Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Vignette I

The hotel suite was too big.

That was Andy's first thought. It was a bridal suite because Emily had insisted on "something with dignity", and Andy had insisted on "something with a refrigerator". They had compromised on a room the size of a small apartment, complete with a four-poster bed, a vase of roses that cost more than Andy's first car, and a champagne bucket that neither of them had touched because they were both too nervous.

Now Andy stood in the middle of the suite, wearing sweatpants and a "Bride" sash that Emily had thrown at her earlier. The sash was crooked. The roses were wilting. And on the bed, sitting among a pile of silk pyjamas, was a small British longhair with blue eyes and an expression of profound annoyance.

"No," Andy said.

The cat blinked.

"Emily. No. We talked about this. We had a plan. You were supposed to do breathing exercises. You were supposed to think about spreadsheets and tax forms and all the things that make you not happy."

The cat's tail flicked. She nudged a notepad that Andy had wisely brought to the hotel. Scratched on the paper in uneven letters:

I TRIED

"You tried?"

THOUGHT ABOUT MIRANDA

"And?"

GOT HAPPY

Andy stared. "Miranda makes you happy?"

SAID I DID GOOD

Andy wanted to scream. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to shake the small furry creature on the bed and demand that she turn back into a human right now because their wedding was in twelve hours and the flower arrangements were counting on her.

Instead, she sat down on the bed and put her head in her hands.

"Okay," she said. "Okay. We can fix this. What’s the longest it can last?"

HARD TO SAY. LONGEST WAS 3 DAYS. COULD BE LONGER

"Longer? Emily, our wedding is at eleven AM."

I AM AWARE

"You can't walk down the aisle as a cat."

I AM ALSO AWARE. LIKELY WILL TURN BACK IN TIME

Andy looked up. Emily's ears were flattened. Her tail was tucked close to her body. She looked small and scared and terribly, terribly guilty.

"Hey," Andy said softly. "I'm not angry. I'm just... panicking."

SHOULD BE ANGRY

"You got happy. That's not a crime."

Andy reached out and scooped Emily into her arms. The cat went rigid for a moment, then relaxed, her head butting against Andy's chin.

"We're going to figure this out," Andy said. "Together. Like we always do."

HOW

"I don't know yet. But we have twelve hours."

The first hour was chaos.

Andy called her mother first because her mother would panic if she didn't hear from her. She stood in the bathroom, phone pressed to her ear, while Emily sat on the sink and watched.

"Everything's fine," Andy said. "Just... a lot of last-minute nerves."

"Oh, sweetheart," her mother said. "Is Emily okay?"

Andy looked at the cat. Emily was licking her paw.

"She's great," Andy said. "She's... taking a nap."

"A nap? The night before her wedding?"

"She's very relaxed. It's a meditation thing."

Her mother sounded unconvinced, but she let it go. Andy hung up and slumped against the bathroom door.

WEAK, Emily wrote.

"Shut up. You're a cat."

SMART ONE

Andy called the wedding coordinator next. She explained that Emily had a "stomach bug" and might be "unavailable" for any last-minute questions. The coordinator was sympathetic. Andy felt guilty.

Then she called Emily’s sister, who laughed for three straight minutes and said, "This is the most Emily thing that has ever happened."

"It is?"

"You should’ve seen her when she was a teenager. It’s hilarious."

"She doesn’t seem to think so." Andy looked at Emily, who was scratching at the carpet in stress.

"Have you tried putting her in a tiny veil?"

Andy sighed.

In the second hour, Andy ordered room service.

Her stomach was in knots, so she couldn’t eat, but Emily was a cat, and cat-Emily was especially hungry. She ordered salmon, plain and boiled, because Emily had written salmon on the notepad.

The room service arrived. The attendant gave Andy a strange look for ordering unseasoned salmon. Emily sat on the pillow, watching Andy arrange the salmon on a plate.

