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The Cat Café
🕑 Added 2019-08-12 15:49:01 +0000 UTCNews first, Story down below:
So full disclosure --and probably an easy guess if you saw the taskbar layer in Photoshop as I was making this-- but part of why I made this, why I made it so detailed, and why I tried to keep it PG-13 is because I wanted to make a desktop background for people. For now I wanted to give the desktop options to patrons only as a thank you for your support, though I will post a version of it on other sites.
If there is a screen resolution here that does not work for your display please let me know and I can add more --some cropping may occur.
(Files are at the bottom of the post.)
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Business on Harper street means a constant struggle to stay relevant. Between snake milk franchises and pop-up cults cashing in on 90's faerie nostalgia, everything demands the public's immediate attention. The last place that tried to sell normal craft supplies made ends meet laundering money for the haunted elves' choir. That shop closed soon after a case of arson burned away all the ghosts and not-ghosts. There were no convictions, but all signs pointed to the yodeling bodega across the street.
Then came a small coffee shop with velvet cushions, lace curtains, and a small bookshelf of selected poetry. It was normal. Anywhere else it might be overlooked, but here on Harper street it was aggressively normal. Normal enough to draw me in along with a curious few on opening day.
The shop is run by a tall, conservatively dressed woman of indiscernible age named Miss...something or other. She has a clear, cooing voice that carries across the entire shop. There is no menu, just "Something to drink or eat?" and she gives you something different every time you order. I can remember everything that she served us:
Mint tea, Chamomile, Chai, Oolong, Sweet iced tea, Milk tea, Lapsang Souchong, Kemono Blend, hot cider, fire sprite essence, ice water with muddled lime and basil, lemonade, hot cocoa, black coffee, espresso, café au lait, cappuccino, warm milk, croissants, meringues, scones, biscuits, shortbread, parfaits, taiyaki, marzipan, macaroons...I'll stop now.
She never stops moving, dancing from table to table. Every time Miss serves someone she gives them a little scritch on the head. Soon enough there are more people than seats, but no one appears ready to leave. I'm only glad I came early enough to have a chair as some people are left sitting on the floor, rubbing up against the other customer's legs. I ask for what will be my eighth drink from what is now my favorite cup, "One mrrore Miss!".
She stops moving. Time slows down. The room goes quiet. Her attention is fixed on me, and the room holds its breath as she speaks "Say please". My tongue goes dry in my mouth as a small wave of shame washes over me. My throat feels tight as I overcome my nerve, and it comes out a little higher than I mean it to "Please Miss, could I have more to drink?". She continues to stare at me. I try to meet her gaze, but my vision blurs. I rub my eyes and I can hear the clack clack clack of her shoes as she approaches. Before I can open my eyes her hands cup my cheeks. A jolt races up my spine, and I let out a soft trill. My ears start burning with embarrassment and I carefully open my eyes to see her, towering over me. The colors seem off, maybe from rubbing my eyes. I focus on her face and her expression grows into a beaming smile. There is a low rumbling noise in my chest as she gives me scritches under my chin. But the scritches stop as she slides past me to the front door. She pulls out a key and bolts the door shut. Then she takes her key out, walks behind the counter, and into the back room. As the door clicks shut I'm left dejected, wanting more scritches. The burning in my ears increases. It doesn't stop, it just keep building. I shift in my seat, feeling uncomfortably hot. My clothes feel loose and tight in all the wrong places.
Two men start groaning, clutching their stomachs. Their voices pick up and their breathing climbs higher and higher. A woman clutches a table as her legs start to arch and spasm. Her pants bunch up and balloon outward. My hands and feet start to ache and I can't help but claw at the table as I'm forced to lean forward. Pressure builds to pain as my shorts fight a spur growing at the base of my spine. Then suddenly my bottoms give out entirely, making room for a big bushy tail. The loose fabric of my shorts hangs by the buttoned waist as the material seems to bunch, and split. The cloth feels softer and smoother as it blackens. The frayed ends reshape into lace as a layer of crinoline peaks out from beneath. Pressure surges down my tail as it grows. I feel a rush of wind run across my backside and reach back to hold the fabric down, but my tail resists the effort. I shudder and feel the hot shame from my ears creeping up my head. I look to see if anyone peeked. Lace is erupting on everything as clothes bleed into shades of black and white. Among the mews and yowls of the room not a person is untouched, and man or woman, we are all becoming some variation on the theme.
Fabrics shift between satin, linens, silks, cottons, and leather. Men shrink and squirm as their bodies fight to stay in tightening clothes. Women jump as their bras snap and thick hair grows across their bodies. The hair quickly changes into fur, and I am then aware of the itch of fur growing under my clothes. With the fur on my legs I know that my socks are crawling up my thigh. They stretch into lace stockings as my heels slip free of my low-tops. I shake off my shoes to reveal padded paws, which extend into claws as they grip the floor. I start to hyperventilate as it gets harder to breath. For a second it feels like I'm finally going to lose it, but it's not nerves. My shirt is constricting. The fabric grows thicker as leather bands stretch around my waist. Tighter and tighter, forcing my chest up and out, framing my breasts, now clearly defined. They are covered in a downy fur beneath the sheer white button blouse that used to be my tank top. The pressure of the corset pulls down on my shirt. Tighter and tighter, until the collar stretches wide and falls in a pleated pattern just below my shoulders. Along my arms short puffed sleeves fall halfway down to my elbows. Then the corset relaxes, and I can breathe a little easier. I want some one to rub my back, tell me it's okay. As I look at what's become of me I catch a flash of color out of the corner of my eye. My hair winds around my head, turning a vibrant lavender. It lengthens and shapes itself into a loose braided, tied at the end with a silk white ribbon. A few locks fall forward to frame my face. As I brush my hair away I realize that my hands are now padded. My fingers are shorter, thicker, and covered in fur, but at least they still feel nimble.
