𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

Make It Awkward

I’m taken into a bright, sterile room by a veterinary nurse—a calm, no-nonsense woman wearing scrubs patterned with cartoon animals. Her voice is soft, her movements efficient, but I don’t trust her. The air smells too clean, too sharp, like something bad is about to happen.

She sets me down on a cool metal table, her hands gentle but firm. I try to squirm away, but she holds me in place with practiced ease. My ears flatten against my head. This is not how I imagined today going.

The health check begins.

First, she checks my ears, gently flipping them inside out and peering into the tiny canals with a tool that shines an impossibly bright light. I flinch, but she hums something soothing under her breath. It doesn’t help.

Next, her fingers glide over my body, pressing and prodding like she’s trying to map out every bone and muscle. My matted fur is no match for her determination as she inspects every inch of me. She checks my paws, spreading my tiny toes to examine the pads and claws. When she opens my mouth to inspect my teeth, I instinctively let out a low growl that doesn’t sound nearly as intimidating as I’d hoped.

“Feisty little one,” she mutters, jotting something down on a clipboard.

Then comes the stethoscope. She presses the cold disk against my chest, listening intently to my heartbeat. I freeze, unsure whether to be annoyed or terrified.

Finally, she shines another light into my eyes and nose, her face close to mine as she murmurs observations to herself.

When it’s over, she lifts me off the table and cradles me against her chest like a baby. I hate how easily she manages it, despite my attempts to wriggle free. My pride takes another hit.

And then we’re off—to the bath.

---

The bathing area is warm, tiled, and faintly humid. The nurse places me in a small tub already half-filled with water. I freeze, my instincts screaming danger.

A second nurse joins her, armed with a sprayer and a collection of bottles. The first splash of water hits me, and I let out a screech that echoes through the room.

“Easy now,” one of them coos, but I am anything but easy. My claws shoot out, scrabbling against the slippery sides of the tub. It’s no use.

They work quickly, wetting my fur until it clings to my tiny frame, making me look like a drowned rat. The shampoo comes next—a thick, fragrant lather they work into my coat with their hands.

Their hands!

It’s uncomfortable in every possible way. Their fingers knead into places I didn’t even know could feel weird—my belly, my tail, under my chin. I feel like a rag doll, flipped and turned as they rinse me off, their voices annoyingly calm as they try to reassure me.

The water feels too warm, the scrubbing too thorough. My fur clumps awkwardly, my dignity shrinking with every passing second. I’m not used to being touched like this, especially not by strangers.

When they finally rinse off the last of the soap, I’m unceremoniously wrapped in a fluffy towel. The rubbing begins again, this time to dry me off. I’m too exhausted to resist, my body limp in their hands as they pat me dry.

By the time they’re done, I look like a puffball, my fur fluffed out in every direction.

“Well, don’t you look handsome now,” one of them says with a smile, holding me up like I’m some sort of prize.

Handsome? No. Traumatized? Absolutely.

I glare at them as best I can, but they seem unfazed. One of the nurses carries me back to the man, who’s waiting patiently in his wheelchair. His lips twitch in amusement as he takes in my new, ridiculous appearance.

If he laughs, I swear I’ll claw his expensive suit.

“She’s all clean,” the nurse announces, passing a folder of papers to the man. Her tone is professional, but there’s a hint of satisfaction, like she’s just completed some great feat. Considering the ordeal I’ve been through, she probably feels she has. “Do you want me to put her in a carrier?” she asks, nodding toward one of those dreaded little boxes designed to trap cats like me.

The man shakes his head, extending his arms. “No, that’s alright.”

Before I can protest—or escape—he scoops me up, holding me securely in his lap. I feel like some oversized plush toy, passed around and cuddled at whim. It’s not as fun as one might think. Honestly, I’d prefer to crawl into a soft bed and sleep off this humiliation, but life in a cat’s body isn’t exactly brimming with options.

As the car glides smoothly away from the clinic, I settle into the stranger’s lap, trying not to squirm too much. The hum of the engine is oddly soothing, and for a brief moment, I consider giving in to the lull of comfort.

“So, you’re a girl,” the man says, his voice breaking the silence.

My ears twitch at his words. For a split second, I think he’s addressing me like some cryptic riddle. Then it clicks—he means my gender. I let out a lazy meow in response, a sound that’s halfway between “yes” and “what’s it to you?”

His lips quirk up slightly, but he doesn’t say anything more, his focus shifting back to the passing scenery outside the tinted windows.

I, on the other hand, am trying to reengage my brain. This whole day—this whole life—isn’t supposed to be about spa treatments and gourmet duck. I have a mission, and I need to lock back in.

Finding the main leads is priority number one. Without them, there’s no way I’ll ever manage to stop Ulso’s reign of chaos or convince Layza to take up the chieftain’s mantle. Of course, how I’m going to do any of that while stuck in this fluffy, useless body is still a mystery. But hey, one step at a time.

The man absentmindedly strokes my fur as the car rolls smoothly along. His touch is firm but oddly careful, like he’s not used to handling fragile things. I glance up at him, wondering if he might unknowingly be a lead himself. He doesn’t have the vibe, though. Too detached, too calculating. And yet, something about him feels significant—like the universe planted him here just to mess with me.

For now, I’ll let him think I’m just a lost, ordinary kitten. It’s not like I have any other cards to play. But as I stare out the window at the unfamiliar streets, my resolve hardens. This world may be strange, and my circumstances absurd, but I’ve faced worse odds before.

Time to focus, find the leads, and start unraveling this mess—one clawed step at a time.

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