"You're very high maintenance for someone with no opposable thumbs," Andy said.

i have standards

“I can tell. Here’s your salmon.”

Emily ate daintily, taking small bites while Andy watched. Somewhere outside, their wedding was being prepared. Chairs were being set up. Flowers were being arranged. And one of the brides was a cat in a hotel room.

Andy's phone rang.

She looked at the screen. Her heart stopped.

Miranda Priestly.

"Oh no," Andy said.

who

"Miranda."

Emily's ears went flat. dont answer

"I have to answer. She'll know something's wrong."

always knows

Andy took a breath and answered.

"Hello, Miranda."

"Andrea." Miranda's voice was cool and measured, like she was discussing the weather. "I trust everything is in order for tomorrow."

"Yes, of course. Everything is perfect."

"I heard Emily is unwell."

Andy's blood ran cold. "Who told you that?"

"The wedding coordinator mentioned a stomach bug. I find it curious that Emily Charlton—a woman who once worked through pneumonia because she refused to let a fever defeat her—would be felled by something as pedestrian as a stomach bug the night before her wedding."

Andy opened her mouth. Closed it, then opened it again.

Miranda continued, "Is there something you wish to tell me, Andrea?"

Andy looked at the cat on the bed. Emily was shaking her head frantically, paw tapping furiously at Andy’s knee.

"She's... she's not sick," Andy said.

"I see."

"She's... Miranda, this is going to sound insane."

"I have heard many things in my career. I doubt you can surprise me."

Andy took a breath. "Emily turned into a cat. She's currently sitting on the hotel bed eating salmon."

Silence.

The longest silence of Andy's life.

Then Miranda said, "Send me a photograph."

"What?"

"A photograph of the cat. I wish to see if she has Emily's eyes."

Andy's hands were shaking as she opened the camera. Emily glared at her, but Andy snapped a picture anyway and sent it to Miranda.

Another silence.

Then Miranda said, "She has Emily's eyes."

"Yes."

"And she is eating salmon."

"Yes."

"From room service."

"From room service, yes."

Miranda was quiet for a moment. Then, in a voice that almost sounded warm, "Emily always did have terrible timing. Tell her I expect her to be human by the ceremony. And Andrea?"

"Yes?"

"Congratulations. You are the only person I know who could love someone chaotic enough to turn into a house pet."

Miranda hung up.

Andy stared at the phone. Then she looked at Emily.

what did she say

"She wants you to be human by the time of the ceremony."

and?

"And she said I'm the only person she knows who could love someone chaotic enough to turn into a house pet."

Emily's tail flicked. that's almost nice

"I think it was nice." Andy laughed shakily and tiredly.

The rest of the night passed slowly.

Andy sat on the bed, still in her sweatpants, while Emily curled on her lap. The cat's purr was a low rumble, vibrating through Andy's thighs.

"What if you don't turn back?" Andy whispered.

Meow.

"What if you don't? What if I wake up tomorrow and you're still a cat?"

Emily's head butted against her chin. She reached for the notepad.

carry me down the aisle

"And the vows?"

read them for me

Andy smiled. "And the kiss?"

tricky

"We'll figure it out."

sure

Andy turned off the lamp. The room went dark, lit only by the city lights through the curtains. She held Emily close and closed her eyes.

"Emily? I'm glad you're happy. Even if it makes you a cat."

A long pause. Then, very softly, Emily's paw patted Andy's cheek.

Meooow.

Andy woke to lips on her forehead.

She opened her eyes. Emily was there: human and tangled in the sheets, her hair a mess of reddish waves. Her blue eyes were soft.

"Good morning, fiancée," Emily whispered.

Andy burst into tears.

"Again with the crying?"

"You're human!"

"I'm aware."

"You're human, and we're getting married!"

Emily smiled. "Yes. We are. Now stop crying, or your eyes will be red, and the wedding photos will be terrible."

"I don't care about the photos."

"I do." Emily kissed her again. "Very much.”

