The Stray

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    Okay, I know I’m blowing off my survey, and I’m not really a furry anthromorph fan per se. But Dr. Otto’s drawing Cats and Dogs was so inspiring, I couldn’t help myself. Enjoy!

    The Stray

    From the files of "Dr." Terry Pughtick

    First off the bat, let me say this: I’m not really much of a pet person.

    Oh, sure, I like animals pretty much, and Mom, Dad, and I had two dogs and three cats when I was a boy. And I take care of my lab animals very well. But I find myself detatching from them. It’s kind of hard for me to test a new serum on a creature I’ve given a name, you know? And the things I work on… well, I’m definitely not a mean kid with ants and a magnifying glass at all, but if PETA ever found my place, they’d be back with torches and gasoline cans.

    Well, one night, I made an exception. It started when I was snoozing at my beachhouse/lab when I’d heard a big noise by the compost pile. Thinking it was raccoons, I grabbed my flashlight, threw my bathrobe on over my pajamas, and stepped out to shoo them away.

    Then I heard a dog growl and a cat meow, and lots of snarling, hissing, and biting. Big, messy fight. I swept the flashlight and shouted, "Who’s there?!" I heard something scurry off. Then it got a lot more quiet. Aiming the flashlight down, I saw they had made a total mess of things: vegetable and fruit peels and bones all over the place. Right nearby, though, was a curious sight…

    It was the cat, lying flat on its tummy.

    The poor thing had bites all over, had much calico fur scratched off, and generally looked like she’d wrestled with a chainsaw, or curled up to sleep in the radiator fan of Mom’s 1973 Pinto Squire wagon just like our Muffin did, rest in peace. Without a second thought I reached over to pick it up gently. She hissed a litle, but after speaking soft baby-talk ("Sh, sh, no, no, kitty-kins, big ol’ Terry’s gonna make you better-wetter"), she relaxed and let me put her hands under her.

    That’s when I finally noticed that the top of her head had pink fur.

    Curious, I took her into the TV room of my beach house, and laid her gently on the indoor/outdoor couch. "Be right back, Kitty-kins," I cooed. Then I zipped back to the lab and got my vet’s kit, flashlight, and some vet’s spray-plast: it’s an aerosol formula I’d developed sort of like Band-Aid-in-a-Can.

    After sanitizing all her wounds, washing her, soothing her, and patching her up, I saw that she’d live. There was a gash on her stomach that was especially bad, though, so I clamped it shut with a clip-on ring my Mom had left behind on her vacation here. Hopefully it would hold long enough for the spray-plast to do its stuff. Normally I’d have put her in a small cage with the other animals, but I was drowsy. And she sat there in my lap snoozing and purring. I didn’t want to disturb her. So I sat there, gently rubbing her back, scratching behind her ears, and whispering to her — and somewhere along the line, I drifted off to sleep myself.


    Very few things are more beautiful than the sunrise over the ocean. And as that big orange ball crept up over the sea, I slowly opened my crusty eyes. Normally I’d have shaved, gotten my coffee, and be getting my morning swim by now. I must’ve been really tired. I’d have to make up for it this afternoon…

    Then I realized the load on my lap had gotten noticeably heavier.

    I looked down. Draped across my thighs was the bare back of a smallish yet hourglass-figured woman. There were three major differences between her and your typical homo sapiens, though: (1) her pink hair, which didn’t look sprayed or dyed at all, (2) two big catlike ears on the top/back of her pate, and (3) a curving pink furry tail that led from twitching under my nose all the way to just above her bare bottom.

    Bare bottom?! Eek! I quickly fixed my focus to her head and face. She slept with her arms folded under her chin, and a contented smile on her face. Though I didn’t want to disturb her, I didn’t want her to catch cold, or me to catch any more embarassment. I wriggled out of the sleeves of my bathrobe, let it drop off my shoulders, and tried to figure out how to slip it out from between her stomach and my legs.

    Too late. Rustling, she sighed, stirred, yawned, put her clawed hands on the couch, pushed herself up on all fours, and let her whole body do a wavelike stretch with her side just inches from my nose. Then with a shrug, she turned about… and her cute eyes locked onto mine.

