Not Quite Human Chapter 1 Have you ever been so

Not Quite Human
Chapter 1
Have you ever been so drunk that you can’t remember logging off of your PC and going to bed?
Last night was kind of like that.
The last thing I remember was talking to my best friend, Brad.
Not that I can remember what was said.
My dreams are interrupted by searing pain, though it was nothing like a hangover – it couldn’t be
a hangover – I haven’t had a drink in a good week.
Moreover, I don't feel sick or dizzy; my head isn't spinning; my brain doesn't feel swollen so it
definitely isn't a hangover but everything hurts.
My muscles feel as though I’d spent the whole night boxing, and my skin feels like I have shaved the
same spot until it was sore – only, all over.
I open a bleary eye and pick up my phone, lying next to the pillow as always.
My alarm hasn’t gone off yet – 8.30am on a Tuesday is early for me as I'm between jobs.
The notification bar shows the icon for a text. After a couple of attempts, I manage to sleepily get the
unlock pattern right and pull the notification tab down from the top of the screen.
It must be a bad day, even the touch screen feels less responsive than its usual state.
There are two texts from Brad time stamped for 10.37 and 11.03 last night.
Why was I asleep before 10.37? That’s really early for me – I don’t usually sleep until 1am.
First text:
Everything okay bro?
You sounded really rough when you dc’d.
Better not be dying on me, I’m meant to be coming over on Thursday ;)
Second text:
Guessing you’re asleep.
Rest up babes, nn ;)
Babes. I chuckle to myself. Typical Brad – I’ve known him for over ten years, even our parents joke
about us pretending to be two straight guys secretly in a “relationship”.
In fairness, roles reversed, I’d text the same thing.
A quick flick through social media shows that I haven’t missed much – an animal rights
campaigner friend has posted a news article from one of those sometimes-reliable websites about
people apparently waking up in bodies that were not their own.
Right, whatever. Like I’m going to believe that!
I deactivate the alarm before it goes off, put the phone down and roll onto my back.
I do this every morning, yet today I can’t get comfortable. It feels like there’s something digging in to
the base of my spine.
With a heavy sigh I think: Probably another spring gone in the mattress. Guess that’s my cue to get
up.
Strangely, even sitting up doesn’t help the discomfort - rather than digging, it feels more like
someone pulling on an arm – perhaps I’ve trapped a nerve.
I throw the duvet off to one side and shuffle forward, hanging my legs over the end of the bed, feet
resting on the floor. The ache in my spine eased a little.
Another sigh mixed with a yawn, rubbing my eyes, I ran my left hand through my hair. It must have
been a rough night’s sleep because it feels matted – almost hard at the sides and more extreme than
the usual 'pulled through a hedge' state.
Slipping on my dressing gown, opening the bedroom door and hobbling, still half asleep, down the
hall, tripping frequently over my own feet, until pushing open the door I managed to stumble into
the bathroom.
Eyes almost closed again – remembering I was up early after all – I throw the dressing gown over the
mirror, not caring that it wasn’t the clothes hook and locked the door.
Turning, I power on the shower and wait a moment for the water to reach a fair temperature instead
of the 'blue ice' or 'red lobster' you get when you step in too quick.
I pull a large towel off of the radiator underneath the mirror and place it on the floor in front of
the shower. Steam starting to rise, broiling out into the room, I step in.
Taking a shower is supposed to be a great way to wake up in the morning – unless your skin is
sore, and your muscles ache. Today’s discomfort was keeping me downtrodden and drowsy; all I
want to do is go back to bed and forget the world exists.
Running on auto, lathering shampoo into my hair and rinsing, I pause briefly to note the harder
clumps at the sides aren’t dispersing even with a little massage – what was stuck in there?
I found myself smiling – for some reason this feels... pleasant.
I choose to disregard the thought while still struggling to stay awake in favour of the hair needing a
trim – later.
My aching muscles are making me feel heavier as I wash, taking more effort to lift my arms, soap
taking longer to wash out. Slouching then leaning against the wall, I yawn.
I can’t help but enjoy the hot jet stream, trying to hold on to a contented feeling a moment longer,
not wanting to get out of the shower but knowing it would have to happen because other than
smelling pleasant, showers and job hunting aren't conducive.
I switch the water off and step out onto the towel.
After Groping around in a drawer by the sink for a second towel, I roughly towel dry my head and
shimmy it down my back and round to my chest; arms and legs then lastly my face.
Even on auto I can be fastidious – a goatee and piercings don't take care of themselves. Carefully, I
dry my goatee, pulling the hairs into a single, tidy point. I then work the towel around three rings in
my right ear lobe then change to the left, which is decorated with a single top ring and in the lobe, a
ten millimetre flesh tunnel.
I entertained the thought of adding more or maybe taking the tunnel up a notch and absently used
thumb and finger to feel the steel tunnel... that wasn't there!
I sigh. Nothing like losing a piercing in the shower to complete a morning, but I’m sure I’ll find it – it’s
big enough.
