When I need a pick-me-up, I go over to Mistress Sybil’s place. It’s a little treat for me. Instead of knocking, I’ll put my nails to the wood and scratch at her door. She lets me in with a sly smile.
It doesn’t take much for me to become a cat. She wraps my hands so that I can’t use my fingers and thumbs. Pointy ears go on the head. And then I’m off. She’s so used to this by now that she’ll barely take any notice of me from then on. Unless she’s checking that I’m not destroying her apartment.
Which, of course, I might be.
Just kidding. There’s very important business to be done. I investigate my surroundings. I investigate my new body. It’s wild how different everything looks from a different eye level. It’s wild how limited we are are by how our bodies are supposed to move, that just getting on all fours could open up such new ways of thinking and being.
I am trying to climb onto a shelf in her closet when she grabs me by the scruff of my neck. “Get out of there!” Strategically I back off. No use fighting something that doesn’t matter.
Then, I discover it in a pile of laundry. A skirt. Short, pleated, black with a floral design. I know immediately that this is it. We hadn’t discussed this beforehand, so I have to check in.
“Hey, is it okay if I destroy this skirt?”
“Why?” She’s confused.
“Because its life is over.”
“Well, I guess it’s fine,” she offers.
I’m delighted. I bring the skirt to a secluded part of the room. After pawing it a few times I begin to dig my teeth into it while pressing down with my paws. It takes a few tries, but finally I strike gold. I hear a delightful riiiiip. The skirt has given way.
“You tore it??”
A strip of fabric dangling from my mouth. Sybil’s shocked, a little upset. She didn’t realize how she’d feel about it until it happened. I’ve thought back on this moment so many times, each time with more pleasure. Yes, I tore it. I found something I wanted to destroy, and I destroyed it.