"I love you, you cat."

Emily's ears went pink. She buried her face in Andy's neck and muttered something that sounded like "shut up."

They lay there for a long moment, tangled together, not speaking.

"I had a dream," Emily said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"I dreamt I was still a cat. You were carrying me down the aisle, and everyone was laughing, but not in a ridiculing way. In a happy way." She pulled back to look at Andy's face. "And I wasn't embarrassed. I was just... glad that you would do that for me."

Andy's throat tightened. "I would. You know I would."

"I know." Emily kissed her forehead, her nose, the corner of her mouth. "That's why I'm marrying you."

They stayed in bed for another hour, just holding each other.

When they finally got up, Andy found the notepad on the nightstand. Emily must have written it before she turned back, in those last moments as a cat.

i told you i would turn back

Andy laughed and tucked the note into her pocket.

She was marrying a woman who turned into a cat when she was too happy and who had written her a note from the edge of humanity.

She couldn't wait.

Vignette II

They had been married for a year and a half when Andy found the box.

It was a Tuesday. Rain was falling outside their apartment, the kind of steady grey drizzle that made New York feel as if it were wrapped in wool. Andy had the day off, which was a rare luxury, and had finally decided to tackle the hall closet. Now that Emily worked as an executive for Dior and Andy was a journalist for The Vanguard, Andy was more likely to receive a day off. The closet was a disaster zone, a black hole where winter coats went to die and unmatched gloves multiplied like rabbits.

Emily was at work, on a cover shoot that required her presence and her particular brand of terrifying efficiency. And now, she was alone with a garbage bag and a mission.

She pulled out old shoes, a broken umbrella, and a yoga mat that had never been used. And then, at the very back, behind a row of Emily's designer heels, a shoebox.

It was battered, taped shut with packing tape that had yellowed with age. There was a label with Emily’s name on it, but nothing else to indicate what was inside.

She carried it to the living room, sat down on the couch, and carefully peeled off the tape.

Inside was a photo album.

The photos didn’t look recent. They were old, faded, curled at the edges, the colours slightly off. Andy lifted the first one and felt her breath catch.

A little girl, maybe five years old, with sharp blue eyes and a stubborn chin, scowling at the camera. She was wearing a pink dress and holding a birthday cake with too many candles. Her hair was light brown, almost caramel, pulled into pigtails, one of which was already coming loose.

Andy realised. That's Emily.

She had never seen baby pictures of her wife. Emily was private about her childhood, deflecting questions with sarcasm or changing the subject entirely. Andy had always respected that and had never pushed. But here they were, spilt across her lap like secrets.

She flipped to the next page. Emily, at maybe seven, dressed in a ballet tutu, looking like she wanted to murder the photographer. Emily, at nine, sitting on a porch swing with a book, oblivious to the world. Emily, at eleven, holding a trophy too big for her arms, her expression caught somewhere between pride and confusion.

Andy smiled. She was so focused on the human photos that she almost missed the one that slipped out of a hidden pocket of the book.

It was a photograph of a kitten.

A tiny, fluffy kitten, barely old enough to have its eyes open, curled up in a child's hands. The kitten's fur was mostly white, but it had patches that were not the reddish ones of the cat Andy knew so well. These patches were light brown, almost caramel. It was the exact same colour as little Emily's hair.

Andy turned the photo over. On the back, in handwriting she recognised as Emily's mother's from letters delivered from London: 'Emily, age 6. She would not stop chasing the red dot.’

Emily as a kitten.

Andy's hand trembled. She searched for more pockets and found more photographs.

A photo of a slightly older kitten with the same light brown patches, sitting on a windowsill, tail wrapped around its paws. The expression was pure Emily: I am judging you and finding you lacking.

Another photo. This time, the cat was a teenager—lean and elegant, with patches that had changed entirely. The light brown was gone. In its place were blue spots. Bright, almost electric blue, like someone had dipped a paintbrush in cobalt and flicked it across the cat's fur. The cat's expression was sulky, a teenager's this is so embarrassing carved into every line of its small body.

