Body Count

By Angelique Fawns

MONDAY MAY 1 – 4:00pm - BODY COUNT

One mouse
Two centipedes
Four spiders

If I could only break out of this stupid little house, there are so many other things I could kill. Birds, rats, voles, bunnies— I lick my feline fangs thinking about a fat rabbit. It’s been a frustrating night of hunting. When I was human, I used to hunt for women. Before this stupid curse that is. I’ll figure out how to get my man bod back after I escape.

The mouse is too small to bother eating, so I pick it up and drop it into Karen’s shoe. The dead rodent wedges nicely in the toe.

 It’s been two weeks since I put the moves on Karen at that chick-filled bar. Wish I’d taken a closer look at her footwear before I picked her up. Black as tar, short heels, and a big silver buckle on the front. Like that doesn’t scream ‘witch’ right? But I was drooling over her rocking bod in that tight gothic dress. With just the right amount of peek-a-boo lace.

Meow.

I grabbed a hold of her plump butt, and she whispered in my ear, “Converto Cattus.”

Next thing I knew I could see in the dark and I’d dropped my beer.

Alcohol abuse, am I right? But cats don’t have hands. That sucks. What did feel great were my joints. All my forty-year-old aches and pains immediately disappeared. I felt fierce, fine, and furry. Until her long, purple-painted nails scooped me up into her purse/cat carrier.

 First thing Karen did after muttering that dang spell was take me to the vet.

My mouth went pasty, and I shed cat hair like my hairline. Terrified they were going to take my family jewels.  

Thankfully it was just a needle or two and we were outta there. I’m so traumatized at the memory, that I curl up for a long nap on the comfiest chair. There is a big wingback by the fireplace with a dent in the seat. Fits me perfect. Maybe an escape plan will come to me in a dream? I’m almost asleep when I hear it, “Doug! What did you put in my shoe? Gross!”

Like a dang Cheshire Cat, I grin.

TUESDAY MAY 2 – 8:00 am - BODY COUNT

One Hummingbird
Two crickets
Eight flies

I’ve been stealthily working on making a hole in the window screen that overlooks the back door.

Nip with the teeth. Knead with a claw. Repeat.

I spend a lot of time at this window. It’s hours of fun teasing Buster, the neighbor’s fat labrador when he lifts his leg on the fence. Every time he goes to pee, I yowl. It’s hilarious.

From my vantage point, I can also see Karen with her little clippers pruning a plant. She gives the dog’s owner a friendly wave and I hear her say, “Hey Morty, beautiful day, isn’t it?”

The muscle-bound oaf rubs his shaved head and grunts back. Has Karen not noticed the little Swastika tattoo peeking out from the wife-beater tank top? Or his beady, greedy eyes? I flick my tail in disgust. Morty stares at Karen like she’s dinner. Especially when she’s bent over in her garden in her favorite shorts. Speaking of the garden—

Karen also has a cute sugar water feeder for the hummingbirds. It’s mesmerizing watching the tiny creature’s wings flap a million miles a minute. This little gold and green number gets too close to the window and BINGO! I snag it with my claws.

I’m about to drag it through the screen when I remember how Karen giggles when they dart around the flowers. She’s naïve, and I’m angry at her for turning me into a cat. But I don’t want to see tears in those gorgeous green eyes. So, I let it go.

Before she CONVERTO CATTUS’d me, I used to have a different definition for body count. That’s right. I counted how many chicks I could bang in a week. Don’t get me wrong, it was all consensual. Some women like a no-strings night of fun just as much as a guy. They knew I was there for a good time and not a long time. Not that this is something I’m proud of.

Karen’s just not that kind of girl.

I misjudged her and now I’m condemned to using a litter box instead of a flush toilet. The little conveniences of having hands that I never truly appreciated.

I can’t complain about the food, Karen makes us nice fish dinners. Yum. She also tells me stories about her childhood in the nature commune and how she came to witching. Surprisingly, she's got a good soul, my captor.

I still wish I’d picked a different butt to slap that night at the bar. I gotta get out of here.

