Upon Wings Of Change

Chapter 4

I shook myself once more and eyed up the table from the tray of sand. If I could get up there, then I would be halfway to that window. I walked to the edge of the tray and bobbed my head a bit as I examined the distance. I gathered myself in a crouch as I arched my wings over my back. This will either work out or fail miserably. This reminds me of those all or nothing scholarship tests I had to do during the application. At least I aced those tests.

With one more quick pep-talk to gather my courage, I jumped forward and up as I slashed my wings through the air. I quickly followed the first wingbeat with a second, somehow instinctively knowing how to tuck my wings in as I pulled them back up. I was picking up some serious speed and height even with just two wingbeats.

Several wingbeats later, I was above the table. I fanned my wings while holding out my arms and legs before back-winging. My tail twisted and dropped down to help stall out my flight. It was a good thing my long neck was flexible; it allowed me to lift my head and watch my feet while I attempted my landing.

My claws hit the metal and squealed slightly as I slid forward a bit from my landing speed. That had gone much better than I had expected, mostly because my body seemed to know what it was doing. I was just trying to catch up.

I took a deep breath and folded my wings gently. They were trembling slightly from the effort that the short flight had taken me. I was also breathing somewhat hard. I quickly realized that it would take some time to build up muscle and endurance in order to attempt any kind of an escape. I couldn't exactly escape if I could barely fly up to a table top.

I watched the man out of the corner of my eye as he furiously put his pen to work. My wings needed some time to recover, so I examined the table since I was up here. The second man had taken the glass cage away when he left, and I cautiously approached some other objects on the table. I walked as if I were on slippery ice to avoid falling down.

It was mostly common supplies that were found on the counters of most veterinarian examination rooms; stethoscope, popsicle sticks, and a few other odds and ends. The measuring devices had been taken away with the second man.

What would a cat do in this situation? If I ever made a wish to have a cat's life in the past, it just came true... I guess I should have been more careful what I was wishing for. I stretched my head out to gently nip at a popsicle stick.

I grabbed it with my teeth and yanked it up so that it came out of the jar. I dropped it on the table to bat at it with my hands. It slid very nicely on the metal table. A playful hop and a few bats later, I craned my head down to examine the stick that now resided on the floor below. Going down was far too much like work.

I turned back, feeling oddly playful. What other kinds of mischief can I get up to? Minutes later, another dozen popsicle sticks adorned the floor. It was a good thing that the holder was plastic; it had actually rolled off of the table on its own accord. The fact that I knocked it on its side and gave it a gentle push had nothing to do with it, of course.

Some cotton balls were littered on the table, but they had a bad habit of getting stuck on my claws and teeth, so I used my tail to swat most of them off of the table.

I tentatively tapped a soft foam block with my hand. It was about half my size, and I had no idea why it was up here. I tried to jump on top of it, but it was soft enough that it just collapsed beneath my feet and rolled me to the side.

I playfully reared up on my hind legs while flaring my wings behind me before hopping on it once more. This time when it rolled to the side I hung onto it. I held it with my front hands while I tried to rake the block with my hind claws.