Abruptly gaining another set of memories is like setting off on a journey with great confidence.

Walking the first few steps with equally great confidence, passing by that bodega you usually got breakfast from and that traffic light that always kept you waiting at crossroads, still feeling pretty confident.

Down, down, down the streets of your neighborhood but you can’t help but notice that the further you walked, the more unfamiliar your environment became.

Until you have to pause mid-way to ask for directions since you suddenly realized that you forgot everything not related to the specific set of memories you just gained and can't seem to recall anything significant regarding your current situation; as if your brain just decided to experience dissociative amnesia completely unprompted and with no warnings whatsoever to your body, so now you’re sort of stuck in this strange limbo where they’re both working a little out of sync even though you really need them to get their act together and figure out why you're suddenly in a forest.

Just like that, but a lot more pronounced and specific. Not that amnesia ever gave any prior warnings, but really,

It was a good question.

“Where am I?” Number 1.

And,

“How did I get here?” Number 2.

…

A draft of wind billows across the peaceful clearing and I hear the sound of rustling leaves and running water at a distance.

No?

No god or goddess wants to explain why—

Right, so—I’m not in Kansas anymore.

I think I can establish that as a fact. Rock solid. undebatable.

I mean, I’ve never even been to Kansas (and from my hide skin attire I doubt it even exists yet), but you get the sentiment. I’m far away from home and in an unfamiliar, slightly mystical environment. Just like Dorothy.

If Dorothy was male, died in the tornado, and Oz was the camp of some hopefully non-cannibalistic savages, instead of a yellow-bricked surreal world of magic.

…we were similar in essence.

"In all the ways that mattered." I hear my new voice mutter absentmindedly, distracted by the appearance of tall, autumn-touched trees, the silver moon on the boundless night sky, and the general oddity of my new environment as a whole.

It's all so…loud. And vivid. Like someone turned up the contrast all the way and then decided to give me heightened sensitivity to everything and absolutely anything. And I meant anything.

I could taste the smell of trees on my tongue, feel every bit of wind blowing across my skin, and see a ladybug burrow under the leaf of a tree an unreasonable distance away. I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted to taste the smell of trees, and that wasn’t even the strangest part.

All around, a gentle, rhythmic thrumming encompassed my senses. Faint, fuzzy, yet oddly overpowering. Like napping with a weighted blanket on a summer afternoon; A bit suffocating and honestly very uncomfortable since why would anyone even want that— at first. Why would anyone want that at first. But I guess we don’t always know what we want?

It’s kinda, sorta nice when you get used to it.

And I did. Really quickly too, since everything in my vicinity seemed to possess the green glow of this strange energy; tangling around their masses in gentle waves and in a shade of green that thankfully wasn’t too bright or eye-piecing to be optically detrimental.

From the grass on the ground, the birds tweeting in the night sky, and the logs scattered around the clearing, they all possessed this strange...energy.

Even the maybe-savages stirring a caldron nearby possessed it, albeit in much larger quantities and in a seemingly murkier quality.

As I walked closer to their location my doubts about their dietary restrictions gradually faded into thin air.

Not because I suddenly gained faith in humanity or something, but because I suddenly remembered their names and was confident that I’m probably not a cannibal. So the people I lived with, by association, were also probably not cannibals.

I was optimistic like that.

Also because one lady was stirring a large cauldron over a fire pit while the other added what looked like fruits and veggies into the concoction; with no sign of meat in sight.

The pretty lady holding the ladle with avid concentration is Mom, or at least a word equivalent to Mother in whatever language it was we spoke. I can’t remember why she’s called Mom, since I'm certain she has another name, but it feels right. Like she’s earned the right to use this title. And she might’ve.

I don’t know, I don’t remember.

About 5’10 and relatively slender shaped, Mom was clothed in a knee-length fur dress and her black hair was sectioned behind her in two long braids accessorized with feathers and small, colorful pebbles.

A high nose bridge, oddly large eyes, green glowing vertical pupils, and black, intricate flowery facial markings; Mom was a vision.

The other lady making frequent additions to the bubbling cauldron was also called Mom. But with an accent. So Mom, not Mom. I guess it made a difference in our language?

...I'll call her Second Mom.

Second Mom was shorter than Mom at about 5’6 and her facial marking were stipes concentrated around her eyes and forehead, but no less intricate. She possessed similar facial features as Mom but her pupils were a bright shade of yellow and her hair was ginger colored. More like an orange and less like the sunset.

Dressed in a layered animal skin poncho and skirt, Second mom looked a little more casual than Mom and seemed to prefer her accessories on her limbs rather than her hair. On her wrists, ankles, waist, and neck, she wore jewelry made from a seemingly careful selection of complementary colored pebbles and shells.

She also had a tail. And ears.