Andy stared.

She was still staring when she heard the key turn in the lock.

Emily walked in, shaking rain from her hair, a garment bag slung over one shoulder. She was wearing her work outfit: a black blazer, high ponytail, and heels that could double as weapons. She looked tired and beautiful and completely unaware that her wife had just discovered her furry alternate history.

"Andrea," Emily said, kicking off her shoes. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"It's not dark; it's afternoon."

"It's gloomy. What's wrong?"

Andy held up the photograph of the blue-spotted cat. "Emily. Why does your cat form have blue spots in this picture?"

Emily's face went through several expressions in rapid succession. Recognition, horror, resignation, you name it. And then, finally, something that looked almost like relief.

"Oh," Emily said. "That."

"Yes. That."

Emily dropped the garment bag on the floor. She walked over to the couch, sat down next to Andy, and took the photograph from her hands. Her thumb brushed over the blue spots, almost tenderly.

"I was fifteen," Emily said quietly. "I'd just discovered hair dye."

Andy blinked. "Hair dye."

"I was experimenting. My hair was blue for about three weeks. My mother nearly had a heart attack, and my sister thought it was hilarious." Emily sighed with a shrug. "Apparently, when I turn into a cat, my fur colour changes to match whatever colour my hair is at the time. It's not something I control. It just... happens."

Andy reached for another photo: the light brown kitten. "And this?"

"My natural hair colour before I started bleaching it." Emily's voice was softer now. "I was a brunette until I was fourteen; then I decided I wanted to be blonde. Then pink, then blue, and, well, red."

"You turned into a cat with pink spots?"

"I have photos, and you're not seeing them."

"Oh, I'm definitely seeing them."

Emily pinched her, and she yelped.

Andy looked at the kitten photo again. At the tiny, fluffy creature with Emily's eyes and Emily's stubbornness, and patches the colour of warm caramel.

"You were adorable," Andy said.

"Well, I was a cat."

"A very cute cat."

"I was a disaster. I did not know how to communicate or do anything at all."

"You were so fluffy. Look at your little paws. They're tucked under your chin."

Emily snatched the photograph out of Andy's hand. "I'm throwing these away."

"No, you're not." Andy grabbed the book and held it to her chest. "These are staying. This is our children's inheritance."

Emily froze.

"Our children?"

Andy's mouth went dry; she hadn't meant to say that. Sure, they had vaguely talked about kids in the way couples do when they're still figuring things out. But they hadn't decided. Not really.

Emily was staring at her with an expression Andy couldn't read.

"I mean," Andy said quickly, "if we have kids. Someday, maybe. Not that we have to—"

"Andrea."

"—or we could get another cat, a real cat, not you, although you're also a real cat, technically—"

"Andrea."

Andy stopped talking.

Emily was smiling.

"I want kids," Emily said. "With you. Preferably ones who don't turn into cats, but I'm not going to hold my breath."

Andy laughed. It came out wet and shaky. "You think they'll inherit the cat thing?"

Emily looked down at the photograph of her kitten-self. "I don't know, it's certainly hereditary." She trailed off.

“It is?"

Emily nodded. "My grandma had it; my mum has it; my sister does too." A small, rueful smile.

"You are all cats?”

"We aren’t cats that can turn into humans, Andy; we’re humans that can turn into cats. But that's not standard human behaviour."

"It's your normal. And I love it."

Emily's ears went pink. She looked away, but her hand found Andy's and held on.

"I used to be so scared," Emily said quietly. "When I was young. Every time it happened, I thought I'd get stuck. I thought one day I'd wake up and I wouldn't be able to turn back. I used to write goodbye letters to my friends. Just in case."

Andy's heart cracked open. "Emily."

