Nine Lives

You sit in front of the screen for a long time after the interruption. He is staring out the window, at the city below. Millions of happy residents start their weekends, walking, shopping, enjoying brunch with friends.

She is wearing her best clothes, and her hair is well mixed. He can still go out - he will not consider canceling the booking - unless he has no money; The apartment is expensive and relocating has saved her money. And he has no friends. For three weeks now, she has been driving a hover-cab, like many New Yorkers, and waiting for permanent calls, like many other inexperienced women before her.

Otherwise, she would not have looked like a happy person.

He doesn't mean to hit the tail when he's standing, but he does, and his stool crashes to the ground. Neighbors on the ground, three unmarried octopods, once called an ambulance after hitting a light, so he shouted, "I'm fine!" Octopods. Anything with bones seems to be weak.

"Nice to hear you!" shouts a closed voice.

She rolled her eyes, but it was strangely comforting that something was bothering her. She is ready for the chair. The screen is black, and you can see his appearance on it: the hairy, the end of his tail is wagging.

"Because I'm just a half-cat? You wanted a girl didn't you?"

He was laughing. "That's fucked up."

"Then what?" he asked. "Why?"

"I'm sorry. We'll stay friends. Definitely."

You move and play and the screen lights up. It takes him a second to realize that his atar is no longer on his contact list.

"A criminal," he shouted.

He takes off his shirt and drops it on the floor. His claws caress, as usual, with the connection of the bodice, but take it off, let it go. By the time she gets to the bathroom, she is still naked.

She fills the bathtub. He remembers his research even though he had not thought about it since he was a child. Hot water, and even better.

She took the razor blade into the bathtub, took a few deep breaths, and immersed herself in water. It's not too late. He could stand ... but instead, he carefully held the razor in his paws.

Continue now...

One side. Two strokes.

The water turned yellow and red as his fine hair floated on top. It's full of blood again as he teases himself but continues. When she finishes, her legs are smooth.

She should drain and refill the bath twice before her skin becomes hairless. There are spots between his shoulders that he can't reach, but it's okay. Her older sister, who has always been shaved, made the place with the angel's tiny wings. Maybe you'll try that, next time.

In the mirror, his mustache, his sharp ears, and his triangular nose gave him something. As a teenager, he used to shave his beard. He snorts, remembering the mockery in the background. Today is the first time she has used a razor since.

So you are half a cat. He is also a part of man. Like this, no one will look at him and think that he is a flexible bull, and then he will be ashamed that he wants more than just strangling and rubbing his back.

She gets dressed again, this time choosing a mini skirt, and opening her door.

One of the lower octopods is standing there. They looked at each other in amazement. You only know him because he is close enough to smell - octopods are such shifters, they can look like a human or an octopus or a million things in between. He is wearing a cowboy hat, which he pulls back with a curved limb.

He says: “Your bathtub is leaking. "There is a shocking amount of ... fur in the water." You can just look him in the eye when he says.

He entered the hall but left his door open. "Either you call the landlord or you fix it. I'm going out," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Next, it looks shiny, not slimy. She is healthy. It's solid.

"You're part of a human being!" he blurts out. He is contemptuous, and he strikes with his fists.

She smiles. "So are you. Although you can forgive me arrogantly, your hair is beautiful. It's not that my opinion matters, it does," she added quickly. He closes his door, apparently not interested in playing plumber.

They stared at each other for a long time, then walked down the hall. It was only at the elevator doors that she remembered what her boyfriend — his ex-wife, instead-- had said about her hair shortly after they met. "It's good, but maybe you should cut it short. You have nice legs." He was reading a magazine with a beautiful ox, turned on the cover.

When the elevator arrives at the reception area, she runs back up the stairs, but not down.

The octopod is almost in front of his door.

"Hey," he said breathlessly. "Do you want to go with me?" He added that he did not know anyone, that he really needed a friend, but that his throat had become swollen. She is tempted to keep her promise, run down the stairs, but she is tired of being, well, a scary cat.

"So?" he produces. "What do you think?"

"Yes. Really." They do not rub their chin. "Eh, let me tell my friends that you, well--"

"Am I drowning in a bathtub or am I being sucked into a pipe? Oh, please. Don't you know I've lived nine lives?" He tries to make his face hard, but when he laughs, he giggles, something like a smile shakes his head.