I'd read once that science wasn't 100% certain how or why cats purr. I don't know if that's still true; the topic, unsurprisingly, attracted more attention post-pandemic. I gather that the how in catgirls is about the same as in cats, as far as they've been able to determine; something involving rapid modulation of breath by laryngeal action,° possibly triggered by a dedicated oscillator in the brain…?
° (This, by the way, makes it pretty much impossible to speak intelligibly when your dumb cat brain gets a good purr going. Which is just super convenient when you're trying to hold a conversation, let me tell you.)
Effectively, your breathing is chopped up into a series of little micro-breaths; this naturally throttles your respiratory rate, meaning that it's both an expression of and an aid to relaxation. You feel the vibration in your chest (even though the aperture is up in your throat,°) which is soothing in the same way that feeling it from a cat you're petting is; purring kicks you into a feedback loop of self-sustaining contentment.
° (I'd bet this has something to do with the properties of standing waves in a closed pipe, but I'm no acoustician.)
As for why? I wasn't sure. I normally associated it with happiness, to whatever extent that applied to non-sapient critters, but I couldn't see how that'd make sense here. Was it just some animal-brain thing where safe + comfortable + needs met = chill mode, regardless of all the complicated people things I still hadn't figured out? It was annoying to think that some part of my brain was downplaying everything that stressed me, but it was hard to keep being annoyed, between the relaxing effect and the other comforts surrounding me at the moment.
At any rate…it wasn't like forcing myself to feel stressed would accomplish anything, would it? I'd have to deal with the stressors at some point, but nothing happening right now had any bearing on that. It was mildly embarrassing to realize, sure, but for now, maybe it was okay to just—
And then I stopped purring – not from any kind of shock, but because the needs met flag had just gotten cleared, in a way that I had a lifetime of familiarity with; it wasn't 'til I was already moving to dislodge the cat from my lap that I put the pieces together vis-à-vis the data points of I have to go to the bathroom and my manhood has officially Checked Out. I power-cringed, prompting Nicole to flick a curious ear in my direction, but she didn't ask and I didn't feel like bringing it up. Beyond even showering, this was not negotiable, even if it made me feel awkward on a couple levels.
I'll spare you the gory details, but I earned this the hard way and I am damn well going to rant a bit. Yes, as a woman you have to sit down to pee, barring certain novelty methods which I am dimly aware of but have no interest in pursuing. No, it's not a tremendous, life-altering inconvenience, certainly not compared to the other stuff you have to deal with when Fate schedules you for a curvier, fuzzier refit.
And for the love of God, Christ, Mike, Pete, Satan, angels, principalities, powers, all that is good and holy, all that is evil and profane, every other spirit or deity whereby anything is sworn in any religion ever practiced throughout history, all things in Heaven and Earth, all things out of the same, and any other God-damned thing I didn't cover in the preceding, it is not titillating! It's going to the friggin' bathroom, which is to say it's a mildly gross bodily function that's a relief to be done with but a nuisance to have to deal with in the first place, and the notion that it's some sort of titter-worthy blow to the remains of one's masculine pride to have to alter your pissing habits° (as compared to, y'know, anything else about the experience of becoming a woman) is frankly bonkers.
° (Besides, it's a scientific fact that nobody feels dainty and feminine when they're on the can.)
But boy howdy, you know what is a weird, awkward nuisance? TRYING TO USE A CONVENTIONAL TOILET WHEN YOU HAVE A GODDAMN TAIL. A lot of people think of them as a sort of mystery appendage sprouting from some ambiguous point in the vicinity of the lower back,° but – and this really shouldn't need saying, but apparently it does – the tail is an extension of the spine, and, as previously noted, A. the spine normally ends between the buttcheeks, and B. it doesn't make sharp turns all at once.
° (I can almost understand this with normal people, but it's also true of a bunch of furry artists, to judge by things you stumble across on the Internet, which is truly baffling. You'd think they of all people would care about these things.)