    "Meoooow!" she said cheerily. Then she leaned forward, wrapped her arms around my back and took hold of my upper arms with her long-clawed, velvet-soft fingers and palms. Purring, she gave my right cheek a lick with her sandpaper tongue, and pulled back to look at me, her nose an inch from mine.

    "Meow meow thank you meow much meow saving me!" she said. "Meow thought meow was my last life!"

    "You’re welcome," I said shakily but with a grin. "So you understand what I’m saying?"

    "Meow," she said, nodding.

    "Uh, aren’t you cold?"

    "Meow little."

    I handed her the robe, which she put on as she stood up to her five foot four inch height. She seemed sight, slender, even a bit scrawny. "Anymeow else live here?"

    "Uh, just me."

    She began to make her way toward the kitchen… and closer to the lab in the back. I realized that seeing other caged animals might not be a good idea. I cut her off. "Hey, hey," I said. "If you raided my compost pile, you must be really hungry… I can get you MUCH better stuff to eat, if you’d like."

    Her eyes grew wide. "MEOW! Meow like that MEOW much!" she said, clapping her hands together with glee.

    And we raided the kitchen. I went to the obvious and got a can of salmon, some shrimp chips, and a glass of milk. At first she tried to eat the fish right off the plate, but then when I introduced her to a wonderful invention called the fork, she took to it like a child that was given a new toy. After a glass of water, I asked her some questions. "So… where did you come from?"

    "Meow meow from buildings meow big land," she said, pointing west.

    "From town on the mainland?" She nodded. "Any others like you?"

    She turned her head sideways a little. "Like… meow?"

    "You know, like a cat, only… like a human, too, like me?"

    She stared at me warily for a silent minute. Then taking a breath, she stared back at her plate. "Meow have meow family. Meow meow small land like this one."

    "Small land?"

    "Water all meowround."

    "Oh, an island."

    "Meow leave family meow play." She narrowed her eyes. "Human like you point stick meow me, meow made big BOOM! Meow feel thorn in leg, meow go sleep."

    "Oh," I said softly.

    "Meow wake up, meow in big rumble box. Meow feel around, find meow side swing open. Meow fall hard on path meow black and hard! Meow hurt bad!"

    "Fell out of a truck?"

    She nodded. "Meow go… town? Meow town?"

    "Town to town…"

    "Meow become little cat meow hide, find things meow eat, drink, sleep…" And then she shuddered. "Meow chased by dog! Meow leave food behind, let it eat, but meow not want food. Meow want ME!"


    She shrugged. "Meow not know."

    I scratched my head. "Hey… you can become a little cat whenever you like?" She nodded. "And a catgirl like you are now, whenever you like?" She nodded again. I stared at her quizzicaly. "Why couldn’t you have turned into catgirl form and fought the dog then?"

    Scared, she shook her head no, trembling. "Meow meow dog can turn into doghuman," she mewed. "Meow like me, meow like dog. Meow would still meow bigger meow stronger than me!" She stared into her plate again, and I thought she was going to cry.

    "Well," I said tenatively, "you can stay here if you like, where it’s safe."

    She tilted her head at me. "Meow can?" I nodded. "Well… meowkay."

    Smiling, I took her empty plate and glass and put them in the sink to wash.

    Then I saw her head over to the lab. I left the sink, and tried to head her off, but she was too quick. There, she saw my laboratory, and the animals in the cages, and biochemistry stuff.

    "Meooow…" she said, fascinated. "What’s all this?"

    I decided to tell her the truth. "I’m a biochemist."

    She cocked her head to the side again. "Bi-meow-chemist?"

    "I like to make medicines and other stuff. Make good living things even better."

    "Oh? Like meow?"

    "Well, let me show you something." I walked over to a minifridge where I kept some finished serums. As I opened it, she peeked in, and saw the labeled canisters.

    "Meoooow!" she went with a big grin. "Pink drink! Yummy!"

    Quickly, I grabbed her wrist. "No! you don’t want to drink that!"

    She blinked. "Meow don’t?"

    I shook my head vigorously. "Medicine can do bad stuff if you take too much of it. My stuff, too."

    She pulled her hand back. "Meow sorry."

