5 minute flash fiction
prompt: "the impossible is now possible"
The cat's name was Patches. She wasn't patched. She was solidly gray and nondescript and everyone who saw her and heard her name scrunched up their face, squinting as if maybe if they stared long enough, Patches would actually have patches. But she never did. She always remained unpatched and solidly gray.
Patches wasn't an old cat but she had begun to get back pains. They were an ache in the bones of her spine, then the muscles of her shoulders. This constant pain combined with her stupid name was driving her crazy. So the next time someone looked at her in disbelief and said, "Patches? Really?" the cat in question gave a very loud and annoyed yowl -- and then sprouted a pair of feathery wings. The heavy ache that had plagued her was lifted off her shoulders, quite literally. The person in front of her prompted wet themselves and stumbled away.
Patches craned her neck to admire her new appendages, flexing and preening, and realized that amid the dark gray of her wings were large patches of long silky white feathers. Patches now, finally, had patches.