The upshot of which is that there's just no good way to sit.° Try to sit normally, and you kink your tail against the seat; hunch forward, and you brush it across cold ceramic;°° try to sit at an angle, and those dumb horseshoe seats leave one thigh sitting in the gap; straddle it backwards, and have both thighs hugging the damn bowl. It is absolutely no coincidence that old-timey raised-tank designs have been coming back into vogue recently.
° (Cleanup is also a thrillingly delicate operation, depending on the nature of one's business.)
°° (And God help you if you're in a public restroom. There is not enough UGH in the world to properly convey that experience.)
Aside from that exciting discovery, it was just…odd…being in a woman's bathroom. It wasn't the first time, but it was the first since I was facing the prospect of being one – which gave it an extra jolt of strangeness on top of my being a territorial animal by nature and finding anybody's private spaces a little alien. Oh look, I thought, it's the same tub/shower I have in my apartment, only she's got little bottles of stuff lined up on it. What purpose do they serve? Will I need them? There's hair implements on the sink counter; should I get some of those? Will they help? With what? Is anybody gonna tell me, or am I just supposed to know? I got that weird feeling again, like I was being initiated into a world formerly beyond my ken…
I reemerged just as Nicole's washer chimed, and stalked out to the garage before she could ask me if I was doing okay. Swapping my laundry over wasn't difficult, but it felt heavier than usual; as far as I knew I'd neither gained nor lost muscle tone,° so it was probably due to losing height and having shorter arms, plus a bit of not-used-to-my-new-center-of-gravity for good measure. I sighed, annoyed, and hoped that it wouldn't be too much of an issue; at least my job didn't involve a lot of lifting and carrying.
° (Not that I had much to begin with. Sue me, I'm in IT.)
She had a thing of dryer sheets on the shelf; I went to grab one, but its cloying smell assaulted my nostrils, and I hurriedly tossed it back in the box. I used to kinda like that scent, but you don't realize how incredibly chemical a lot of perfumes are 'til your sense of smell is supercharged. I noticed that her jug of detergent was unscented, and wondered if she was as sensitive as me, now; then again, maybe if you decked yourself out in whatever blend of oils and herbs and whatnot followed her around, you were better equipped to handle it.
Snickers was posted at the corner of the entryway when I got back. We regarded each other warily, and I crouched and extended my hand. She drew back and turned to stalk off, but didn't hiss at me this time; cripes, maybe I was being accepted as one of the clowder…
I fidgeted uncomfortably as I returned to the couch. The apartment was warmer than the garage, and having my hoodie zipped up with no shirt on underneath was making me feel a little toasty; I hadn't broken into a sweat, yet, but it felt like I probably would. I went to unzip it, then got all self-conscious upon remembering why I had it closed in the first place.
Nicole cocked a fuzzy eyebrow. "Take off nyewr coat, stay a while?" she quipped.
"I…don't have anything on under it," I said, my cheeks a little flushed. "It was the only thing I had that wasn't kinda snug on…nya, tender bits."
"Kinda thought so," she said, and glanced down at herself. "It was a li'l weird havin' to deal with that again, but I was all prrreoccupied with the other stuff that was happenin' to mya."
I eyed her curiously. She'd touched on this earlier, but I hadn't really thought about it 'til now – what was it like for her? Sure, she'd more or less wanted this, and she'd only had her whole body altered into an entirely different species and got a pass on the really awkward part, but it still must've been strange to experience. I almost asked, but she was already giving me a perky grin. "If nya want, nyew can borrow some things of mine."
For a moment, I wondered whether I should feel weird about that. I was aware that swapping clothes was a thing with the fairer sex,° but I was used to filing it under Things Man Was Not Meant To Know. To the extent that I thought about clothing at all, I classified it as a functional necessity: a sort of combination of armor and territory-that-goes-around-with-you to the inner monkey-mind, keeping everything else out and you in. The idea of exchanging that with a stranger was…not exactly abhorrent, but deeply strange.