"I kept them in a shoebox under my bed. It looked like the one you're holding." Emily scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I wrote things like 'tell Amelia that she was the greatest friend I had' and 'don't give my clothes away'. Gosh, how silly. I was twelve. Twelve years old, writing letters because I thought I'd be a cat forever."

Andy set down the box and pulled Emily into her arms. Emily went stiff for a moment, then melted against her, her face buried in Andy's shoulder.

"You're here," Andy said. "You're human. You turned back every single time."

"I know."

"And you're never going to get stuck."

Emily pulled back just enough to look at Andy's face. Her blue eyes were bright.

"I know."

Andy kissed her forehead, her nose, and the corner of her mouth. "And if you do get stuck, I'll take care of you. I'll buy you the good salmon and buy you so many cat things. I'll even carry you around in a designer bag."

Emily laughed. It was a small, watery sound. "You're ridiculous."

Andy leaned in and kissed her without a word.

Later, they went through the rest of the box together.

There was Emily as a kitten at four years old, barely more than a ball of fluff, sleeping in a shoebox lined with a tea towel. ("I didn't want to sleep in a cat bed. I had standards even then.") Emily, at six, perched on the back of the couch, glaring at a Christmas tree. ("I knocked it over three times. My mother finally gave up and put the ornaments on the top half only.")

And there was Emily as a teenager, with blue spots and a pink nose and an expression that said I am too old for this. Andy laughed until she cried.

"I can't believe you had a blue fur phase."

"I had a blue hair phase. The fur was incidental."

"The fur was electric blue, Emily."

"I was expressing myself."

"You were a Smurf cat."

Emily snatched the photograph out of Andy's hand. "I'm burning this one."

"No, you're not." Andy grabbed it back. "This is going in a frame. I'm putting it on the mantel."

"If you put that on the mantel, I'm turning into a cat and scratching all your shoes."

"You don't have thumbs. You can't open the closet."

"I'll find a way."

They bickered for another ten minutes, but neither of them let go of the other's hand.

That night, after dinner and too much wine, Andy found Emily standing in front of the window, looking out at the city.

Andy wrapped her arms around her from behind. "What are you thinking about?"

Emily leaned back into her. "Children."

"Yeah?"

"I'm scared."

Andy's arms tightened. "Of what?"

"Of passing this on. Watching our child wake up as a kitten and not knowing how to help them. They’ll resent me for it; I know I did."

Andy rested her chin on Emily's shoulder. "You turned out okay, Em."

"I turned out absolutely terrified. I wrote goodbye letters."

"But you stopped. You grew up and learned to control it. Now, you know how to communicate when you’re a cat, and you even have better handwriting as a cat than half of New York."

Emily was quiet for a long moment.

"Promise me something," she said.

"Anything."

"If we have kids and they inherit this, you'll be there. Tell them it's okay, and make them feel normal."

Andy turned Emily around to face her. She cupped Emily's face in her hands and looked into those blue eyes.

"I promise," Andy said. "And so will you. Because you're not the scared teenager anymore. You're Emily Charlton: my wife, the most terrifying woman in fashion, and a woman who turns into a cat when she’s too happy."

"That's embarrassing."

"It's beautiful."

Emily rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "I love you."

"I love you too, Em."

Cupping Andy’s cheek, Emily kissed her.

Vignette III

Bronwyn was four years old when she turned into a cat for the first time.

Andy should have seen it coming. The signs had been there for months: the way Bronwyn's eyes flashed gold in certain light, the way she could squeeze into impossibly small spaces, the way she hissed at vegetables. But Andy had been in denial. Maybe she saw it in a cartoon when she was watching TV, Andy told herself. Kids are weird. It doesn't mean she's going to grow fur.

Emily had been less in denial and more quietly watchful. She had started leaving notepads around the house "just in case". She had bought a laser pointer "for stress relief". She had stopped leaving salmon unsupervised on the kitchen counter.

But neither of them was prepared for the actual moment.

And, of course, it happened when Emily wasn't home.