My screen escape hole is enlarging nicely when I see Karen stand up from her herb garden. She has a little baggie in her hand and is heading for the back door. Moving faster than I could as a teenager when my dad came after me with his belt, I jump off the ledge and pretend to be drinking some water.

She bounces in, smelling like fresh air, and closes the door quickly behind her.

DANG, I should have made a run for the door! An opportunity to escape wasted. I yowl and spit.

Karen kicks off her rubber boots. “Now Doug, there’s no need for that kind of racket.”

She picks me up and strokes my back. The lady has great hands, I’ll give her that. I can’t help it, I purr.

Even better, she dumps some of the green stuff from the bag on the floor and my whiskers tingle. CAT NIP.

I bury my nose in it. Do I ever feeeeel good. I roll in it, purring like a backhoe engine. This stuff is mint. Better than the cigarettes I used to puff on after a good score.

Karen is reading the newspaper at the table with her morning coffee, so I hop up and lay on it.

She laughs. “Doug, how am I supposed to read?”

I stretch out and cover the entire thing.

Tickling my chin, she tells me another one of her stories. “We were protected in the witch commune from how women can be objectified. Deep in the forest, we learned how to grow herbs and wield spells. There were no warlocks, so I find it hard to relate to men sometimes.”

Tilting my head —so she can get that itchy spot under my ear— I can empathize with her. I have the opposite issue relating to women. My Ma left us when I was just eight years old. She tried to take me with her, but Pop threatened to kill her. Pop was kind of a rough fellow; he liked his brews and his buds. He was also quick with a backhand across the face. I was only eleven when he bought me my first dirt bike and plastered it with sexy stickers of women in bikinis. I thought it was cool at the time. But was that when I learned to objectify women?

I stretch up to give her cheek an affection lick, but then I remember she trapped me in this cat body. Instead, I give her fingers a nip and scurry down the hall.

Stalking to the bedroom, a great weariness overcomes me. I hop onto her favorite pillow. It takes three turns to get comfy, and I shake to shed maximum fur before I curl into a ball. Here’s to hoping Karen gets a mouthful of hair when she goes to bed.

WEDNESDAY MAY 3 – 8:00 am - BODY COUNT

One dehydrated celery stick
Three hair scrunchies
Two ladybugs

It didn’t take me long to adjust to a nocturnal schedule. Stalk all night and sleep all day. Even when I was a man, I was kind of a night owl. Working as a mechanic paid the bills, but what I really enjoyed was night clubbing. I miss it. I gotta get out of here. Being an alley cat would be much better than being a freakin house cat.

I found the scrunchies in the bathroom. You’d think those ugly bits of crimped material went out in the eighties, but no. They’re everywhere now, a Friday night fashion accessory. I hated them as a man, but as a cat? They’re fun to slice open and pull out the elastic.

This time, when Karen comes in from her morning gardening, I’m ready. Moving like I used to avoid Pop’s baseball bat, I hightail out the door before Karen can slam it shut. Just barely. I think I lost a few tail hairs.

Karen says, “Doug, you get back here, you bad kitty!”

No way, lady. I’m running free. Through the yard, loving the feel of mud squelching in my paws as dirt flies and gets stuck in my coat. I make a hard left onto the sidewalk and head toward downtown. Maybe I can find another witch at The Broomstick & Barrel willing to turn me back into a man? If not, I can’t wait to go after some of those dumpster rats.

JAYSUS! What the hell is that? The fat yellow lab dog is loose in his front yard and heads straight for me. Morty smiles from the porch, sucking on a soggy cigar, and doesn’t call Buster back. In fact, the guy looks like he’d love some popcorn.

“Bow wow wow wow,” Buster yodels.

I don’t speak dog, but I think he’s telling me off for teasing him through the window.

Who knew the flea monster could run so fast? He’s on top of me in seconds and his jaws snap on my back.

I gag as I’m hoisted up in the beast’s wet mouth. The appalling smell of canned dog food mixes with tooth decay. Dull teeth put pressure on my neck.

Dang, he’s got a good grip. Buster shakes me like I’m a stick at the dog park, back and forth, back and forth— until my brain is rattled like a cobra tail.

