The first time I see it, it's in my mother's eyes, watching me from a sky away. My siblings sit in the curve of her tail, a few whisker-lengths away. After regarding us for a moment, she leans down and opens her mouth.
She exhales a drift across my forehead. It's warm and smells distinctly of her. She looks down at us expectantly, ears tilting forward to indicate -
What?
My siblings and I exchange a glance. Then, with a bemused shuffle of her paws, my sister opens her own mouth. Our brother repeats the motion after a flicker of hesitation.
There is a polite moment as they glance at me.
My mother's eyes are soft and warm. I can tell she's asking me to try. So I do; I let my throat shift and my belly shiver, and open my mouth to exhale my own mew. I feel it vibrating on my tongue and blink, expecting to see the same quiet pride in my mother's eyes.
I see nothing.
I see my two siblings, huddled and grey, fidgeting with her tail. Her eyes have turned away from me.
My belly lurches. She glances back sharply and opens her mouth again.
This time, I think she's pleading.
Their eyes are like claws. My fur crawls across my skin. For the first time, my limbs feel too short and my muzzle too heavy. Nothing fits together; I feel like a mossball flung from paw to paw, slowly being picked apart.
My mother mews once more. I don't know what I'm doing wrong - I can mimic the motion almost perfectly. I dip my chin and open my mouth, shudder my breaths and let my throat muscles stir. But it's clear that there's something wrong; something my siblings are doing, that I'm not.
My confusion morphs into fright. It's not right. It's not right. Wide-eyed, I turn to my siblings, hoping their movements will hold some clue as to what I'm doing wrong.
Nothing. They stare at me, tails waving in sync, ears slanting forward curiously. It's this detail that catches me - our mother appears to be doing that, too. I swivel my own ears self-consciously.
All of a sudden, my sister starts to laugh.