    "It’s OK. Let me show you what they can do." I pulled out a red can, popped it open, and measured a little bit into a glass. "Oops," I said, "I’d better take this off." And I removed my pajama top from my rotund body and put it on a counter. "Now watch this." I took the glass and chugged.

    She stared at me. "So what happens meow?"

    I held up a finger. "Wait…"

    My body gurgled. Then I felt a mild pain all around my skin as it got stretched. But slowly, steadily, my muscles began to expand a little. My forearms, biceps, triceps, and bulged out a little. Then it stopped. With a grin, I lifted up my arms and did a double bicep flex pose. Except for my gut, my bod looked more like Jean Claude Van Damme’s.

    "Meow!" she exclaimed, reaching forward and feeling my right upper arm.

    "Yup." I said with a grin. "Bigger and stronger. And guess what? If you’ll let me, I can give YOU a dose or two of that stuff."

    She pulled away and pointed at herself. "Me-ow?"

    I nodded. "You can be bigger and stronger than that dog-thing that attacked you last night." I gave a smile that probably looked nastier than I wanted, and held up a curled fist. "And you can dish it out instead of just taking it."

    She looked at my forearm, and the muscle all around it. Then she looked me in the eyes.

    She rapidly, vigourously shook her head no.

    "Meow not want meow hurt ANYbody," she mewed.

    My eyebrows shot up. "What?! Not even to protect yourself?"

    "Not even against meow who hurt me. Meow meow make me bad like them."

    "You don’t have to actually attack them… just flex a little, and make them think twice." She shook her head no. "Keep them at arms length…" She turned away. I put my hands on my hips. "Well, what about your family? Would you rather they never see you again because you wouldn’t fight to stay alive?"

    "Meow not want meow talk about it meow more," she insisted, rushing out of the lab into the kitchen, and turning into the bedroom.

    I shook my head. So much for animal instinct. I’m glad to see this specimen had a moral code, but how many raps to the pink haired head did she need? I followed her in. She’d poked her head into my closet. Then she stopped and stood still for a few seconds. "Meow?"

    Slowly she pulled herself out. And in her right hand, she pulled out a hanger. On it dangled a big swimsuit. She arched an eyebrow. "Meow?"

    I shrugged. "It belongs to my mother. She left it behind."

    She stared at it, unsure. Then a sneaky idea popped up in my cranium. "Hey, want to try it on?"

    She looked at it. Then she spread it over her robed bod to check the size. "Meow sure?"


    She thought for a second, then nodded. "Meowkay!" And I closed the door to give us both some privacy.

    "Hey, how about another glass of milk?" I called.

    "Meow sounds good!" she called back.

    Fetching the opened canister of strength serum, I poured the rest of it into a glass. Then I topped it off with fresh milk, and stirred it thoroughly. Heh. I poured myself a glass of straight moo juice, too.

    I knocked at the door. "You decent?"

    "Just meow minute…"

    And then she came out. The swimsuit was kinda loose and baggy off her, but that was okay. She smiled. "Just like meow billboards."

    I chuckled. "Want that milk now?" Nodding yes, she took the doctored drink and grabbed a big mouthful readily. But stopping short, she didn’t swallow. Instead, she rolled her eyes up, as if in thought.

    Then her left cheek bulged out where her tongue poked into it. Then her right.

    She then looked at me in the eyes, and her brows slanted down in anger. PFHEWFEWPBH! She spewed the doctored milk right back into my face.

    "Meow want PURE milk!" she snapped. "Meow meow no more meowing medicines in it!"

    "Look, I’m sorry–"

    "Meow try meow trick me! Meow think meow bad human like man meow loud stick!"

    "No, I’m not!"

    "Meow think so." And she scampered into the lab again, went to all the cages, and started to throw the doors open.

    "What are you doing!?" I shrieked, as the birds and mice ran out.

    "Meow! Run away! Meow free!"

    I slammed the cages shut. "What are you thinking?! These animals can’t find food here! There’s nothing on this island they normally eat! They’ll starve!"

    I stepped toward her. Then she dropped to the floor. Now in housecat form again, with the bikini dangling on her, she scampered to a hole in the floor, and dove down into the crawlspace under the house. I stomped over there, and not thinking straight, I reached down into the hole… ow! She batted at my hand with her paw, nicking it with a claw. Nothing worse than touching a cactus, but still, the fact she tried…!