As I examine my paw hands I catch the lingering smell of pastry, and without thinking I start to lick. My tongue reaches out as I run along the length of my pads, stretching farther and farther. The caterwauling around me fades away as I start to groom the fur on the backs of my paws. I feel my sharpening teeth as my tongue slips between my lips. The grooming tickles my face and an itch starts along my nose. I rub my paws across the moistening pink tip. Muscles tense as my jaw pushes forward. Every rub pushes fur and whiskers out of my growing feline muzzle. The grooming is hypnotic, but just as I begin to lose myself to the ritual I hear a click-churr. It's a camera shutter. People have started to gather from outside looking in at us. It seems that no distraction or amusement along all of Harper street can drown out a room full of screeching cat maids.
I am mad. I am mortified. Put on display as the biggest publicity stunt on Harper street. My ears burn again and I fear another transformation, but no...there is a lingering feeling. I try to focus on that. I should be furious right now, but I look around and all the women, now my sisters, and I don't know what to make of things. Only one girl is crying, and I think she used to be a guy. Some of them are talking about what they just went through, one is sweeping for some reason, another is taking a nap. To the delight of many outside two have started rolling around together playing on the bench by the window. There is another click-churr and I freeze. As I was watching the other girls I had gone back to grooming myself without realizing it. On the other side of the window there is a young man with a Polaroid camera. My ears burn again, but it's different this time. Now there's curiosity, and a bit of flattery mixed in. I shuffle over to the window and a crowd gathers around the boy. I can't care less about them now, I want to see the photos. I ask the boy "Can'nyeu show me your pictures?" still a few notes higher than I'd like and noting the verbal tic. He gawks at me but slowly holds the two he photographs up against the window. The second one is still developing, but the first is finished now. I see a young woman with the features of a cat. She looks so beautiful in her pretty maid outfit as she licks her paw, lost in the moment. I forget what I'm looking at and who it is in the picture. Then I catch my reflection in the window and slink down to the floor. I bury my face in my hands, but I can't ignore the changes as I feel the new contour of my nose. The thought echoes in my head: She looks so beautiful... I am convinced that everyone can see me blush right through my fur and it only makes things worse.
Slowly, the nerves subside and I'm by myself again, lost to the world. I peek at my reflection in the window, experimenting with it. I make her do things. She growls, bares her teeth, plays with her hair, loosens up her god damn corset. Her tail starts to sway in long rhythmic strokes and she tries to catch it only to jolt at the feeling of her own tail. Suddenly she lets out a laugh, and it comes out of my mouth. It's still higher than I expect, but its kinda cute. Heh. One of my sisters comes up to the reflection and says in an even higher voice than mine "You seem to be taking this pretty well, huh?". I turn to face her. We are complete strangers and yet I feel such a strong connection to her, I say "Could you scritch my ears, Sis?" She jumps back a little " Sis!? Mrow!" I wave my arms trying to erase what I just said "Sorry! Nothing! Crazy shop mew? I love your stripes!" totally dumb to what might be running through her head.
Suddenly, the door clicks, and we go silent. Miss comes out of the back door. She is carrying a small stack of papers and enough drinks for the group. We don't move. She has the strut of a lion tamer and we're still too disoriented to put up any real fight. The worst she gets is a glare from the woman that used to be a man, her face puffy from crying. Finally she speaks "Thank you all for coming today, this is The Cat Café. I hope you enjoyed this free reception. As per the experience, I have your reversion spells ready and some private changing rooms in the back." She pauses to read the room, but everyone, including the crowd outside is motionless. "I would also like to extend an offer for any of you who enjoyed your experience to come and work for me here at the shop-" The puffy-faced woman stands up abruptly, and stomps over to the tray of drinks. She grips one of the glasses and walks past Miss without even a glance, mumbling about litigation and consumer protection. Then she throws back the drink and slams the back door behind her. A MMMMMmph!! can be heard followed by the crash of breaking glass. Miss appears unphased and continues, "You'll be able to stay as you are for as long as you like and you'll receive extensive benefits, including early access to new formulas. Anyone interested please fill out a form and come talk to me. Again, I thank you all for your patronage. Please mind the broken glass in the back."
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"There were a few others that left in understandably sour moods, but not as many as you might think. People can be very forgiving about temporary inconveniences, and everyone that day left with a story to tell. I guess that's why I stayed. It all just felt like a storybook and I wanted to see where it would go. Plus, Miss gives the best scritches. And that's how I started working here."
"Wow, that's...bat shit insane. So why did they change the name to the Puppy Pub?"
"Well the Cat Café actually closed. Of the thirteen people who attended the reception that day three decided to work with Miss, five ended up returning for a less public experience, one ended up as a regular but she only ever orders from the normal menu, and the last four filed criminal and civil charges. But Miss mysteriously disappeared before they could sentence her. Fortunately, her identical twin brother Mister started up his own similar business here on Warner street, under a legally distinct LLC. So we three joined up with him and now I'm a Corgi-butler. So then, what can I get you bark bark?"
Comments
Val Salia
Oh wow! I gotta say, as much as I enjoyed the picture, I think I enjoyed the story even more. The inclusion of how bystanders and such reacted to what happened was a really nice touch, and something that I think a lotta stories like this could benefit from.
Wat
Love the pic, nice work Comic! Glad to see you're posting on here again too :B