Dropping the towel onto the floor, opening my eyes and unsnagging the dressing gown from the
mirror, I throw my left arm into the sleeve, look up and freeze.
Stood perfectly still, not even breathing, like a rabbit in headlights, I stare at my reflection.
What... the fuck ... is that!?
Barely half aware of what I’m doing, I shrug my dressing gown on so that it falls loosely over my
shoulders and wave at the mirror.
The thing staring at me waves back.
I take a step closer to the mirror, running a hand down my face.
A cold sweat prickles down by back and my stomach knots.
Fur. I have fur. Yellow fur. Soft fur! And those hard things in my hair aren’t matted locks – they’re ears.
Round ears. My ears! I run my hands through my hair – the only thing about me that hasn’t changed.
Still the same thick locks, swept back.
I turn my head for a sideways look, lifting the upper lip of a muzzle, trying not to focus on the little
black button nose.
My teeth are longer. Can I call them fangs? What the fuck am I thinking? Canine fangs is what I'm
thinking. Or should that be feline? What the hell!
Now I see why I couldn’t feel my ear stretcher – it had grown out, leaving no trace in my new
earlobe other than a tiny nick and a ruffled patch of fur.
Raising my head a little, I can see that my goatee hasn't changed but my eyes- had been a blue-green.
Tracing the outline and brow with a finger, I can feel the feline shaped skull and see my now bright
green eyes staring back at me, the iris glowing slightly; the humanoid pupils just tiny pinpricks as I
focus.
With a massive gasp for air as my brain begins to register the held breath, I almost collapse back,
stumbling, foot catching in the gown, pulling it away from my body.
Panicking, I look down.
Instantly I regret it.
Steadying my breathing I take a long look. Much of my body is covered in that light yellow fur, except
for my chest, belly, inner thighs and underarms, where the fur is white.
My toes have changed. Not my whole foot, just...
I have four thick, furry toes.
I put the lid of the toilet seat down and sit, lifting one foot onto the opposite leg, so that I could
see the sole.
I have pads. Thick, leathery pads of skin on the balls of my feet, smaller ones on the ends of my toes
and tough, but less padded, skin on my heels.
Slowly my brain is somehow making sense of this. Wait – Makes sense? None of this makes sense!
I'm some sort of cat! But actually not a bad looking one – wait, what the hell?
I looked down between my legs.
My member was bigger – and still humanoid, which was a relief– but it wasn’t what had caught my
attention. Standing, I look behind myself, grabbing the twitching thing there, pulling it round before
me and wincing at the discomfort it caused.
“What the... Fuck?” I say aloud. I have a tail.
Not a thick, bushy tail but long and thin, covered in the same short fur covering my body – yellow on
the top side, the underside white at the base, tapering away. On the end was a tuft of fur, like an
upside-down tear drop, the same dark brown as my hair.
Swishing it from side to side, curling it in at will, still not really believing, I wonder when I would wake
up.
Being a bit of a binge drinker, I'd been left holding up a rounded belly and some extra weight.
Not, it seems, any more. Belly flat, chest puffed out, abs defined. I grin at the improvements I'd
always wanted in what would seem to be a weird, freaky, surreal and strange new world.
I try to think, to process the weirdness. I’m some sort of cat, with round ears and a skinny tail – ball
of fluff on the end. Short, yellow fur, thick hair.
The fuck cat fits that description?
Then it hit me.
A Lion!
A sudden realisation: What am I going to do?
I live with my mother and step-dad in a small, country town, predominantly occupied by people
fearful of change – not even high-speed internet could penetrate 'old traditional' here.
By trade I’m an IT technician, currently unemployed; something not made any easier by poor quality
internet - the world at my fingertips, with the slowest bandwidth – ever – but... the world.
How would people react to... me? Would I be able to go out again? Scratch that, how would my
parents react to this? Would I be able to stay here?
So many thoughts are whirring around inside my head, making it spin. I sit back down on the
toilet.
Don't panic, calm down, collect myself and get a grip. That’s what I usually do – it takes a lot to freak
me out and this... this is a lot! I’d completely changed and not in a way that most would consider
‘normal’.
Sounds in the room on the other side of the wall - Mum looking for something in her bedroom,
searching through piles of bags and things in the bottom of her wardrobe, muttering to herself.
It took a moment, but then I realised – I could hear her. These walls weren’t thin and I distinctly
remember not being able to hear outside of the bathroom – the quietest room in the house. Had my
hearing improved too? Will I be leaping tall buildings and dodging speeding bullets next?
Either way, mum was going to find out about this sooner or later. Mum, the sorter of problems.
I slowly sigh, my breath shaking. Sooner then, I guess.
Pulling the dressing gown around myself, albeit with some difficulty tucking my tail out of sight, I
unlock the door, step into the hall and walk towards my mother’s bedroom, the door ahead closed.
A deep breath in, I put my hand on the door handle and knock with the knuckle of my index finger.
“Hmm?”
“Erm – Can I come in?”
“Go for it.”
I open the bedroom door.