    "I’ve probably lost years of research, thanks to you!" I shouted down there. "That’s some thank-you for saving your life!"

    Then I heard someone knocking at the front door. Who else could it be now? "Hold on, " I called out. "Lemme throw on a shirt." And after wiping off my face’s spitbath, I tossed on my "I, Drumbot" T-shirt, which was now tighter than when I’d bought it at the Consortium of Genius concert in New Orleans a couple years back.

    More hoping than trusting that Kitty-kins would stay out of sight, I swung open the front door. On the porch was an athletically built, incredibly big-busted policewoman with a light blue uniform shirt, navy blue skirt with gold stripes down the side, and a dark blue brimmed officer’s hat atop chestnut brown hair streaming down her back. At six feet tall, she stood about four inches taller than me.

    "Excuse me, sir," she asked. "Are you the man of the house?"

    I looked around as casually as I could fake it. "I hope so. Deed’s in my name, and I’m the only man around."

    She nodded. "Officer Shoond, State Shore Patrol. I had gotten reports of a stray cat running up here."

    I arched an eyebrow. "A what?"

    "Cat. Very unusual one. Pink fur on top of its head, about yea large. Last sighting near this region, and we’d found paw prints headed this way."

    I leaned on the door jamb. "Since when would a shore patrolwoman do a dogcatcher’s job?"

    She grimaced at that. "We’re assisting Animal Control on this one. Word is it may be carrying a serious bloodborne pathogen similar to the avian bird flu that’s been plaguing Southeast Asia recently."

    "Oh, really? I hadn’t heard that or seen any notices on the web."

    "Yes, well, Animal Control wanted us to help keep it quiet to avoid raising an unneeded panic." I nodded. "We were wondering if you’d spotted this feline, recently, or any signs that one’s been around."

    I looked her over casually. She was quite the muscular babe. But something about her didn’t strike me right. Her hair cascading down her back didn’t seem quite regulation; I figured she’d have worn it up.

    I eyed the gold name plate over patch above her breast pocket: "Dot Shoond." Strange name. And above it was a navy blue patch with a gold lighthouse and a white olive wreath on the edges.

    "Uh, sir?" Officer Shoond said, sounding a little annoyed. Must’ve thought I was ogling her. I whipped up my head. Her hat had the same style patch right in the center.

    "Oh, sorry," I said. "Just got distracted by… the emblem on your uniform. Your hat, too. Never seen a lighthouse there on an officer before."

    "Ah, yes," she said doubtfully.

    "Had you worked with a lighthouse before?"

    A beat. "Oh, yes, part of my rookie year."

    "Hatteras or Lookout?"

    She blinked. "Lookout."

    "As a keeper on site?"

    "Yep. A little lonely, but peaceful."

    I folded my arms. "I can only imagine how lonely," I said. "Especially since all the lighthouses in this state have been automated since 1950, and haven’t had a single keeper since."

    Flustered, she pointed to the patch on her hat. "I’m a legitmate officer!"

    "You’re a legitimate owner of two patches on sale at the lighthouse gift shop for two bucks each." I thrust my thumb the way she came. "Beat it before I call the REAL cops."

    She put her hands on her hips. "She’s here. Where?" she demanded, trying to march past me into the house. I held my ground, and she bounced back off me, partly due to her ample chest, partly due to my enhanced strength. In the collision, her hat flipped off… revealing two pointed ears atop her head, like Kitty-kins, but not quite. They were more canine-like. Surprise, surprise, surprise.

    "I knew you were lying like a dog," I muttered.

    The faux cop glowered. "Get out of the way, plain strain," she growled. "This is none of your business."

    "You’re trespassing on my property, you assaulted one of my patients, you committed the felony of impersonating a police officer, and you trashed my compost heap. YOU get out of here."

    Grabbing my left shoulder, she tried to shove me aside. That was what we in the scientific community technically term a boneheaded move. Diving low, I sprang forward, tackled her around her waist, and knocked her back into the sand. Just as I tried to kneel on her stomach to keep her down, she pushed back and rolled me over so she was on top and drove an elbow right in my stomach, making me exhale violently.

