Cat-Tastrophe

Satoru comes home from Jujutsu Tech a little... different.

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I stare at the squirming bundle in Kanza Shizuko’s arms in something akin to horror.

“Is… Is that…?”

A meow answers in return.  The white-furred cat looks smug as ever in his student’s arms.  None the worse for wear and hardly bothered, despite the fact that he’d been human—well, sort of—less than twelve hours ago.  An inky-tipped tail twitches with what I can only assume is amusement at everybody else’s expense.

“Satoru?!  Shizuko-chan, what happened to him?!”

Shizuko looks down at her feet, black Jujutsu High uniform absolutely covered in Catoru’s snowy hair.  Rips and tears from sharp claws litter the fabric, and it’s askew in a way that the normally put-together second-year would never allow.  And there’s dirt in her violet hair, I note.  Her bottom lip trembles and her eyes fill with tears.  Oh no.  Not the waterworks.  For a girl in her teens, she looks terribly like a chastised child.

“Well, you see… Gojo-sensei wanted me to try my Cursed Technique on a human for the first time.”

“And, let me guess, he volunteered to be the guinea pig in this little experiment?”

“Err… yeah.  He said it wasn’t safe to test on my fellow students.”

“Right.”  But it’s okay to test it on the world’s strongest Sorcerer.  That tracks—totally Satoru’s insane troll logic at play.

The feline doesn’t even have the wherewithal to look guilty.  There’s only Satoru’s patented mischief dancing in those otherworldly blue eyes.  There’s no mistaking the Six Eyes, not even in their current vessel.  And there’s no mistaking that smirk, even if it’s on the curled muzzle of an animal.  That’s all Gojo Satoru.  My little dumbass, I think affectionately.

“Well, might as well come in,” I offer and stand to the side so that Shizuko can step into the entryway.  “I’m cooking dinner, if you want some.”

“Oh, thank you very much, but I don’t want to intrude,” she responds shyly.

Satoru takes the opportunity to leap from the teenager’s arms with a mrrow and bolt into the kitchen.  Well, he had said he’d make it home in time for dinner tonight.  As per usual, he’s kept his promise in the silliest way imaginable.  I sigh.  Satoru is nothing if not consistent.  Predictable in his unpredictability.  That counts for something, even if I wish he’d tone it down a bit now and again.  Last time he’d let the students practice on him, he’d been unable to hear for four days.

“Sensei should be back to normal in twelve hours; that’s how long my Animal Transmutation Technique normally lasts.  Of course, this situation is so far from normal.”  The girl shuffles in place, scuffing her polished shoes on the welcome mat.  She buries her red face into her palms and shudders.  “I can’t believe I turned our sensei into a cat,” she whispers under her breath, still obviously horrified by the whole ordeal.

I smile reassuringly at her and offer the girl a friendly pat on the shoulder.  Normally, I’d hug her, but she’s covered in terrible, terrible things and I just took a shower.  “It’ll be fine, Shizuko-chan.  He’ll be back tomorrow, none the worse for wear.  Don’t worry too much, okay?”

I hear a clamor in the kitchen and whirl around in the blink of an eye.  “So help me, Gojo Satoru, if you even think of touching the food before I’ve plated it, I will skin you and turn you into a fur hat!”

A forlorn meow echoes somberly from inside.

Satisfied that there won’t be any sneaky paws, I turn back to Shizuko, but the girl has used the opportunity to flee into the night.  Smart girl.  I take one last look around, eyeing our quiet little neighborhood, and I shut out the chilly air.

The house smells like roasted fish and veggies, a favorite of mine to cook because of how simple it is.  A long day working on my art leaves my hands and wrists sore, and the last thing I usually want to do is chop or sauté or anything too arm-intensive.  And the less said about Satoru’s skills in the kitchen, the better.  When he says he’s good at everything, he’s absolutely fibbing from those perfect lips of his.  Unless, of course, he counts having the rare ability to set almost any food ablaze as a mark of excellence.

Sighing, I move into the kitchen and come face-to-cat with the aforementioned menace. Catoru, in all his fuzzy glory, is perched on the countertop, looking far too innocent for my tastes.

“It’s so funny; I swear that you were a human man when you left for work this morning,” I comment offhandedly.  “But clearly I was mistaken.”

