strange mixture of chemicals and dampness and something underneath it all that I couldn’t quite place.
My heart rate began to climb as I realized what all of this meant, but I pushed the fear away and took another deep breath, my mind racing as I tried to find some kind of rational explanation for what was happening to me.
But no matter how hard I thought about it, there was only one possible answer: sometime during the night, I’d turned into a cat.
I hurried across the room and shoved my head under the faucet, then turned on the water and stared at my reflection in disbelief.
I couldn’t remember what had happened—how or why I’d ended up like this, or even where I’d been last night.
The last thing I could recall was feeling sick to my stomach while Sarah worked on my arm during our latest tattoo session.
She’d been adding color to the large cat design she’d drawn for me, something she called her magnum opus—a tribute to my love of felines, and a gift from one friend to another who meant so much to her.
Sarah was a talented artist and a wonderful friend, and I considered myself lucky to have her in my life.
The tattoo was still a work in progress; she’d wanted it to be a surprise—a gift for me after everything we’d been through together.
It was a beautiful piece of art that held deep meaning for both of us, and I knew I would treasure it forever.
My head was spinning as I tried to piece together the events that had led up to this moment.
I didn’t know what was going on, but I needed answers—and soon—before things got any stranger than they already were.
I glanced around the room again, trying to make sense of the situation and think of a plan of action.
It took only a moment for me to realize there was no way I could have jumped that high as a human—not without breaking my leg in the process.
And yet I’d done it with ease as a cat, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
There was something exhilarating about moving across the room at top speed, leaping onto high surfaces like some kind of superhero—something I never would have believed possible before this happened.
But that brief thrill was quickly overshadowed by the reality of my current situation: if I couldn’t find a way back to being human, then what?
Was I doomed to remain this way forever?!
Chapter 2
I opened my eyes and blinked in the bright morning light.
I was lying on my back in bed, human again.
The sun was shining through the window, casting a warm golden glow over the room.
For a moment I just lay there, taking deep breaths and trying to calm my racing heart.
It had all been a dream—a very strange, very vivid dream—but it was over now.
Relief washed over me as I sat up and stretched.
My body felt more like itself today—stronger and healthier than it had in years.
Maybe spending so much time as a cat had somehow healed me from the inside out?
Or maybe it was just another bizarre side effect of whatever had caused this strange transformation in the first place.
Either way, I wasn't about to complain.
Though I could still feel some residual soreness from my session with Sarah yesterday—my muscles protesting after being used so strenuously for hours on end.
But even that pain couldn't dampen my spirits as I hopped out of bed and rushed to get dressed.
I was eager to get to Sarah's café and grab some breakfast before starting my day.
It had become a sort of morning ritual for me lately—meeting her at work and enjoying a meal together before our shifts began.
She'd been my best friend since high school, and I couldn't imagine my life without her in it.
No matter what happened—or how weird things got—she was always there for me, and I knew I could count on her for anything.
She was a wonderful person with a big heart and a creative mind, and she made me want to be a better man every day.
I grabbed my keys and wallet from the nightstand before heading out the door and down the street toward the café.
I wanted to get there early so I could say hello to Sarah before she started working.
I knew how busy her café had become in recent months—especially after all the great reviews it had been getting online and in the local paper—and that she didn't have much free time during her shifts.
She'd worked hard to make a name for herself as an artist and an entrepreneur, and I was proud of all she'd accomplished in such a short amount of time.
Sarah Lee was beautiful in a way that defied conventional standards of beauty.
Her hair was always a different color—rainbow hues on any given day—and her tattoos were intricate and vibrant against her dark skin.
She was an artist with both ink and food; we met at her café this morning so I could enjoy some of her cooking while we talked about what had happened yesterday.
"Sure," I said, taking a bite of breakfast burrito.
It tasted even better than it looked, which was saying something when it came to Sarah's cooking.
I'd always been fascinated by her willingness to push the boundaries and live life on her terms—screw what anyone else thought—and I loved how creative she was in expressing herself through art and fashion.
But today I found myself distracted by her hair and tattoos as she watched me eat with wide eyes.
Her concern was palpable; it radiated off of her like heat on a hot summer day, and I could feel it even though she was standing several feet away from me behind the counter.
"Why do you think something unusual happened?" "You were acting strange after your tattoo. I'm just worried about you."
Sarah always had been perceptive when it came to other people's emotions; it was one of the things I loved most about her.
She cared deeply about everyone around her and did whatever she could to help those in need—even if it meant sacrificing something of herself in the process.
I sighed, looking down at my half-eaten burrito.
The memories of yesterday were hazy at best, and I wasn't sure what—if anything—I could tell Sarah without revealing too much about myself.
"I'm fine," I said finally.
"Your tattoo turned out great."
"You're not lying to me, are you?"