It was a Tuesday. Emily had left for work at 6:30 AM, muttering something about a model who "didn't know how to walk in heels that cost more than her rent". Andy had kissed her goodbye, rolled over, and gone back to sleep for another glorious hour.

When she finally dragged herself out of bed, Bronwyn was already awake. The four-year-old was sitting in front of the television, watching something with animated animals, her honey-coloured hair a mess and her pyjamas inside out.

"Morning, Bronnie," Andy said.

"Mama, can we have pancakes?"

"Pancakes require effort. How about cereal?"

"Cereal is boring."

"You're four. Isn’t everything boring?"

Bronwyn scowled. It was Emily's scowl, inherited exactly, and it made Andy's heart hurt in the best way.

They compromised on toast with strawberry jam. Bronwyn ate two pieces, declared herself full, and then demanded to watch the animal show again. Andy cleaned up the kitchen, checked her phone (no emergencies from the office, thank goodness), and settled on the couch with a cup of coffee.

That was when she noticed Bronwyn was gone.

Not gone-gone. The apartment door was still locked, but the living room, the home office, and Bronwyn’s bedroom were empty, except for a pile of stuffed animals arranged in a semicircle like they were having a meeting.

Andy's heart started beating faster.

"Bronwyn?" she called.

No answer.

"Bronnie?"

Silence.

Andy checked the bathroom. Empty. The kitchen. Empty. The hall closet. Empty, except for baby toys and the vacuum cleaner.

Did she climb out the window?

Then she heard a sound. A tiny, muffled mew.

Coming from the couch.

Andy walked back to the living room. The throw blanket was bunched up in the corner of the couch, and there was a small lump underneath it.

She reached down and lifted the blanket.

A kitten.

A tiny, fluffy kitten with fur the colour of dark honey and patches of pale gold. It was curled in a ball, paws tucked under its chin, tail wrapped around its nose. Its eyes were closed.

Blue eyes. Emily's eyes.

But these eyes were smaller. Younger. And when they opened—slowly, sleepily—they looked at Andy with an expression that was pure Bronwyn.

Mama.

Andy's mouth opened. No sound came out.

The kitten mewed.

"Bronwyn?" Andy whispered.

The kitten blinked. Then it stretched, tiny paws extending, and rolled onto its back, exposing a soft golden belly. It mewed again, louder this time, and batted at Andy's hand with a paw the size of a grape.

Andy sat down heavily on the couch. She stared at her daughter—her kitten daughter—and tried to breathe.

"Okay," she said to the empty room. "Okay. Emily is at work. Emily is at work, and our daughter is a cat. I can handle this. I can handle this."

The kitten mewed again.

"I can't handle this."

The first hour was chaos.

Andy called Emily three times. Each time, it went to voicemail. Emily was probably in a meeting. She was probably in a meeting with Miranda, who would not appreciate a phone buzzing with a photo of a kitten that used to be their daughter.

Andy left a text instead.

Andrea: Call me

Andrea: It’s an emergency

Andrea: Not a medical emergency so don’t panic

Andrea: Actually, I’m panicking a little myself, so CALL ME

Then she sat on the floor and watched Bronwyn explore the living room.

The kitten had discovered her tail. She was chasing it in circles, falling over every few seconds, and mewing in frustration. It was adorable but terrifying.

"Bronnie," Andy said. "Can you understand me?"

The kitten paused mid-chase. She looked at Andy with those little eyes and tilted her head.

"Blink once for yes."

Bronwyn blinked once.

Andy's heart cracked open. "Oh, thank goodness. Okay. You're still in there. You're just... fluffy."

The kitten mewed, it sounded indignant.

"I know. I know. This is weird for both of us." Andy reached out and scratched behind Bronwyn's ears. The kitten leaned into the touch, a tiny purr starting up. "We're going to get through this. Mommy will be home soon."

Bronwyn's tail flicked. She didn't look convinced.

The second hour, Andy fed her a little water.