I note that he refuses to meet my eyes, instead keeping his gaze firmly affixed to the floor.  Then he meows and paws at the storyboards I’ve left on the counter, probably so I’ll start talking about my day and skip the scolding.  Ah, he’s going with this tactic: avoidance, denial, and diversion.  Classic Gojo maneuver.  It stopped working on me a long time ago.

“Of course, I was also under the impression that you’re intelligent, but we both know that’s pushing it.”  That earns me a bit of a grumble.  “An intelligent person wouldn’t let a student try out an untested Technique on them, would they?”

I feel a little victorious when he shrugs his little shoulder and sniffs haughtily.  Oh, he’s pouting.  How adorable.  It’s terrible, but I’m overcome with the urge to scratch behind his little ears.  He’s cute even as a cat.  He’s lucky he’s cute, honestly.

I pull a small pink plastic bowl from the cabinets, careful not to bump any of the more fragile dishes.  I stretch onto my tippy toes.  It’s hard, trying to reach into the cabinets.  Usually Satoru—tall monster man that he is—has to get stuff down for me.  Of course, he’s indisposed at the moment.  I pull the yellowtail out of the oven let it cool.  The rice is done steaming, and the vegetables have already been lain out for plating.  I was just waiting on him to start dinner.  I’m about to eat with a cat.  This is weirder than the time he came home with purple hair, and I hadn’t been able to stop staring long enough to take a single bite before I’d had to excuse myself.

I pop a bit of rice into the bowl and cover it with the sauced potatoes and green beans.  The mackerel goes in last, and I set aside some of the crispier skin for him to crunch on.

“Here.  I’d imagine you’re starving after today.”  I set the bowl down in front of him and watch as the little terror immediately goes ham.  Not a table manner to be seen.  Yep; he’s still my Satoru.

While he does his best impression of Kirby, I take the time to really look at him.  He’s large, even for a tom cat.  He’d dwarfed poor waifish Shizuko with his bulk; she’d looked like a toddler with a stuffed animal, I think with a short snort.  Satoru’s blue eyes flicker up to me and I note that the pupils are little slits.  The tip of his tail is black, like a calligrapher’s brush dipped in ink, and the tips of his ears had gotten the same treatment. He’s a shorthair, and I’m kind of sad that he’s not fluffier to be honest.  He seems like he’d be quite the floof, based on his personality.

I have to refill the bowl twice before the monster in his tummy is satiated, but Satoru has always been something of a glutton.  He finishes dinner in record time, while I’m still picking away at the scraps at the edge of my plate.  Deciding that pushing the same green bean 'round and 'round isn’t exactly productive, I sigh and drop my fork.  And I rest my chin in my palm, watching the cat with narrowed eyes.

“You always cause so much trouble.  What am I going to do with you?”  I ask fondly.

And he slinks up to me, nuzzling his delicate pink nose into my cheek as though to say, ‘love me’.  It makes my heart ache in the most pleasant ways.  Such a big softy.  One of his furry cheeks rubs against me, tickling my nose.  And oh—he’s purring, a deep vibration that I can feel to my tiptoes.  He’s still in trouble.  But maybe he’s less in trouble than he was… just a bit.

I place a kiss to the top of his head and clean up the kitchen.  Satoru keeps a vigil, clinging to my side while I pack a lunch box full of leftovers.  And he hardly fusses when I pile the suds from the dish water between his ears.  He bats playfully at me, claws tucked away to avoid hurting me.  He’s always careful nowadays, always gentle.

…Well, almost always gentle.

As though to punctuate my thoughts, he nibbles with those needle-sharp teeth at the end of my pinky.  I admonish him gently, telling him that I’m not food.  He only nibbles more furiously, and I giggle at his antics.  He’s a gremlin.  My gremlin.

Eventually, the lights go out in the kitchen and I’m getting ready for bed.  Teeth brushed? Check.  Hair detangled?  Check.  Salacious reading material?  Double check.  I curl up in our shared bed with a smutty novel—something cheap with a shirtless cowboy on the front that’ll rot my brain enough to put me to sleep.  Satoru’s side of the bed is conspicuously empty, and the king-sized mattress feels so much larger without his bulk.

“Mrw?”

Think of the demon and he will appear, I think, cracking my book open and settling into bed.  I look at him over the pages of my Yen store trash.

“You know, I think I like you better as a cat.  I actually get to enjoy my evening in peace and quiet for once,” I tease him.  “Ah.  I get to read my porn without commentary.”

