Romy the Partial-Cat

Little pleases me more than a little change of routine. It's something that I believe we all need every once in a while. It's like a proverbial smack in the face; the good kind that gets us up off our arses and back into the game of life. I like to make it from one morning to the next knowing that what I intend to do today in no way resembles what I did yesterday. A little bit of off-the-cuff flightiness can go a long way. Without it, we are no more diverse in our activities, if less so, than your average house cat! And I'm no cat. I, dear reader... am only partially a cat.

Now, being a partial-cat (simply known to the people of the world I have so recently begun to inhabit as 'Feline') isn't so different from being a human, but when one morning I woke up sporting a tail and found myself covered in a thick, reddish fur, I was admittedly a little overwhelmed. "With what?", you may be wondering? Not an unreasonable question. What is the first thought a girl generally has upon realising she's a cat? Well, I'm not saying it's the same for everyone, but my circumstances didn't exactly leave room for worrying solely about my new feline form, though that was something of a concern. The room that appeared before me as I opened my eyes was completely unrecognisable. I had never been here before, and if I'm being completely honest, that bothered me more than the fact that I had fur. Before I had a chance to follow my first instinct, which was to head straight for the bathroom and shave everything, I had to ask myself one question... Where was my bathroom? Or more importantly, where was I?

So what do I do? I asked myself. There was bound to be someone who could explain what was going on.

"Hello?" I called out, climbing hesitantly and, to my admittedly pleasant surprise, nimbly, out of bed. It was at this point that I realised it had no mattress; just some wooden beams covered in... What was that stuff? Animal fur? Trying not to think about it, I called out again. "Anyone home?"

No response. Either my housemate was deaf, dead, asleep, non-existent, or a jerk. A brief search of the premises led me believe that 'non-existent' was correct, and so I decided I'd better not waste any more time worrying inside this strange little house. I made my way to what I assumed was the front door so I could worry outside instead.

And worry I did. Where was the slick, concrete pavement? The hideous industrial architecture? The cars? This was not right. But it was real. I'm not an idiot; I know a dream when I'm in one. None of this 'pinch me, I must be dreaming' namby pamby. No... My inexplicably medieval surroundings were as real as the stomach that had found its way into my throat. I just couldn't explain them.

The street before me was dotted with strangers, all dressed in peculiar garb to match the setting. I approached the friendliest-looking and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Yes, dear?" She said, turning slowly on her rickety legs to face me. She was an old, frail-looking lady, but with a sincere smile and an aura more welcoming than anything I'd experienced that morning. I wanted to hold onto her like a stubborn child and not let go, but I kept my cool and explained my situation.

"I've just woken up to find myself in a strange room - a room held up, it appears, by wooden beams and some kind of a mud wall. Though that might not seem strange to you," I remarked, remembering that I had apparently landed myself in the middle ages where mud walls were mud walls, not the wall choice of a quirky house owner who just likes to be different. "Also, look," I added, gesturing at my body. "I am a cat." This must have appeared weird to her. After all, she was not a cat. She was an old woman, whose breasts were for some reason of the same calibre as the pretty young women surrounding us. Weird.

"If you're looking for my husband," she croaked, "he'll be up at the forge. He's the best blacksmith in all of [Province], you know."

"Um. I'll bear that in mind, but for now I could really use some help. Where am I? Why am I a cat?"

"I run the inn here in [Town]. [Inn]; quality mead for the weary traveller!"

"Yes, but why am I a cat?"

"If you're looking for my husband, he'll be up at the forge-"

"You know what, forget it," I snapped, feeling only mildly guilty for being rude to such an old woman. "Maybe I will just ask your husband." And with that, I stormed off, not even sure that I was headed towards a forge.