She had no idea what else to do. Bronwyn was a cat, and Andy didn’t know if eating real food was suitable for her “cat age”. Andy poured some onto a plate and set it on the floor. Bronwyn sniffed it delicately, then dove in with the enthusiasm of someone who had never encountered water before. She made a mess, water getting everywhere.

Andy cleaned it up while Bronwyn licked her paws and looked extremely pleased with herself.

"You get that from your mother," Andy said.

The kitten mewed. Obviously.

Emily finally called back at 11:30 AM.

Andy answered on the first ring. "Emily."

"What’s happening?"

"Bronwyn is a cat."

Silence.

"Emily?"

"I'm not panicking," Emily said. Her voice was very calm, a little too calm for Andy’s liking. "I'm taking deep breaths."

"Are you driving?"

"I'm in Miranda's office."

Andy's blood ran cold. "You're in Miranda's office, and you answered your phone?"

"I told her it was a family emergency. She raised an eyebrow. I didn't elaborate."

"Good. Don't elaborate. Just... come home. Please."

"I'll be there in an hour." A pause. "Is she okay?"

Andy looked at the kitten. Bronwyn was sitting on the couch, tail wrapped around her paws, watching a bird outside the window with laser focus.

"She's fine," Andy said. "She's chasing her tail and drinking water. She's very cat."

Emily made a sound that was almost a laugh. "I'll be there soon. Don't let her get into the laundry basket."

"Why would she go into the laundry basket?"

"She might get lost in there. Just keep her away from it."

Emily hung up. Andy looked at the laundry basket. Bronwyn was circling the perimeter, sniffing the basket’s outside.

"Of course," Andy said.

Emily walked through the door at 12:15 PM.

She looked tired and beautiful and completely unprepared for what she was about to see.

Andy met her in the hallway. "She's on the bed."

"Our bed?"

"She loves it; I couldn't stop her."

Emily walked to the bedroom. She stood at the side of the bed and looked down at the small golden kitten curled up on a pillow. Bronwyn opened her eyes. Blue met blue.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then Emily reached down and picked up the kitten. She held her against her chest, and Bronwyn's tiny paws kneaded her blazer. A purr started up, loud and rumbling.

"She has your eyes," Andy said softly.

"She has your nose."

"She has a snout."

"It’s very cute." Emily's voice was thick. "She's so small."

"She's four. In cat years, that's..."

"Don't."

Andy wrapped her arms around both of them. Emily leaned into her. The kitten purred.

"How long will she be like this?" Andy asked.

Emily shook her head. "The first time is unpredictable. For me, it lasted about six hours. My sister? Three days."

"What do we do?"

"We wait and do not take approximately seven thousand photographs to embarrass her with later."

Andy laughed. It came out wet. "I already took forty."

Emily shook her head, a small smile forming on her face.

The rest of the day passed slowly.

Emily changed out of her work clothes and into sweatpants. She sat on the couch with Bronwyn curled in her lap, and she told Andy stories about her own first transformations.

"I thought I was dying," Emily said quietly. "I was six. I woke up, and I couldn't talk. I couldn't move my hands. I tried to scream, and all that came out was a meow."

Andy took her hand.

"My sister found me. She was nine years old. She sat with me on the bathroom floor and told me it was going to be okay." Emily looked down at Bronwyn. "I want to be that for Bronnie. She should know that she isn’t alone."

"She won't be alone. She has us."

Emily nodded, her thumb tracing circles on Andy's palm.

At 3:00 PM, Bronwyn woke up hungry again. Emily fed her a little mashed-up tuna while Andy sent a carefully worded email to Bronwyn's preschool: Bronwyn has a fever and won't be in for the rest of the week.

At 5:00 PM, Bronwyn discovered the laser pointer. Emily had bought it months ago, "just in case," and now she used it to tire out their kitten daughter. Bronwyn chased the red dot across the living room floor, skidding into walls and pouncing on imaginary prey. Andy filmed the whole thing.