She raised an eyebrow as she studied me, and I got the feeling that she wasn't convinced by my words or my tone of voice.
"I would never lie to you!"
My heart rate increased as I tried—and failed—to keep the panic out of my voice.
If something had happened while I was under the needle, I didn't remember it—which meant it must have been bad.
What if Sarah knew more than she was letting on?
"What kind of lawsuit would you file if your tattoo session went wrong?"
I opened my mouth to reply, ready with a witty comeback or snarky comment about the ridiculousness of such a question, when she flicked a piece of egg at me.
It got caught in my hair, sticking to the strands like glue as it slowly slid down toward the back of my neck.
I stared at her in shock before bursting into laughter—how could I not laugh after that?
—and she grinned back at me, her eyes lit up with excitement.
The bell above the door jingled, and our laughter cut off mid-note as we both turned to see who had walked in.
"Good morning!"
A middle-aged man with sharp eyes and short-cropped brown hair smiled as he made his way over to our table.
Sarah said, her voice bright and cheerful.
She walked around the counter to join us just as he was pulling out a chair and sitting down across from me.
"Dr. Huxley! It's so great to see you this morning."
"You too, Sarah."
He took a sip of his coffee and hummed contently.
"What are you two up to?"
"Not much," I said, giving him a small nod as I watched him through narrowed eyes.
Dr. Thomas Huxley was one of Sarah's friends, and I had met him through her several months ago.
I didn't know much about him other than that he was a veterinarian who practiced magic on the side—in other words, someone I needed to be wary around if he ever found out about my little 'problem'. "Just having breakfast."
"How is your arm feeling after yesterday?"
Sarah asked before I could say anything else.
"Oh, it's fine. I got a little sick during the tattoo session, but it wasn't anything major."
Dr. Huxley raised an eyebrow as he looked at me over the rim of his coffee cup.
"What do you mean, you got a little sick? What exactly happened?"
"Nothing! Really, it was nothing.
"I must have eaten something bad earlier in the day and just didn't realize it until we were almost finished.
It's not Sarah's fault; she's a great artist!"
I gave her an appreciative smile, hoping to steer the conversation away from whatever Dr. Huxley was thinking about me.
Sarah grinned back at me before taking a sip of her coffee and shaking her head.
Chapter 3
A shiver ran down my spine as he turned his gaze towards me; his eyes were sharp and piercing, seeing through any lies or deceptions I might try to use.
I was starting to regret coming here for breakfast this morning.
"No, not at all!"
"I don't think there's anything wrong with the tattoo itself," she said after a moment.
"I mean, you didn't have any reaction to the ink while we were working on it. It just…"
She gestured helplessly at my arm as if that would somehow explain everything.
"I'm just curious to see how it looks now that it's healed." "Yeah, sure. I'll show you in a minute."
As soon as she reached out toward my arm, I immediately covered the tattoo with my hand.
She gave me a pointed look, but I didn't care—I wasn't ready to show anyone just yet what had happened yesterday.
"Michael—" "I'm fine," I said quickly, avoiding her gaze.
"It's just…"
I ran my fingers over the smooth skin of my arm before dropping my hand back into my lap.
"This is all really weird."
"It's okay if you don't like it," Sarah said gently.
"I can always adjust it or add something else to help hide it better. Not every tattoo is going to turn out exactly how we envision it in the beginning."
"No, that's not what I meant," I said quickly.
"You did a great job, Sarah. This is about… something else."
She frowned at me for a moment before letting out an exasperated sigh and shaking her head.
"Michael…"
"It has nothing to do with your tattooing skills," I said quickly.
She gave me a skeptical look, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned forward against the table.
"It isn't?"
I sighed inwardly; of course, she wasn't going to let this go without an explanation.
I knew Sarah well enough by now to understand that she was just too stubborn for that.
"No, it isn't. There's nothing wrong with your tattoo; it looks great."
Sarah didn't look convinced in the slightest by my words—she knew me too well to believe when I was lying or hiding something from her—but before she could say anything else, Dr. Huxley cleared his throat from across the table and we both turned our attention towards him again.
"Here's what we're going to do," he said in a tone that made it sound like there was no room for arguments on the matter.
"I'm going to take a look at your tattoo right here in the café so Sarah can see how it looks now that it's healed." "Dr. Huxley…"
I started to protest.
"You know I've had reactions to ink before! I can't risk being exposed again until it's fully healed."
Dr. Huxley eyed me for a moment before he let out a soft sigh and stood from the table.
He made his way over to where I was sitting and extended his hand out toward me, though rather than taking it in mine I found myself staring down at his fingers as they reached for my forearm instead.
I watched him curiously as he inspected the spot where Sarah's tattoo still lingered on my skin despite everything that had happened yesterday, his sharp eyes scrutinizing the image of the cat as if trying to determine its meaning or purpose there—though I knew that wasn't what he was looking for.
