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Quiet, wasn’t something that averted Ming. If ever she had the chance to discuss such a thing, she would lament she knew it too often. The quiet of a room, far away, from anyone and anything. The quiet of a bed, of a blanket, and a phone screen, a bright light, a beacon towards losing track of time, and procrastination towards work, friends, commitments, eating, drinking, even living. But the quiet she felt wasn’t of the nature. For one, it was earned, unlike the suffocating silence that had held her in a vice grip in her bed. She had worked hard, she had ventured outward, and now she rested on a couch. Not in her home, not today. But in another home.
The smell of dried herbs, sage mint and thyme, the salt of the sea, and the smell of soft tea was never something that could bless her home. It was Seikile’s. She had invited Ming over for the afternoon, after a day spent driving around her Trabant and winding up in far too much trouble for any ordinary mailwoman. She was either blessed by the God’s to encounter adventure, or cursed by them to never know a peaceful day on the job. The tea Seikile made for the pair had one cup half finished, and grown cold. Whilst Ming smiled all the while she drank it, and the warmness the filled her throat lingered sweet in her mind, and the soft taste of the honey used to make it was divine, she was too weary to indulge herself. Too weary to hold the cup up to her lips. Seeing this, Seikile asked if she might rather return home, but Ming had refused, saying she simply wished to sit down for a bit longer. Soon her sitting turned to resting on the couch. Then to full on slumber. Seikile herself recalled a time Ming had done the same for her when the locks to her apartment were lost, and she knew she wanted to take perfect care of her.
She had studied the form of Ming’s sleep, the way her body was positioned. At a 17o incline on the arm of her sofa. She had placed a blanket in the perfect position, as to where she would be in the most mathematically comfortable state to sleep it, neither too hot nor cold. And when the little perfectionist had snuck a pillow underneath Ming to adjust the angle of her incline to a more optimal number, Seikile retired briefly to her bathroom. She used her phone, and began to play a soft music from home. An ideal harmony, she always said. And whether it was ideal due to mathematics like she claimed, or simply due to the truth as known unto her ears, it was ideal for her.
She existed from a shower, wiping the water from her body with an even number of passes along both sides of her body. As the body was symmetrical, so too must be the approach to caring for it. Her soft lyre music echoed slightly in the quiet apartment. Artemis had flown for a brief while, and it was merely the two of them inside. She believe that such a soothing melody wouldn’t stir a sleeping Ming, knowing that such a tune was ideal for a lullaby, as always did it lull herself to sleep. Yet, there was no head of Ming resting on her pillow, neither was there the shape of Ming hiding under the blanket left on the coach where she placed it.
Seikile called for her friend, her first call surprised, her second sharp, and her third panicked. “Ming? Ming. Ming!?”
She ran ahead, stepping first with the right foot, and then with the left. Logically, one ought never to begin their canter with their sinful foot, and thus the right was always preferred. She took stock of her apartment. She knew Ming, and she was a clumsy individual. She adored that about her, the imperfect chaos she brought, she could always see where Ming had been, from the pattern she etched by her hands and feet. But, everything was untouched, untainted by the imperfect, from the couch, to the table, to the door. The door still locked from the inside.
Worry echoed from her, “Ming, where did you go? You can’t have left. I had prepared dinner with a perfect equation for two, it’ll be ruined without my secondary component!”
No voice of Ming came, or at least, not one that logic should have dictated. Instead, from underneath that blanket on her coach, Seikile heard a meow, from an animal which had just begun to awake.
She approached the sound, all reason confounding her. She had come into this city to find chaos, but she didn’t anticipate what she saw. Where Ming had laid moments before, was a spotted black and white cat. Resting underneath the blanket Seikile had gifted to Ming. And if any doubt was held as to whom this was, Seikile saw in the creatures tired and sad eyes, the same gaze which so often was cast outward from Ming’s own face. The cat was her.
“Ming?” Seikile asked, “How. How could this happen!? There are no possible answers for how this could have happened. The variables in the room could never produce such an answer of a changing of species!”
Ming gazed up at her friend, at first seeming confused by the panic of her logically minded, though aloof, friend. Then the realisation set in. Her body felt strange, small, her world seemed small. She felt warming, her breathing felt different. And, she couldn’t speak like normal, she couldn’t speak at all. Only make short little meows.
Seikile grabbed Ming and held her close. The young woman’s body was trembling. “Why!? Why!? What happened, who did this!? Why are you so small, and fuzzy and…”
Seikile’s body eased up. She felt the soft fur of Ming against her skin, against her cheek. Her shaking stopped, replaced by a brief calm due to the distraction by the softness of the tiny furball.
“You’re so fluffy now Ming. I… can I… can I pet you?”
Ming gave a meow, whether or not it was in protest or in consent mattered little, as Seikile heard the answer she wished for regardless.
“Oh thank you Ming!” She began to pet the catified Ming. And inside of her, Ming felt an odd sense of comfort. It was like a warm hug, like sleeping gently beside someone. Her voice let slip the sounds of her satisfaction and joy, low and quiet purrs.
For fifteen minutes Seikile gently stroked her, sitting on the floor while Ming slowly guided her hand to different spots, her soft belly felt the best, and it’s where she lead Seikile to the most. But before her, the girl on the floor looked suddenly sleepy, as if lulled by a sudden spell.
She wondered, “I hope you can hear me Ming. I want to speak to you… even if you cannot speak back.” Ming nodded, at least she still had that form of communication. “:0 You can!” Overjoyed, Seikile began to speak, guided by her ‘tism into gifting Ming’s ears with knowledge. “I heard once, that a feline’s purr is a special harmony. Back home, they would have several cats in the place where we kept our sick and injured. They would lie beside the patients and purr if they liked them, and they would heal quicker because of it. I never realised…” she yawned, “how relaxing it can sound…”
Her hand let go of petting, she nearly fell over then and there. In an effort to keep her awake, Ming sat up, reached over and licked her face. The sensation caused Seikile too flinch dramatically, who was undoubtedly quite ticklish. She sat up, she asked Ming if she was hungry.
“It is not the perfect time for an evening meal… but the pattern of my energy has become disturbed. I don’t think I can wait until then. I shall make a small meal now… I read that cats cannot eat the food of the Pythagoreans, they require meats and fish. I do not eat them myself but, I kept some fish in the fridge for Artemis. Would you like some?”
Ming meowed, Seikile took this as a yes.
“Wonderful! I shall make this at once.”
She cooked a small meal for Ming and herself. She was unused to cooking fish, and it was by no means perfection, yet it was by no means off-putting either. Even in things she had never tried, Seikile seemed to have a natural talent, due to her mathematical gaze which she looked at everything through. Seikile herself had some bread she had bought earlier that day. Nibbling on it like it was a sweet. She waited until Ming had eaten her dinner, then asked one final question of her friend.
“Ming… you’re so soft… can you, sleep with me tonight? You’re the perfect amount of calming, and your purring aligns with my hearts current frequency.”
Ming’s meow again was taken as a yes by Seikile. Yet, if Ming had meant no, she took no action against Seikile’s wishes, being scooped up and brought to bed, being gently held in Seikile’s arms as she slept. The girl began to mumble a soft dream in her sleep in mere minutes, guided to the realm of dreams by Ming’s soft purring. And Ming herself drifted to sleep. Despite the oddity of whatever this was, whatever on earth had happened to her. She felt a tranquil peace she hadn’t in so long. So long, she was willing to put off answers to her condition, to how to turn back, for a shortwhile, to savour the feeling. To savour, this wonderful peace.