Some Enchanted Girlfriend by Donna Lamb 14. Roll Over “What humans do getting ready for sex is just disgusting,” said Muffins after Tim finally left. “All that face rubbing and groping. No yowling, no chasing, no biting, it’s just wrong.”

I giggled, struggling with the lever that would lock the door without the key. “Sounds like fun. We’ve been skipping those parts but I’ll remember next time. And what do you know, you’re only a kitten?”

“Well, I’m a kitten now, but last night I was big old tomcat,” she shivered. “Now I’m female again.”

“Again? Ow!” I almost twisted my thumb off pushing that stupid lever that Tim had made seem so easy. I ended up sucking on it, the thumb, and glaring at it, the lever; still not sure I actually had it locked. Wasn’t it supposed to go all the way over?

I needed to sit down; my thumb, back, boobs, feet and legs all ached. The kitten followed me around the corner of the kitchen where I climbed up on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. Tall chairs, really, since they had backs which I appreciated at the moment.

From the higher position, I noticed that the dining table seemed covered in booklets and small packages of objects, and several bins or containers of more objects. Like the table of someone who does a lot of craftwork, I wondered what the heck I had been making. It didn’t look like macrame, more like amateur jewelry.

Muffins settled on the floor in front of me, tucking her cute little white paws under her. I smiled at her because she looked so sweet but she had the grumps still. She said, “Yes, female again. I’ve been female before, I remember all my past lives. Unlike humans, we bound spirits don’t lose our memories when we transmigrate and only partly when we reincarnate into a new form.”

“Spirits? Transmicro-whosis? Is that what happened to me?” I blinked rapidly, trying to process a weird factoid told to me by a talking cat.

“This is gonna take a long time to explain, isn’t it?” said the kitten. She stood up, stretched, turned around, sat down and began to wash. “Okay, first of all, you don’t remember this but your body is that of Constance Madeline Catewood, a sorceress.”

“Not a witch?”

“Don’t interrupt. Yes, Catewood is–was?–is also a witch. They’re different things.”

“Different how?”

Muffins glared at me.

“Sorry,” I said. I rubbed the instep of my foot on one of the rungs of the stool. That felt good. I sucked on my thumb and wondered what Tim meant when he claimed to be a super-villain.

Muffins started talking again. “You, or your body, Connie Catewood, also known as Kate Wood, two names, sometimes... Wait, that’s not important yet. Um,” she gave a lick to a paw and rubbed it on her ear.

I wished she would hurry up. I wanted to wash my hair and take another bath and then finally get some clothes on. And in an hour or two, Tim would be back and we could go to lunch. I yawned. Maybe another nap, too. Maybe I’d have another weird dream but hopefully, not one as frightening as the last one.

It didn’t occur to me to wonder why I no longer felt freaked out by waking up with breasts, a vagina, a boyfriend and a whole new life. I was cool with it all, somehow. That ought to have worried me, but it didn’t.

But Muffins kept talking. “Okay, something else, first. Your mind, I don’t know where you came from but my numinous sense tells me that you are Catewood and you aren’t.” She looked up. “It’s confusing.”

“You’re telling me?” I rolled my eyes and suppressed a giggle.

“What do you remember?” asked the cat.

“Uh, not a lot. Waking up this morning in bed with a hangover and hairy giant. Tim, the giant, I never found out the hangover’s name. Before that, it’s kind of blank.”

Muffins frowned at me. Do cats actually frown? They would if they could and Muffins could so she did.

I went on. “But for most of the morning, I’ve been convinced I was male before I woke up. I mean, yesterday or whenever it was. Uh?” I thought there might be something else I remembered but it faded away. I’d had those odd dreams but I didn’t think those really counted and I couldn’t really latch onto the memory of them very well. Slippery things, dreams.

Muffins looked thoughtful and nodded with both ends, down in front, up in back and vice versa, except she got distracted by the movement of her tail and whirled in place, twice. “Hell’s Pocket Fisherman! What the fuck keeps following me around?”

“It... She... You....” I pointed with my left hand and put my right in my mouth. I tried to answer that way, nothing came out but garbles. Then I got seized by such a fit of giggles that I had to ease myself off the stool and sit on the floor before I could try to stop laughing. I took my hand out of my mouth and went, “Hee, hee, hoo, hoo, -hic-, hurkle, hurk, ha, ha, hoople, -hic-, heef, hee, hoo!”

Poor Muffins got greatly offended by my laughter, fluffed up all of her fur and backed away from me. “If you think something is all that funny, take a look at the DVDs in the corner. Those ought to really crack you up!”

I reached for her to try to make amends, I knew she’d forgive me if I could get her to purr, but she dodged away.

I had the hiccoughs, too, and could hardly communicate. “Don’t be -hic- like that, Muffins. -hic- Aren’t we friends? How -hic- how can you be my famil-hic-iar if you’re going -hic- going to be such a stranger?”

“My name is Ogen!” said the little cat. She hissed and spat at me, a tiny fluffball of pissed-offedness. And every bit as funny as her chasing her tail.

Still stifling giggles, I got up on all-fours and tried to crawl after her but she scooted away and disappeared through the door to the bathroom. I ended up distracted by the sensation of my boobs wobbling under me, bumping me on the arms and generally making me feel like an inverted camel with upside down humps.

“Don’t say hump -hic-,” I warned myself. “Moo-hic-oo!” Camels don’t say moo but cows do and I felt udderly ridiculous. “Hee, hee, hoo, -hic- ha! How the hell -hic- did I get such big tits? I’m small and -hic- skinny but I’ve got big boobs and a big -hic- butt. Ow.” The hiccoughs were getting violently painful.

That did it. Hiccoughs that hurt were funny, yes, but not that funny. I rolled over on my back and finally got control of myself. “Whee! Hic! Ow!” Well, eventually.

I lay there for a moment catching my breath, looking at the stucco on the ceiling and wondering again if I had gone insane or fallen down a rabbit hole, or fallen down the hole of an insane rabbit. On a whim, I kicked my legs in the air, waved my arms and squealed, “I still don’t have any clothes on!”

Somehow that helped.

After a bit longer just lying there, feeling the woof of the carpet warp my bare bottom, I sat up, crossed my arms under my boobs for support and knee-walked over to the corner to look at the DVDs Muffins had mentioned. “I’m looking at the DVDs, Muffins, uh, Ogen?” I called out.

“I hope you shit on yourself,” said the still pissed-off cat from somewhere in the bathroom.

“Huh.” I said. I pulled out one of the jewel cases and turned it to show the title and cover art. It showed a very busty, cute little blonde, naked, tied with ropes and scarves to what looked like an airplane seat.

I recognized the blonde. “Wendy Splendid Stars in Bound for Pleasure,” the title read.

“Hell’s Finest Kind Little Green Apple Tarts,” I said. “That’s me.”