    Standing up, she headed up the steps to the porch again, figuring she’d knocked all the wind out of me. Big mistake… I’d only lost lots of it. With a gulp of air, I sprang up and grabbed fistfuls of her blouse and skirt. and jerked back with a twist. RIIIIPPPTHUD! She spun around and landed on her side. Then I saw she was wearing a string bikini, and had a long shaggy tail sprouting from her backside. Taking the blouse I’d ripped off, and dodging her strong leg’s kick back, I snagged it around her neck and pulled back and away from the house again.

    I saw Kitty-kins pop her head up in the view window, obviously very scared. I silently mouthed, "Help me!"

    Instead, she ducked out of sight.

    Dot then turned and swung me the door jamb with a slam. Somehow I kept my grip. She tried throwing me over her shoulders over the railing, but I hung on, and threw her over mine, splintering the thing into firewood and sending us both over into the sand. On landing, I sent one of my knees into the back of her thigh, reached forward, and twisted her tail as hard as I could.

    Baying out like a boxer banshee, her tail then flailed up to my nose and eyes, making me sneeze. That split second was all she needed. I then felt her turn under me and launch her fist right in my gut. That DID knock all the wind out of me. Then I heard a snarl, and her very sharp claws slashed across my forearm which serendipituously was covering my chest. And then she literally barked out each word, accenting them with a punch, kick, or claw-swipe: "Don’t!" Bap! "You!" Whap! "Ever!" Shhkkh! "Twist!" Rip! "My!" Poomp! "TAIL!" CHOMP!

    That last strike, she bit right on my left ear. Hard. Then I felt her hands claw right into my pajama bottom’s hip and under my left arm. I suddenly felt the world turn upside down, and she pitched me forward as far as she could. Good thing she did. If she’d thrown me against the house, or even straight down for a body slam, she’d probably have broken every bone I had. Rolling it out, I only felt like she had. Battered, bruised, and probably bloodied, I heard her gallop even closer to finish me off.

    "Stop it! MEOW STOP IT!"

    Shockingly, Dot did. I tried to regain my breath, my senses, and/or my balance as I lay on all fours. Then I felt all warm and moist on my left shoulder. Against my better judgement, I felt there and checked my fingers. Yep. Blood. Mine.

    Claws and fingers dug into my hair and scalp, and hauled me up to standing, much to my pain. I saw Kitty-kins standing a football pass away in my bathrobe. Her faced flashed alarm as she saw my shape.

    But then she stared at Dot. Though I saw the fear in her eyes, slowly my feline charge bent her arms akimbo, straightened her back, set her jaw, and hardened her still-cute face in determination. It would have been so charming if Poochie weren’t clamping my neck down across her steel-bar forearm.

    "Meow!" she yowled. "You meow leave him alone!"

    The dogwoman kept me in her unbreakable headlock. "You come here, and leave with me, fish-breath," she said. "Velvet paws on your head. You’ve given me more than enough sport for one night."

    Kitty-kins shook her head no. "Meow not go anywhere."

    Dot wrenched my head back, exposing my bare neck. "You come here NOW," she hissed. "Paws on head. Or I’ll finish on his throat what I started on his ear."

    Kitty-kins’ breath came in short pants. But gradually, they slowed down. "Meow not leave," she said lowly. "You do nothing meow him. YOU leave."

    "Spare me, kitty. I can smell your fear."

    Kitty-kins’ eyes narrowed. And her breath kept slowing. She seemed almost calm.

    And somewhere in the middle of my pain from my bite, bruises, and fear for my life and hers, I was able to notice something about Kitty-kins’ slight torso in one instant.

    When she exhaled, it didn’t get smaller.

    With each breath in, her chest expanded a little more. But when she breathed out, it kept its shape, like a pumped tire. She spread out her arms a little.

    Dot sniffed contemptuously. "Arching your back, homid style?" she sneered. "Didn’t work last night, isn’t working now."

    But then I noticed the robe wasn’t hanging as loosely off her as before. In fact, the It was spreading out a little, and the sash seemed to tightening up around her. I checked her legs. Slowly but steadily the hem was creeping up from her calves (which were gently plumping up) and up to her knees.