I tensed up as his fingers came into contact with my arm, feeling a chill run down my spine at the unexpected sensation of having someone touch what still felt like an alien part of my body.
He took a moment to examine the tattoo up close—though it was hard for me to tell what exactly he was looking for—and then pulled his hand away from me again just as quickly, though this time he kept his gaze locked on the spot where Sarah's tattoo lingered on my skin instead of turning back toward my face again.
"Sarah tells me you don't remember getting this tattoo?" "That's right," I said slowly.
He was quiet for a moment longer before finally letting out a soft sigh and shaking his head.
"In that case, I'm afraid I don't have much to tell you," Dr. Huxley said.
"It's definitely a cat."
Sarah let out a sigh of relief, shooting a smug little smile in my direction.
"See? I told you it looked good."
"I actually can't really tell anything about the quality of the tattoo itself," I admitted reluctantly.
"Since I haven't been able to examine it up close myself."
"So how do we know for sure that the ink isn't faded or something?"
Sarah asked curiously.
"What? No! That's not what I meant!"
I said quickly, shaking my head.
"The ink is fine. The design is great. It's just…"
I ran my fingers over the spot on my arm where Sarah's tattoo lingered beneath the surface of my skin, an uneasy feeling stirring in the pit of my stomach again.
"This is all just really weird."
Dr. Huxley let out a soft hum in agreement and turned back toward Sarah once again.
"Perhaps if we step outside," he suggested, "we could get a better look at the tattoo in natural lighting."
"Sure thing!"
Sarah said quickly, already moving to stand from the table.
She extended her hand toward me once again, though this time I was too overwhelmed by everything that had happened over the last few days to protest when she touched me and guided me up from my seat as well.
"C'mon," she said briskly, tugging on my arm slightly as she led me toward the door.
I tried to suppress the urge to roll my eyes as I followed after him and Sarah, though I doubt it would have done much good even if I'd given in.
When he'd first asked to speak with me alone, I assumed that he was going to apologize for not being more helpful and send me on my way.
It was obvious now, though, that he wasn't quite ready to let this go yet.
"It was just a tattoo," I said quickly, dismissing the whole thing with an awkward laugh.
"I mean… You know how it is. Sometimes people make decisions like that without really thinking them through beforehand."
"Sure," Dr. Huxley said slowly, glancing at me over his shoulder again.
He left the rest of what he wanted to say unspoken, though I could still see the question lingering behind those sharp eyes of his as if it were written all over his face: If the tattoo had been nothing more than a spur-of-the-moment decision, then why was it bothering me so much?
Unfortunately for him, there was no real answer to that question—at least not one that would make any kind of sense once I said it out loud.
I wasn't really sure what had happened when I'd gotten sick in the middle of Sarah's shop or how I'd managed to get home afterward, and the fact that I wasn't able to remember any of it made the whole thing even more unnerving than it already was.
"Anyway," I said quickly, trying to steer the conversation onto something else other than my sudden aversion to the tattoo on my arm.
"I guess you'll have to tell us where we're going next week, since Mr. Grumpy Pants over here didn't bother telling us before we left."
Sarah let out an exaggerated groan as she turned away from her shop window and folded her arms across her chest.
"You two are no fun at all!" she pouted.
"What about you? You want to come along too?"
Dr. Huxley let out another soft hum as he examined the display case beside us again—"I don't know," he mused thoughtfully—though ultimately he released another resigned sigh and shrugged his shoulders.
"I suppose I can spare an hour or two."
"Yay!"
Sarah cheered excitedly, quick-stepping back toward me so she could throw her arms around my waist and squeeze me tightly against her side.
"Then it's settled."
Sarah turned back toward the display case and ran her fingers over the glittering jewelry inside of it excitedly.
"We'll meet here next week and figure out where we're going from there."
"That sounds great," I told her honestly.
Even if I wasn't exactly looking forward to spending an afternoon shopping with my friends (or whatever other kind of trouble they'd managed to get me mixed up in), it was still nice to have some company while I was trying to piece together what had happened over the last few days.
"Cool! Can't wait!"
She gave me one last tight squeeze before finally letting go of me and retreating back behind her counter once again.
"Just let me know if you need anything else between now and then."
"Will do!"
I promised, stepping away from the display window and heading for the door again.
"It was nice seeing you guys!"
"Thank you for breakfast!"
Dr. Huxley called after us as we left the shop, his voice strangely warm despite the way he'd been glaring at me just a moment earlier.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it!"
Sarah replied cheerfully, giving him a small wave before turning back toward me once again.
"So how soon can we expect our first appointment?" she asked playfully.
Dr. Huxley let out an exaggerated scoff from somewhere behind us (though when I glanced over my shoulder at him, I noticed that he was smiling).
Chapter 4