Karen catches up, her rubber gardening boots still on her feet. "Let him go!” She points a trowel at the dog. “Dolor Canis Maledictio!”

The dog drops me and sprints back up onto his porch, crying like I used to after a whipping from Pa. Not going to lie, I’m dang relieved Karen got out here as fast as she did. A few more seconds and I might have been as dead as that mouse I caught on Monday.

Morty points a finger at Karen. “You’re going to regret that, you witch.”

Karen draws her spine up and snaps right back, “Keep your mongrel away from my cat. Or else.”

Morty blinks and stalks back to his bungalow, which badly needs some paint in my opinion. Buster follows, his tail firmly between his legs.

Karen scoops me up for a hug. “Poor Doug, are you alright?” Not going to lie, I feel pretty shaken up. But not so badly that I can’t appreciate her soft chest.

I’m feeling less love when she marches me right over to the kitchen sink for a bath.

“Silly Doug, running through all that mud. Can’t have you traipsing it all over the house can we?”  She says as she scrubs me with a sponge.

It’s not as bad as that visit to the vet. But close.

To add insult to injury, she plops me down on my favorite chair on a towel for a lecture.

“Doug, you can’t be roaming the streets by yourself. You’re only two weeks old as a cat! You’ve got so much to learn.”

I give her a pathetic meow as I shiver on the towel.

She takes a little clay pot out of the cupboard and sprinkles some white powder on the insides of the front and back doors. “Nullus Introitus.” Her voice echoes ominously through the small room.

When she is performing a spell, her eyes flash, and her dark hair frizzes like she’s had a shock. My shivering increases. What has she done now?

Karen gives my head a pat as I settle into a tight ball. “Look Dougie, I can only have one protection spell on my porches at a time. We are either keeping bad people out or keeping mischievous kitties in. I’m getting quite attached to you, I’d never have forgiven myself if that rotten dog hurt you.”

I’m too exhausted to think about what this means. What bad things was she keeping out? Instead, I purr as sleep settles over my exhausted body. The lady likes me. I might be getting attached to Karen as well. Just a little.

THURSDAY MAY 4 – BODY COUNT

None.

I’m not hunting inside tonight!!! The hole in the screen is finally big enough to fit my sleek body through. For a second, I pause— is Karen’s spell just on the porches? Or also on the windows? I lick my whiskers. Only one way to find out. With a flick of my tail and wiggle of my butt, I launch through the hole. Success! I land in the backyard, the evening grass dew dampening my paws, and look up at the moon. It’s full and gorgeous. I feel fantastic. When I was a man, I’d be exhausted after a day of working on cars. This life of napping all day has benefits.

Being a cat is sort of cool. Like how I can jump ten times my height. I measure the distance to top of the fence and leap up like a superhero. The night air fills my lungs with possibilities and excitement. Am I going to take down a plump rat? Maybe catch a crow? What about exploring the dumpsters behind the fancy restaurants downtown?

I shiver with delight and hop down off the fence into Morty’s back yard. I’m about to hightail out to the main road when my sensitive ears catch a creak. Like a door that needs to be oiled.

Morty is creeping out his back door!!!

He’s dressed head-to-toe in black with a rope and some duct tape in one hand, and a slender metal pick in the other. He even has a black bandana over his bald white skull. Thankful for my own black colouring, I freeze in the weeds.

Morty’s heading straight for me and panic ices my guts. For a second, I think he’s going to stomp on me with his army surplus boots, but instead, he flings himself over the fence into our yard.

A low hiss vibrates my throat. This isn’t good. There’s a hole in the wood fence and I push my eye up to it. I’m doubly appreciative of my feline vision.

I see Morty jimmy open our back door and disappear into the house. Poop! Karen changed that porch protection spell. Maybe this wasn’t the first time the lowlife neighbor had tried to get in. I growl and pin my ears. This was my one chance at escape. But there is no way I’m letting anyone hurt Karen. After just the most infinitesimal hesitation, I fling myself back over the fence and follow Morty into the house.