    I blinked, and checked my depth perception. Still standing in the same place. Then I realized… the robe wasn’t shrinking… Kitty-kins was growing!

    The robe opened up to reveal her tummy. No washboard abs, but it looked solid enough. And her gash had healed without even a scar; the only sign of her injury was the ring I used to clamp it up, now over her navel. And as the robe continued to part like a theater curtain, her chest was rounding up quickly. No longer a carpenter’s dream, flat as a board, they were filling the swimsuit top.

    As the sash finally came undone and hung uselessly in the robe’s "belt" loops, her arms thickened, too. I couldn’t tell exactly how big her biceps were under the terrycloth, but I figured her musculature could now go toe to toe against Dot’s. Kitty-kins looked at her arms with a curious cat’s wonder. It stretched the fabric, and I heard stitches snap.

    Even her tail was getting longer and thicker.

    Dot trembled. "Cut the act!" she demanded, panic tainting her voice. "No more games! I’ll rip out his throat, don’t think I won’t do it!"

    She said the wrong thing. Nose wrinkling, mouth grimacing, body tensing, Kitty-kins clenched her fists. She started to grow faster. Her thighs, calves, and even her ankles thickened, and got even longer.

    Rrrrip! Her sleves tore away from the shoulder holes. Useless, they slid off her arms, revealing biceps the size of croquet balls. No, they were then volleyballs — oops, I meant soccer balls — uh, basketballs — um, sorry, I’m out of sports ball similies here. But they were still growing bigger. And bigger.

    RRRIP! The whole robe had tore up her back. She let the halves slide off this time, falling past thighs that were big in diameter as extra large pizzas. And her whole trunk was virtually a Sequoia, and STILL expanding. Ma’s swimsuit was hustling to cover what it could. Good thing the strings were elastic. And her bodice had long since past the size of the balloon punch-balls I’d gotten at my mall’s toy store as a boy.

    Dot, staring at Kitty-kins, had her jaw open all the way down. Her fanged teeth didn’t look quite as scary anymore. She let go of me, and I hit the ground like a sack of rocks.

    And Kitty STILL grew taller. Thicker. More massive. More muscular.

    Finally, her expansion slowed, and stopped at a hand or so over eight feet tall. She marched right toward us, her massive upper arms brushing against breasts that were each triple the size of my head. With each rumbling footstep, I had a Jurassic Park flashback to when the T- Rex first showed up. She stopped right in front of Dot, who was frozen in fear. With a defiant glare, Kitty-kins raised her arms and did a double bicep flex like I’d done for her.

    Her monstrously huge biceps ballooned even bigger than anybody’d believe. Elbow to elbow, her body above her waist was the size of the front end of a Chevrolet Corvette.

    Her mouth then curled her toothy grimace to add some hints of a smile. She reached down and around, clutched Dot by the upper arms, lifted her up as effortlessly as I would a first grader, and pulled the dog-girl’s face as close to her own as her mega-chest would permit.

    And Kitty-kins’ voice didn’t sound much like a whiny housecat anymore, but more like a huge mother tiger. An angry one.

    She growled lowly: "Meow meow said…" Then she roared deafeningly, "LEAVE!!!"

    And with a tug back, her arms sprang straight out forward and catapulted Dot Shoond clear down the beach triply as far as I’d been thrown. She bounced roughly on her back, and landed harshly on her side. And I thought I had a lucky landing. If she’d hit anything solid, she probably would’ve DIED.

    Despite her injuries and a slight limp, the dogwoman sprinted down the beach, yelping with her tail literally between her legs.

    I stared at her until she had disappeared over the horizon. Then I heard a soft gasp way overhead, and felt a massive shadow loom over me. Two ham-sized forearms slipped under my chest and stomach, velvety palms and fingers wrapped around my shoulder and hip, and I rose quickly into the air. Kitty-kins flipped me over so I was cradled atop her boulder-big-and-hard biceps and equally massive but much more cushiony breasts. Her face softened a lot, and I thought I saw a tear well up in each eye’s corner.

    "Oh no," she squeaked, with traces of kitten in her voice, "meow been hurt! Bad!"