They both had tails, actually. Two long, furry appendages raised behind them with considerable width and length. I’m not sure why I hadn't noticed, they’re very obvious in retrospect.

Second Mom was especially conspicuous with her bright orange-furred tail but Mom was stirring a cauldron right on top of a blazing fire pit, her entire body was being illuminated, not to speak of the large black tail behind her.

I blink slowly and the image remains unchanged, confirming my guess that this wasn’t a trick of the light and had been present the entire time, just oddly treated by me as a subject of complete disinterest.

It's as if my eyes caught sight of them but my brain refused to process the image, automatically choosing to double tap ignore and hope I never noticed the difference.

Why did they have tails? Some type of genetic mutation? Birth defect? If our relationship was so familiar, did I also have a tail or were they just exceptions?

Before I could continue pondering this conundrum I noticed something swinging behind me and reach to grab it and… it was a tail.

Wow.

That’s…something, I guess.

I’m not sure how to feel about it, maybe more shocked? horrified? Angry?

All this does is confirm my earlier guess that I’m definitely not on planet earth, at least not the version of earth that I’ve grown familiar with.

From the green glow to the strange energy, and now cat people.

I don’t remember cat people being part of my paleoanthropology classes so I’m most likely on a completely different planet with different humanoid species, flora, fauna, and maybe an entirely different set of natural laws as well.

While I've never considered a tail part of my future aspirations, I will admit it looks nice. It's a stripped mix of black and brown long fur, fading into a lighter shade at the edges; silky smooth, flooffy, and impossibly soft.

The moment I noticed its presence, I couldn't pretend otherwise.

I try to move it and It feels so—easy. Like it's subconsciously reacting to my thoughts before I even think them. A bit weird, sure, but I can't seem to pull up any negative emotions at the moment so…

...I think I like it.

Yeah, I like it a lot.

Second mom turns her attention to me as I reached the cauldron, her ginger-furred tail pauses mid-swing and she holds up a suspicious brown-colored fruit.

“Are you hungry?" She asks with a menacing smile, the metal knife in her grip gleaming slightly under the bright moonlight.

But I think that’s just her face. Something about the placement of her eyebrows…and her glowing yellow eyes...It’s definitely just her face.

I hesitate whether to nod yes or no.

On one hand, I'm really not hungry. Not at all. And the goop in the cauldron smelled questionable. I’m curious to know what was being made, but not to the point of actually tasting it. And on the other hand, I just realized I don’t have a reason to say yes. So no, no I’m not. As I begin to refuse Second Mom takes my prolonged silence as an automatic agreement and forces the uncut brown fruit into my relaxed gip.

"Dinner isn’t ready yet." She says as I eye it with reasonable apprehension. What is this? "But it should be done before the others return, we shouldn't have started so late in the first place."

I nod absentmindedly in agreement and raise the fruit up to take a bite; an action followed by immediate regret as every tooth in my gum seemed to physically recoil from the sudden outburst of sourness.

Heavens, it’s like biting into an unripe lemon.

Is that what it was?

Some type of brown lemon? I wasn’t aware lemons got so big. Or wide.

Blerg.

I glance at the chunky…soup? Stew?

I think it’s soup.

I glance at the chunky soup bubbling in the cauldron. Pieces of cut fruits and leafy herbs resurfaced with ever vigorous stir and ominous-smelling steam wafted from its dark-colored contents. I am so curious—

Should I ask?

Would it be suspicious to ask? What if this was a regular dinner and I should know what it was?

. . .

"That's a fun shade of green." I complimented after a moment of consideration.

"Thank you." Mom smiles back, her heat-flushed cheeks dimpling, "We ran out of salt so I used the salted nuts from yesterday as a substitute, I think they'll work just as well." She says a bit proudly, clearly expecting me to know the context of her words and share her emotions.

And as much as I want to, I don’t. I really don’t.

My head blanks when I attempt to remember what I did yesterday.

It’s like trying to watch a movie at the cinema with very high myopia. Sure, you can see colors, but you can’t see any details so stop being cheap and just get glasses, damn it.

Mom grabs a small bowl from a basket and begins to scoop a very generous helping of soup into it.

"Try it," She says, handing it to me.

Words of refusal reach the tip of my tongue, but I gaze into her expectant eyes and they slowly fizzle out. What’s the harm? I’m sure it’s edible. She’s making a whole cauldron’s worth so she has to have confidence in its edibility, right? And it really might not be that bad. I should have higher expectations of her cooking skills, she seems very skilled.

Feeling a bit more confident, I sit on a tree stump adjacent to the fire pit and take a sip of the soup with inexplicable anticipation, hoping to be surprised.

And—

...hm.

That can't be right. Maybe if—I take a second hesitant sip.

"...How is it?" Second Mom interrupts my silence with an expression akin to schadenfreude, clawed hand raised to cover her grin and yellow slit pupils gleaming with amusement.