Karen’s bedroom is only a few steps from the backdoor, and Morty’s hulking form has her pinned to the bed. He’s already got tape over Karen’s mouth, and is straddling her, easily twice her size. His rope is twisted like a snake on a floor.

If Karen can’t speak, then she can’t recite a spell to save herself.

Maybe I wasn’t the bravest man, but I am a wicked cat. I fly at Morty and land on his back. My claws sink through the cotton of his black turtleneck and tear into his skin.

“What the—”

He rears off Karen, and turns, swinging one meaty fist. I easily dodge it and jump onto one of the bed posts.

I’m planning to launch myself at his eyes, when Karen rolls of the bed and pulls the tape off her mouth. She stifles a sob, catches my eye, and something passes between us. An understanding. We are on the same side. A team.

Her voice is shaky on the first word but then roars out the last. “Converto Rattus!”

Morty’s second punch falls short as he instantly becomes a rat. An ugly, bald, rat. I leap after him, but he squeals and disappears into a hole in the wall before I can reach him.

Karen throws on a housecoat, picks me up, and hugs me. “Doug, you saved me. Thank you so much.” Tears slide down her face. More from shock than anything else. A few salty drops land on my head, but they don’t bother me.

She carries me out to the living room and puts me back on my favorite chair.

After a kiss on my head she says, “Converto Vir.” She sits down on the couch, her eyes luminous.

The chair that was comfortable just a second ago, feels too tight. Because I’m not a cat curled up on a cushion anymore, I’m a grown man wedged in an awkward ball. I tumble off the chair, stand up, and cover my nudity with my hands.

“Karen! You transformed me back.”

She gives me the sideways grin I’ve come to love and tosses me a quilt with a moon pattern from the couch.

“You’ve earned your freedom.” She frowns, the little number eleven creasing her beautiful forehead. “I’m going to miss you.”

I wrap the quilt tighter around me, sit back down on the chair, and wince as my knees scream in protest. “So, I’m free?”

Karen nods, her eyes welling up again.

I chew on my lip. “I’m free to go back to working sixty hours a week at the mechanics, eat microwave dinners, and troll the bars hoping to meet another woman as excellent as you?”

She wipes a lone tear off her cheek and laughs. “Sounds about right.”

Sitting there, I notice my ulcer acting up, a pain in my hip, and a sense of dread going back to the grind. Being a cat is an excellent life.

I flick my tail, which I don’t have anymore, and instead end up wiggling awkwardly. “So. What if I liked being your cat.”

Her lips tremble. “What?”

I shrug. “You know. Maybe being a cat wasn’t so bad. You make a tasty salmon dinner, and I don’t miss working.”

She’s gone stock still. “You want me to change you back?” Her voice goes up an octave on the last word.

I nod slowly. “On one condition. You let me go outside. You know? I’ll keep close to the house and learn the cat thing responsibly.” A chuckle escapes me. “No worries, I’ll treat all the lady kitties with respect. I’ve learned my lesson.”

Karen joins in with my laughter. “I think that’s a reasonable deal.” She raises her hands above her head. “Converto Cattus.”

In an instant, I feel feline, fierce, and fabulous again. Not to mention exhausted. With two quick leaps, I’m curled up on Karen’s lap and purring.

She strokes my head and says, “We will call animal control to pick up Buster tomorrow.”

In a moment, both of us are snoring on the couch, ignorant of the beady eyes of the rat watching us from a tiny hole in the wall.

FRIDAY MAY 5 – 8:00am - BODY COUNT

One bald rat.

With his fat, slightly smelly body in my mouth, I saunter over to the shoe rack. There are a few pairs there, but I pick my favorites. The ones that are black as tar, with short heels, and a big silver buckle on the front. The dead rodent is too big to wedge in the toe, but I manage to cram it in.

Then I curl back up on my favorite chair and wait.

When Karen gets up, she gives me a kiss on the head. “I’m going to go out and get your favorite tuna.”

She walks over to the front door and then I hear it. “Doug! What did you put in my shoe? Gross!”

Like a dang Cheshire Cat, I grin.