    "Shh. No." Her fingers covered my lips. "Meow no talk. Big old Kitty-kins gonna make you better-wetter. Meow get in and meow take care of you."

    And she hurriedly but gently carried me back inside.


    I zoned in and out for a while after she laid me on the couch. I only have passing memories of her washing my cuts, spray-plasting above my ear, her saying she was so, so, so sorry about releasing my birds and mice, even an occasional sand-paper tongue touch on my forearms. But when I came to, I was sitting upright in her lap, with her arms around me, holding me close.

    I stared down at the floor. Empty cans covered it. I looked up, and she smiled at me.

    "Why’d you change your mind?" I asked.

    Her smile flickered. "Meow not like hurt people… but meow hated meow see you hurt even worse."

    "Thanks." I tried to turn around to give her a big hug. "Ouch." My arm.

    "No, no, meow sit still."

    "Just how much of my strength serum did you drink?"

    "All of them, meow," she said apologetically. "And meow drank the pink cans and some of the white cans, too. Meow sorry, but meow got so scared you were going to be…" She mewed silently, and didn’t finish. "Meow wanted all meow good your drinks can do. What meow they for?"

    "Well, the white cans were for the bones, to make them longer and stronger. That made you taller."

    "And meow pink?"

    I sighed a little ashamedly. "I made that specially for an old high school classmate that wouldn’t date me, to slip in her drink. That makes you fatter. For hibernation purposes."

    "But meow not fatter." She flexed a bicep and felt her muscles. "Bigger, but meow not fatter."

    Too wrecked to explain or debate, my head inadvertently leaned against her now much bigger right breast where almost half that fat went. She glanced down at that. "Oh." She giggled, and gently squeezed me closer. "Meow think meow funny. Now meow YOUR turn in MY lap.

    Encapsuled in her humongous affection, I still had a lot of questions. Like where she came from. Why her canine tormenter was chasing her. And had better command over the language. Whether I could bring Kitty-kins’ speech up to speed. How to get her home to her family. How they would react now that she was a massive muscular giantess. How was I going to feed, clothe, and hide her in the meantime. What would happen if the public at large discovered her.

    What if her gratitude and apparent love for me grew bigger and stronger…

    And how the heck was I going to get her new belly-button ring to stop poking me in the back with her hugging me so snugly I couldn’t move.

    Bah. I’d ask them later. I’d just been beaten within an inch of my life, and looked and felt like something the cat dragged in. For then, I simply decided to recline in her massive cuddle, let her arm gently rub up and down my chest and stomach, and relax to the sound of her purr.

    The End? Mew Tell Me!


    That was sweet. I like the emphasis on the catgirl’s behavior. Hope to see a sequel from you soon.


    Excellent Feline Meowing Giantess story 🙂


    As someone who has had both dogs and cats I find the charsacterizations highly unrealistic.  😮 What am I saying???
    A nice story but the constant meowing drove me meowing nuts. 😀


    Thanks.  If and when I do get time for a sequel, Masschine, I'll see about improving Kitty-kins' speaking. 

    And "unrealistic" " charsacterizations"?  How so?

    Prophet Tenebrae

    I have to agree that the meowing was annoying after a while – it's probably best to just imply it rather than putting it all in.

    I also liked the story though and found it pretty interesting. If you do a sequel, I shall gladly read it 😀


    That was a pretty nice riff off of one drawing!

    Doc Otto/ 4 Frame Rembrant  truly can inspire a thousand words  👿

    Good work Jimmy I like the hints at a larger weirder conspiracy of were-thingies. Not quite the WOD more like the Anime Hour  😀

    Also the different colored cans reminded me of doctor Quattro's 'A night in the LAb' flash game.

    David C. Matthews

    A nice story but the constant meowing drove me meowing nuts. 😀

    Hey, not many FMG stories in which one can find the influence (however indirect) of Misteroger's Neighborhood
    "Meow meow like story meow meow"…


    Hey, not many FMG stories in which one can find the influence (however indirect) of Misteroger's Neighborhood
    "Meow meow like story meow meow"…

    Good Christ Matthews!  Man I feel old now!  😮  🙄  😐  😀


    Jimmy!  Write some more of Kitty Kitty!  Plllllleeeeeaaaasssse!

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