Chapter 8 #2
But none of that is about to matter. I’ve never been that much of a chemist, but any old idiot can take a vial from the set of vials marked Do Not Touch, and put it in her pocket. And then she can go find another vial marked Seriously, Don’t Fucking Touch This, and pocket that, too.
And then any old silly-billy can be asked to make coffee for the boss’ boss, and accidentally on purpose tip that shit in.
And then almost any absolutely deranged lunatic can sprinkle a little ground-up cat hair in the mix.
The bar for this whole plot is really very low.
The hardest thing is knowing where to get the secret vials marked Do Not Touch, and I have the advantage there because that’s how Simon marks the vials in his secret fridge.
The only thing I don’t really know is if ground-up cat hair will do anything, or if I have to follow the whole complicated gene extraction thing that they do when they do this properly.
That involves a lot of equipment and gas burners and glass swirly things that I don’t have time to use.
Having spiked Veronica’s coffee with a large dose of transformational juice, I pause for a moment and wonder if this is who I want to be.
I might be on the precipice of doing something absolutely unforgivable.
Or making history. One thing is for sure, I’m never going to be seen as an easy victim again.
“What took you so long?”
I carry the cup into her office with a slightly shaking hand, only to be met with a harsh barking demand that immediately makes me very glad I interfered with it.
I put the coffee down in front of her. She peers down at it with an expression I can only register as annoyed.
For a second, I am terrified that Veronica is suspicious because she knows my secret and my whole plan and I am not only going to get fired, but probably arrested for trying to poison her.
“Sorry,” I say. “It looked a little stale, so I made a fresh pot, and I had to go and get more filters, because the machine was out, so then…”
“I don’t need your life story,” she snaps, impatient, all that earlier charm completely evaporated. She is full mask off now, and she clearly does not care what I think.
I try not to stare at the drink, even though I’m willing her to get it down her. Sometimes I make coffees or cups of tea at home and they do nothing but get cold. If she gets distracted, if a phone call comes in, if…
She drinks the coffee.
I watch as she takes a sip, then makes a face, as if there’s some way coffee can be bad. It’s the most homogeneously unpleasant drink I have ever tried, but people insist that there’s good bitter nasty water vs bad bitter nasty water. Whatever makes them happy, I guess.
“Not good?”
“It’s fine,” she says. “Adequate.”
“You want less creamer next time?”
“I’ll let you know what I want, and when I want it,” she says. “For now, you can get to work color coding my filing cabinet.”
I am stalling, obviously. I don’t want to leave her alone. I want to see what happens next. I might need to do something about it. Or I might have to call an ambulance. I guess we’ll see.
“You want me to do your filing now?”
“Right now!” she says. But the last word of her order sounds just a little like meow.
“As in this second?” I ask the clarifying question to take up a little more time.
She makes a very irritated sound. Kind of like a hiss.
Oh, my god.
Watching people melt never gets old. First, Veronica’s face sort of… softens. Then it droops, then it gets small. Really, really small. Then all of her clothes are very big and a white fluffy cat is sitting on her chair making a hell of a racket.
“Oh, my god, it worked!” I gasp.
Cat Veronica swipes at me.
“Easy!” I say. “There’s no need to worry. This is very, very safe. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. I’m going to take very good care of you.”
Her back arches, her fangs extend. She makes a grand show of batting and swatting at me with both paws.
I’m starting to realize that a cat probably wasn’t the best idea for this experiment. Cats aren’t nearly as helpless as people like to think they are.
I make sure the office door is closed, so she can’t escape, and then I sidle around Cat Veronica, grab her by the scruff of the neck, and wrap her up in a burrito comprised entirely of her very own designer blazer. Her little cat face stares out with feline fury.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “You’re going to have a lovely time being a cat. It’s so much better than being a bitch.”
She yowls at me furiously, but she can’t do anything because her little murder mittens are tucked safely away in her own coat. She’s adorable as a cat. She has very big blue eyes and a little smudge on her nose.
What do I do with her now?
Huh.
It occurs to me that I didn’t actually think this would work. My plan was to give her the stuff and turn her into a cat, but once that happened I didn’t think much past it. I can’t just let her go. Something bad might happen to her. I don’t actually wish her harm. I just wish her cat.
Success, it seems, is something I don’t anticipate. Probably worth discussing with a mental health professional at some point. Right now, I am going to have to just have to handle this good fortune as it comes. What do you do with an angry cat? I guess I could wrestle her out to the car, but…
“Is Veronica here?”
I jump slightly as one of the other workers at this fine institution taps on the door, then cracks it, then proceeds to just walk in.
I don’t know her name, because I was never introduced.
She’s a middle-aged, medium tall woman with brown hair and brown eyes, and I’m probably never going to see her again in my life, but that’s no reason to be rude and not say hello.
“Hello,” I say, snuggling the viciously furious Veronica.
The woman who has put her head around the door, and followed it with the rest of her body, looks like one of the researchers.
She’s wearing a white coat, which gives her a very lab adjacent vibe.
I am just wearing my writer entrapped by the big businesswoman attire, so I guess I come across as an assistant or similar.
“No. She’s busy,” I say. “Uh. She’s elsewhere. I don’t know where she is.”
I have got to get a grip. I sound suspicious even to my own ears. The first part of getting away with this is going to be not being suspicious.
“Is that a cat?” The woman melts at the sight of two kitty ears sticking up and out of the blazer I am holding onto for dear life.
“It is.”
“Awwww!” She tries to reach out and pet the kitty, but Cat Veronica hisses.
“Must be Veronica’s,” she says, withdrawing her hand swiftly.
“Oh, yes,” I laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to find the carrier that’s supposed to be here for her.”
“We probably have one in the lab I can grab for you,” the woman says. “You’re Lydia, right? You work with Simon? I’m Denise.”
“Nice to meet you, Denise,” I smile. “That would be honestly so great. I’m going to catch hell from Veronica if I don’t get this thing to the vet for her.”
“I will be right back,” Denise says.
And just like that, a carrier appears. The universe really does reward bravery and boldness.
How motivating. I might start trying other things, now that this one has worked out.
Maybe I was always meant to do daring crimes, but I just never gave myself the chance.
Maybe I need to truly believe in myself more?
With Veronica in a carrier, I take her to my car, I take her home, and I let her loose in the bathroom of my house with a litter box, a bowl of water, and a small pan of kibble.
She leaps into the bath and sits there with flat airplane ears, looking at me as though I am an evil giant.
“I didn’t want to do this to you,” I say.
“And I don’t know how long you’re going to be a cat, but I can tell you that if there’s any kind of justice in the world, it will be a long time.
You had no right to try to take Simon’s research and use it for your own ends.
And you had no right to let him use me as some kind of broodmare. What happened to being a girl’s girl?”
She hisses at me.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I’m not going to let you go. You’re not going to have to survive on the streets. You can stay with me, if you can behave yourself.”