° (On the occasions my sister'd had friends over, you'd swear they were cycling through every possible permutation of each other's ensembles.)
On the other hand, it was hardly the most fundamental norm that was being upended on me, and I did kinda want to be in a state that my brain could classify as "actually dressed" – it was one thing hanging around my apartment in barely more than my skivvies, but quite another to be over at a neighbor's like this. I nodded – a bit reluctantly – and followed as she rose and ushered me into the master bedroom.
"Nyew'll want something with a looser fit," she said, rummaging through the closet. "Mya got any prrreferences style-wise…?"
I considered it briefly, but couldn't think of what to say. "…Hell, I dunno," I said at last, still feeling weird at the question of how I wanted people to see me; but I trusted her enough to not deliberately mess with me, and I could always say no. "I didn't know you even owned clothes like that," I muttered, as she passed over a surprisingly professional-looking pencil skirt and blouse/jacket combo; I couldn't remember ever seeing her in anything that wasn't granola-hippie wear.
It was meant to be under my breath, but I still wasn't used to her enhanced hearing; thankfully she didn't take offense, and merely churred in amusement. "Nyever kniaow when nyew'll have to be all Rrrespectable," she chuckled. "The county officials're one thing, but everrry niaow and then we'll get some mucky-muck with the Board of Education comin' by for a Visit."
"'Prrresentation?'" I said, feeling chagrined on her behalf; I understood wanting to be taken seriously, but the thought of having to put up an elaborate front just to be Considered Acceptable reminded me of why I'd stopped wearing a tie to job interviews.° Some people judge you even while they feign tolerance; better to let them sort themselves out of your monkeysphere as quickly as possible.
° (The last time I'd been job-hunting, a pair of cretins in standard ex-Valley faux-casual "dress shirt and tie with no jacket!" wear had called me "green" to my face while making it explicit that I could look forward to treating the first ninety days as a cram school for the privilege of keeping the job. As many gripes as I might've had for anything at Fulcrum, it was a spiteful pleasure to tell those knobs I'd accepted a better offer.)
"Prrrecisely," she grinned. "Herrre, see how this suits myew."
She handed me a flowy pale-yellow blouse in some light, vaguely-gauzy fabric I didn't know enough to put a name to, and one of her patchwork-quilt skirts. I was mildly surprised by the latter – I'd never been clear on whether she had multiple different ones, or I was just misremembering the length and arrangement of patterns on a single garment – and a bit miffed at the former, which struck me as about the '70s-est thing imaginable unless it'd also come in "harvest gold…"
…but, screw it, there probably weren't any options I wouldn't feel at least moderately embarrassed over. I took them and ducked into the bathroom; whether or not she'd feel awkward about me changing in front of her, I knew I would. The blouse was simple enough (and definitely a looser fit than any shirt I owned,) but I had a hell of a time getting my tail to hold still long enough to slip it through the waistband of the skirt; I had a newfound sympathy for that catgirl in the hardware store.
Feeling…yes, "moderately embarrassed" was about right…I avoided the mirror and rejoined Nicole, who looked me over and nodded thoughtfully to herself, but mercifully avoided sharing her assessment. "Nya good with that…?" she inquired.
I shifted my hips antsily, feeling the hem of the skirt brush across my shins. It was lighter than I anticipated, probably because my brain saw quilt patterns and assumed blanket, while this was just a backing layer and an assortment of swatches with no stuffing in between. Thankfully, it hung well past my knees, though that meant it completely covered my tail, which twitched restlessly beneath the fabric; I was glad I'd left the boxers on underneath, just in case.
"It's all, er…billowier than I'm used to," I said after a moment, glancing down at my legs.
She laughed. "Prrrobably a firrrst for you, mya?"