It’s actually… kind of lonely, not having him read over my shoulder and criticizing my taste in literature.  Who else is going to mock the shit-tier quality of the sex scenes for me?

“Maybe I’ll keep you like this, hm?”  I wink.

There’s a protesting yowl in response and I snort, hiding my face in the pages of the ‘romance’ novel.  The bed shifts as he jumps onto it.  The movement is clumsy, like he’s still not quite used to his new feline form.  He overshoots his landing a little bit, and the recovery is shaky at best.  I’d give it a solid five out of ten—good effort, but a failed execution.  He sticks is nose in the air and saunters like a snooty nobleman over to where I am, planting those little pink paw pads right onto my tummy.

He wants attention.  Such an attention whore.

“Oh, does the pretty kitty want scritches?” I ask, waggling my fingers at him.  And for good measure, I tickle the underside of his chin.

There’s an amused huff.  He likes it, the teasing.  Of course, he’s usually the one giving grief.  I’m just using this opportunity to return the favor.  I watch the black tip of his tail twitch.  Satoru slinks into my arms and tucks his warm little body against me.  His chin rest on my shoulder and those paws of his kneed against my bicep.  And he’s purring again, the gentle vibration thrumming in my chest along with my racing heartbeat.  His weight is a comfort.  Sighing in contentment, I place a kiss on top of his head and settle into my pillows.

“I’m still mad at you, you know.  This was reckless, even for you.”

He lets out a sad little chirp.

I know why he did it, though.  Shizuko is a second-year, and it’s only a matter of time before she starts going up against threats by herself, without Satoru or any of the other teachers there to keep her safe.  The other students in her year are all great combatants, with strong Techniques.  But Shizuko is… well, she’s not as strong as he’d like her to be at this stage.  Her Cursed Technique is useful for infiltration or surveillance, but limited in combat against Cursed Spirits.  Satoru was just trying to make her stronger even at his own expense.  He’d do anything for his students, the big softie.

“I get it—I really, really do—but maybe don’t volunteer yourself right out of the gate, okay?  Make them try their techniques out on Ijichi first.”

That gets a snort from him.

I let the book in front of me drift closed, holding my thumb to mark the pages.  And I lay back and stare at the ceiling.

“I think Shizuko-chan is going to be okay.  Maybe she’s just not cut out for fighting Curses; maybe she has another calling.”

The black-tipped ear flicks in my direction, and I take it as ‘keep going’.

“Well, I think she’d be better off fighting Curse Users.”  Satoru jolts up, looking at me with wide eyes, blue depths full of disbelief.  “No, really.  She can’t Transmute Curses into animals because the target has to be ‘living’, right?  That puts her at a severe disadvantage at hauntings.  But Curse Users are just humans.  She can transmute herself into a mouse, sneak into an enemy base, turn them all into cockroaches and—I don’t know—stick them in a jar until you guys can put them in Sorcerer jail… or whatever.”

He still looks unsure.

“Just imagine all of your greatest nemeses stuffed in an ant farm!”

Those fuzzy shoulders of his rise in a huff.  And that tail twitches again, back and forth, to and fro.  He’s thinking, at least.  I snort and crack open my porn, snickering when I immediately land into the midst of a rather creative sex scene involving a cast iron skillet and a bridle.  I can’t get into it with the weight on my chest so fidgety, though.  Satoru keeps shifting anxiously, fur rising along his spine.  He’s overthinking something again.  Idiot, I think fondly.

“You’re such a worrywart,” I admonish gently.  And I stroke a finger down his back until the tension melts out of his body.  The purrs continue, and I nestle further into our little nest.

He’s a pleasant little weight.  So much so that I hardly notice I’m falling asleep until the book falls from my hand.  I blink awake when the cat shifts away from my body, only for a moment, and then watch as a man’s hand reaches over me to turn out my reading light.  Sleepily, I follow the line of his pale skin to where my Satoru is himself again.  He rests a large hand on my cheek, leans in close, and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead.

“Hey, you,” I mumble, dreamy smile across my lips.

He noses into my hair, taking a deep breath, then he threads himself around my body with his long limbs.  “Hey.  Not quite twelve hours, but I’m not complaining.”

I hum in acknowledgement and wiggle into his warmth, pressing my cold feet against the back of his calves.  He’s such a great cuddler.  I love being in his arms, where I'm the safest thing in the world.  The last thing I say before I doze off again is a kindly, ‘your breath smells like fish, Toru’.

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Cat-Tastrophe - End