How...is it?

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

We make eye contact, "Not that bad." I reply with a small smile.

Then carefully control my expression to not distort as I take another painful sip of the soup under the anguished cries of my rapidly dying taste buds.

All nine thousand of them, swept under the tide of this repulsive concoction. A tragedy, future historians would claim. A tragedy caused by a careful combination of my naive optimism and Mom's deceptively capable culinary expertise. Was I heartless for condoning such inhumane cruelty? or brave for making such difficult decisions despite the predicted future backlash from the denizens of my digestive tract?

We shall never know, there were no know survivors.

Mom looks relieved, "I'll make sure to keep a big bowl just for you. Growing cats need more nutrients, after all." She says kindly.

...That's....sorta, kinda sweet?

"Well, I'll make sure to keep an empty stomach to fit all that soup," I respond in a similarly kind tone, decidedly tuning out the violent protests from my esophagus; badly bruised from having to forcibly swallow down chunks of uncooked fruits and coarse herbs.

Mom flashes me another smile before returning her attention to the cauldron, and I busy myself trying not to vomit.

An hour or two after downing the meal, a group of strangers exits the thicket of trees holding seven struggling, mutant-looking chickens tightly bound with reed ropes.

I thought we were having a side dish(barbecue would be nice) and was surprised when they made a beeline for me instead; interrupting my task of observing the strange symbols drawn on the outskirts of the settlement grounds.

"They're all so big, what am I to do with all this meat?" I asked half-jokingly as the strangers placed the mutants next to me, praying to the heavens they actually replied 'cause seriously, what do I do with seven chickens? I'm not sure why they brought it here in the first place, we don't even have a coop.

"That’s funny, Txiv." A blond-haired girl replies, her pointed cuspids peeking through her grin, is that my name? Txiv? “I can’t wait to eat eggs.” She says, completely ignoring my question.

Her words earn sounds of agreement from the rest of the group.

“We had bird eggs a few days ago.” Another girl points out. This time, brunette and with less intricate flowery facial markings.

“But bird eggs are so small, and there wasn’t enough for everyone so we all had to have tiny pieces, I could barely taste it.” A boy, also a brunette, disagrees. “They’re so big.” He gestures at the tightly bound creatures, “I hope their eggs are just as big. Then there'll be enough for everyone. And extra.”

“How big? I bet they're almost half my palm. I've never eaten an egg that size before.” Another boy says in awe.

Why are they so passionate about—

Someone scoffs, “Impossible, it has to be larger than my head, that’s why they’re all so tall.”

“No-“

The argument continues, and I get sidetracked to the point of even guessing an egg size (larger than my palm it just makes sense), and through this very illuminating discussion, I learned nothing of relevance to my earlier question but I did learn some of their names, so it wasn’t a complete waste of time. I guess.

When it ended, I became curious as to where they even found these mutants, so I asked.

“We found them outside in the morning and chased them through the plains. They run really fast.” A boy possessing similar shading to Second Mom informs me with a feigned casualty, his tail betraying his expression and vibrating as if expecting praise.

My smile turns puzzled and I glance at the moon.“How long did that take?”

“Not that long,“

Okay-

“We caught them at sundown, but we had already gone off-trail so it took a while to get home.” The boy laughs, raising his feet to show the tattered remains of his straw footwear, “We’ll all need new sandals, these broke after a while.” He says.

I laugh, “They couldn’t match your speed?”

“Not even close.” He grins proudly, an expression mirrored by the other cats in our vicinity.

These creatures might be our meal for the next few days, I’m not sure. I don’t know the conditions of our provisions, but it can’t be all that great considering we’re having what looks like medicine for dinner.

These kids spent the whole day chasing down mutants for food, if that’s not admirable then I don’t know what is.

I make no effort to hide my feelings towards their feat, laying down words of praise after paise till they all gain expressions of mild chagrin.

"—It's really not a big deal-"

"No no, It is." I insisted. "I can't imagine spending that much time running." It's true, marathons are not my passion."You're all so brave. There must've been tons of dangerous animals on the way, was anyone injured?"

After a few rounds of embarrassed refusal, Tauri the light brunet finally admitted to skinning his right knee after tripping over a rock but the others insisted they were unharmed.

I noticed the spot seemed to glow a little murkier shade of green and was somewhat certain I could easily fix it. But Tauri insisted it would be a waste of my energy and that the wound would naturally scab over in a day or two.

During our conversation, I noticed that the facial markings of the cats from the woods were very simple and plain, with only three others possessing markings as intricate as Mom and Second Mom.

The topic went on for a while then gradually faded and everyone soon dispersed.

Still unsure of what to do with the mutants, I checked the five tents and moved the chickens--or ostriches. They're probably ostriches. They're too big to be chickens, and they keep trying to attack me-- I moved the ostriches? into a wooden cage I carried out from the largest tent filled with what looked like luggage and numerous provisions. Probably our storage.