To my irritation, I hesitated just a bit too long in replying, and she cocked an eyebrow and flicked her ears forward in curiosity. Dammit, this was not where I wanted the conversation to go…but I sure as hell wasn't going to leave that question raised and knocking around in her brain for speculation. "My sister's into cosplay," I clarified, trying not to think too hard about the specifics, "and…let's just say she's verrry good at cajoling."
"…I see," she replied, totally failing to keep a mirthful twinkle from her eyes or stop her whiskers from twitching.
"A–anyway," I said, glancing away in annoyance, "it rrreally is…less uncomfortable…so, mya, thanks." The feeling of all this loose fabric floating and fluttering in an abstract kinda way around a shape that was still undergoing renovations was weird in its own right, but at least I didn't feel like I'd get both sweaty and clammy hanging around in this.
Nicole smiled gently. "Nyat a prrroblem. I was gonnya take Frank and Alex shopping on Saturday; nyew're welcome to join us."
"Shopping trip" was not how I'd planned to spend the weekend, nor how I particularly wanted to, but there really was no getting around it. The tenderness would pass, but if my shirts didn't fit right now, they certainly weren't going to fit any better by the end of this; and who even knew how long it'd be before pants were an option again. And that was just the start of it…
"Gahhh," I sighed, "I'll prrrobably have to buy damn nyear a whole nyew wardrobe." I wondered if my socks would even still fit.
"Don't s'pose nyew've ever been brrra shopping, either," she said, idly licking the back of her hand and running it over some mussed spot on her forehead. She hadn't inflected it as a question, but I noted one ear pointedly re-orienting towards me.
"No," I said, slightly annoyed; but it was true, I didn't have a practical understanding of how the sizes worked. There were guides online, but I might as well get the rundown from someone who already knew. It was a little weird to consider, but on the scale of today's weirdness, it hardly registered; odds were that I'd need one, when all was said and done, and it'd be stupid to inconvenience myself for the sake of stubborn pride.
"Myew'll get the hang of it," she nodded, then hesitated for a moment. "And if nya have any other questions about, mya, 'girrrl things,'" she said, "feel free to ask, okay?"
I still felt pretty strange at that, but didn't bristle this time; it probably wasn't worth getting worked up over, was it. And I didn't know that I really wanted a sherpa, but… "Thanks," I said.
When my laundry was finally done, I gathered it up, thanked Nicole again, and went home. Some good it'd done me; it wasn't like most of it'd fit, anymore, so at best I'd saved Goodwill the trouble and put myself through a big stupid emotional breakdown…
…or, well, maybe another way to look at it was that I'd put myself in a better spot to have a big emotional breakdown. Had I really been carrying that much stress the whole time? I thought I'd been coping about as well as anyone would've, but no sooner did I have someone there for support than I was completely falling apart. I felt embarrassed as hell, thinking back on it, but…at least I did have someone there for me.
Anyway, it was well into the afternoon, and I could feel another wave of drowsiness coming on; I wondered, in mild exasperation, how much longer it'd be before I was finally done. I was kinda hungry, but didn't feel like making anything; but it turned out Nicole had left some of those ready-to-eat salmon-steak pouches in the pantry. Geez, I really did owe her a proper thank-you, when this was finished.
After I'd eaten, I went to change for bed – and got a surprise from the bathroom mirror, a look at myself in Nicole's clothes for the first time. The blouse flowed gently around my torso, loosely outlining my developing bust without irritating my breasts; my hair was just long enough to spill over the shoulders. The skirt swished gently around my legs with every step or shift in my stance, except where my tail tented it out in the back. The bright colors and soft, billowy fabric framed the creature in the glass, presenting a vision of gentle, eccentric warmth, and…
…Nope. It just wasn't me.
I cracked a thin smile, in spite of myself; after everything we'd discussed earlier, it was comforting that I was able to say that. Maybe I wasn't turning into someone else, after all; I might not know what to expect, but I could at least hold onto that much. My brain still swirled with questions as I crawled into bed and let sleep take me, but…that was for tomorrow's me to figure out.