"She's going to kill us when she's older," Andy said.

"Worth it."

At 7:00 PM, Bronwyn fell asleep on Andy's chest. Her tiny body rose and fell with each breath. Her purr was a soft rumble.

Emily sat next to them, close enough that their shoulders touched.

"She's going to be okay," Emily said.

"Yeah?"

"Of course, she's strong and stubborn. She has your determination and my good looks."

"My determination?"

"You never gave up on me, even when I hissed at you."

"Thanks."

"I was scared."

"I know." Andy leaned her head against Emily's. "I love you both."

Emily kissed her temple. "We love you too."

Bronwyn turned back into a human at 9:15 PM.

Andy was reading on the couch while Bronwyn slept in a pile of blankets on the cushion next to her. Emily was in the kitchen, making tea.

The change started with a shimmer.

Andy blinked. There it was: a gentle glow akin to the last rays of the sun, a warmth seeping through the covers. Bronwyn's little, fuzzy body expanded, changed, and stretched.

And then Bronwyn was there. She was human again, four years old, wrapped in a throw blanket, her honey-coloured hair sticking up in seventeen directions. She blinked sleepily and looked at Andy with familiar tired eyes.

"Mama," Bronwyn said.

"Hey, baby," Andy whispered.

"I had a weird dream."

"Yeah?"

"I was fluffy, and there was a red dot. I tried to catch it, but it kept moving."

Emily appeared in the doorway, mug in hand. She had a smile on her face.

"A red dot," Emily repeated.

Bronwyn nodded. "Can we get a red dot? For real?"

Emily looked at Andy. Andy looked at Emily.

"Sure.”

Bronwyn grinned. Then she yawned, stretched, and held her arms out to Andy. "Carry me, Mama."

Andy picked her up, blanket and all, and held her close. Bronwyn's head dropped onto Andy's shoulder. Within seconds, she was asleep again.

"She's going to have questions," Andy said.

"We can answer them tomorrow."

Emily took Bronwyn from Andy's arms and carried her to the bedroom. She tucked her in, kissed her forehead, and stood in the doorway for a long moment.

When she came back to the living room, her eyes were wet.

"She's okay," Emily said. "She's really okay."

Andy pulled her into a hug. "She's more than okay. She's perfect."

"She's a cat."

"She's our cat."

Emily smiled.

Years later, enough that Andy had stopped counting the transformations, she woke to warmth.

It was not skin but fur, soft, familiar fur, pressed against her side. Two small, compact bodies curled in the hollow of her body, a purr vibrating through the blanket.

But this time, there was another weight, another small body that was curled on the pillow next to her head.

Andy opened her eyes.

Emily was a cat. Of course, she was. She had been stupidly happy last night because of their anniversary dinner, the restaurant, and the way Andy had remembered the wine they drank on their first date.

Next to Emily's white fur was Bronwyn, white with patches of pale gold and magenta.

But beside Andy, on the pillow, was the smallest of the three. Much like two, it was white, but its patches were chocolate-coloured.

Andy stared at the three cats—her wife, their daughter, and their son, all covered in fur—and laughed.

"Again?" she whispered, but they woke up anyway.

Emily's eyes opened, annoyed.

Four sleepy eyes opened shortly after.

Roark mewed. Then he got up, wobbled across the pillow, and headbutted Andy's chin.

Andy's heart melted.

"Fine," Andy whispered. "You're all very cute. I can’t help but feel left out."

Bronwyn’s tail flicked. On the nightstand was a notepad. She reached over and scratched out in clear handwriting:

we love you mama

"I love you too. It’s too early for breakfast; let’s sleep a little more first."

Emily's head butted against Andy's hand, her purr getting louder.

Bronwyn mewed again. Then she curled up between her mothers and went back to sleep, a small golden ball of fur.

Andy looked at her furry family and smiled.

Stupidly happy, she thought.

Always.