I lay some straw underneath the ostriches and tried to feed them some dried fruits, hoping they'll live till tomorrow. But when I unbound their beaks they're rather loud and keep trying to peck at my hands so I quickly tie them back up.

I also almost asked who the leader of this little group was since I wanted to have a few words with them.

Imagine my surprise when I opened the flaps of the first tent and found seven little bundles of joy laying on what looked like a makeshift log bed padded with some dried straw and hides.

And this wasn't the only tent housing little surprises. The second tent had seven while the third (and second largest) had five. We only had four tents in the clearing and only three were residential, the fourth and largest being used for storage.

The square tents made a square formation in the square clearing with an equally square fire pit in the middle.

I would've admired the aesthetic if the thought of how unsafe having so many babies this close to woodland was hadn't been running through my mind.

What if one of them crawls out unnoticed? Or wakes up at night and their cries lead some wild animals to camp?

There's no fence so we currently have no protection against outside forces. This really can't be safe. Did we raid an orphanage or something? Mom, despite her title, doesn't look old enough to be a mom; and neither do the others. Where're the parents?

Well, at least they're heavy sleepers.

Second Mom soon calls everyone together for dinner and I take a seat at the head of the logs since it was the only one left unoccupied.

She hands me a bigger bowl of soup( hopefully with fewer fruit chunks this time) and everyone falls silent as they watch me skim the top of my bowl lightly with a wooden spoon.

After a moment of hesitation, I raise the spoon to my lips and swallow the contents, making sure to school my expression into something remotely positive; an action made difficult since more time on the fire only melded the individually unpleasant ingredients into a much more offensive version of their earlier selves.

How could something taste so--I take another sip, concentrating on tasting the smell of nearby trees on my tongue instead of the horrid substance in my bowl.

Which, I guess answers my earlier doubts about the usefulness of absurdly heightened senses. Look at me, voluntarily tasting trees. I wish my younger self could see me now, he would be so disappointed.

Seemingly emboldened by my decently pleasant reaction, the other cats follow along and my laughter erupts at their unified expression of immediate disgust.

"It's--Pfft!"I struggle to finish my words, "It's not that bad. Really, it's not." I take another hypocritical sip to back up my claim. "I can hardly taste the herbs."

One of the male cats looks close to tears. "It's so bitter." He spits out the word as if personally offended.

"You said it was good!" Mom complains, taking a gourd? I think it's a gourd. She takes a drink from the large gourd before turning to me with eyes of deep betrayal.

"Txiv says that for everything. I'm not sure why you keep believing it." Someone intones from her left, patting her back sympathetically.

Timothy? I think that's his name.

"I never said it was good," I attempt to defend since I remember saying explicit terms that it wasn't bad. Not that it was good, or even remotely decent.

This evidently does nothing to ease her displeasure since she maintains a glum expression for most of the dinner, only lighting up when some members of the camp began to share interesting anecdotes of their day to fill in the weird silence. The foraging group told a story of seeing a snake trying to consume a whole dead fawn only to find itself stuck since the fawn was too large to swallow.

Multiple times they turned to me as if expecting me to speak, but I wasn't sure how to explain that my new memories displaced my old ones and that I'm currently unable to remember anything later than three hours ago; so I just smiled and acted obtuse. It worked.

Clean-up after dinner was a joint effort. For them, not me.

I added more wood to the fire while watching as they washed the cauldron and eating utensils, swept the clearing of fallen leaves, and returned the tools scattered around camp into the storage tent.

For a group of people dressed in animal skin, we sure had a lot of advanced equipment.

We even had a metal axe. I thought those were created in the iron age? That meant cotton was already invented, right? Why were we still dressed in animal skin? Poverty?

My thought process is interrupted when a group of cats holding some type of loofa-looking plants and a bowl of the washing powder from earlier tells me they're going to the stream with shifty eyes and guilty expressions.

The place became desolate with most of its inhabitants gone so I washed up a little further from the tents, tried to do the same for my mouth, and entered the second-largest tent, preparing to go to sleep.

Then as if by muscle memory I changed out of my heavy layers of ponchos and accessories for something decidedly less elaborate and laid on the other bed of hide-covered hay on the side. It was a bit uncomfortable and lumpy, and I kept sleeping on my tail so I had to turn over a few times before finally finding a nice spot under the warm fur blanket.

Even in the silence of the dark, my environment felt so loud. I could hear the actions of the tribesmen at the stream, the breathing of the cubs in the tent, and the green glow of that strange energy that was visible despite my eyes being closed.

Sleep seemed entirely beyond my grasp. But after an hour or two the pleasant herbal smell pervading the tent made me drowsy and before I knew it, I was out for the night with the thought of how this could have all gone so much worst.