Oh boy. More time had passed between now and my last eviction from the void beyond death than I’d realized at first.

At some point in there, I’d just gone totally hazy. Now that my short-term memory was coming back, I realized that I really had chosen a “checkpoint” to come back from between the storm that rocked Sierra’s cabin and now…

Respawn Initiated by sysadmin! Select a Checkpoint:

image [https://imgur.com/hFM66sr.png]

Thanks to some more handy Systemic floating boxes, I’d known I essentially had three choices: Taipha’s Tree, Reed’s Cabin, and Chapel Mountain.

The mountain was out. Even without the embarrassment of how I’d left, it just wasn’t a convenient spot. It was in the far-northwest corner of the woods, after all. And it was home to wolves (and squirrels) that I didn’t feel confident facing or even avoiding.

With that out of the way, the choice should’ve been easy. My tree was my home. The cabin wasn’t. But on reflection, the main thing that’d made Taipha’s Tree like a home to me was the fact that I’d rubbed my scent on it.

I did make fond memories there. I did love the sturdy boughs of that tree and the way dragonflies would rest on its trunk. But it had also gotten overrun by, yes, the Raccoon Gang. It was going to get overrun by whatever animal could take control of it—end of story. So that tree was not my home.

Reed’s Cabin was my checkpoint.

So when I came back to life, it was at the front doorsteps on a bright and cloudy morning.

That, at least, was a big relief. It would be a hassle to get back to where I’d been exploring before my death, but that was a small price to pay for not becoming a werewolf kid’s pet.

…Wait, so…if that dog girl from my after-death adventures made the same people who’d just killed me, or at least their ancestors, was that goddess culpable? Were she and Sierra “an item”? If so, was Sierra gonna break up with her, going to bat for her cat-child? Her dead cat-child, need I remind you?

So many intricate questions, and none of them mattered more than the bowl of milk in front of the door.

Huh. When’d that get there?

Don’t mind if I do. Maybe some raccoons would come after me for lapping this up. Don’t mind if I prepare for such a battle.

But no one challenged me. When I was done, I reached a paw up and knocked on the door. Which was, of course, not nearly as loud as a fist.

I’d have to change into a—could I change into a…?

I checked my Stats. All of them.

Stats

Taipha Ash Heather Lv. 10 EXP: 0% (0/1500)

HP 100% (230/230) SP 100% (185/185)

ATK 37

INT 24

DEF 26

WIS 17

SPD 33

Traits Morph (Stage 2/5): Can become a nekomata at will. Somewhat limited time.

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Human Language (Stage 2/2): Can thoroughly comprehend, and think in, the human languages used around you.

Now you have everything you need to communicate on Vencia!

Perfect Human Vision: Can see a spectrum of color equivalent to the visual range of most humans.

Inventory (Stage 2/5): Can carry up to 5 item types in a personal magical vacuum. Max quantity of each item: 9.

Stealth: SPD increases when alone and unseen.

Skills Swipe

SP Cost: 50

Effect: Attack with powered-up claws.

Leap

SP Cost: 30

Effect: Jump farther and faster than normal.

Catnap

SP Cost: 30

Effect: Nap on the road to regain a small amount of HP.

Guard

SP Cost: 15

Effect: Magically increase DEF.

Meditate

SP Cost: 15

Effect: Magically increase WIS.

Inventory: 3/5 Pink Lotus Flower

Reed’s Quilt

Heidschi’s Letter

On the one hand: yay! I had most of the important stuff back. Dying had knocked my Level and Stats down a peg, and I would miss Slash a little, but contrary to what Sierra had implied, dying didn’t actually hurt too bad. I mean, okay, the pain was horrible, but…not the numbers so much. You get me.

On the other hand: ugh! Why’d I have to lose anything in the first place? Had these cuts been made automatically by my System, or had my Inventory and Stats been plucked out capriciously by a “helpful” goddess? Would I ever truly know?

Such matters and confusions were too great for my weak cat mind. It baffled me how Sierra could claim I was part of some ultra-brained galactic science experiment.

Nonetheless, I had my Morph back. I transformed, shook off the poof of smoke, and knocked gently.

“Meow,” I said. (I didn’t even bother trying “hi.”)

Light footsteps hurried to the door. Ah, I knew what was coming…

The door opened in a flash. There was the girl with the short light-green hair and the stupefyingly stern look. She took one look at me and—gasped. Like suddenly she knew how impolite she’d been.

Then she slammed the door on me.

Uh, okay, that was a change. Not a change that I knew what to do with, though.

The door opened again, but this time it was with a fair bit of…ceremony.

When the young lady had first opened the door, she’d been wearing tight, midriff-baring, neon workout gear. Now she’d covered it up with a baggy robe that reminded me of the werewolf wizards. In one hand, she held a candelabrum with a single lit candle, the pedestal hewn from rough, chunky gemstone, interwoven orange, brass, and blue. Her stoic look, which just looked mean and accusatory most of the time, now looked holy.

“Spirit of the woods, we welcome you,” she said, rattling the words off as if from an invisible script. Of course, for all I knew, there was one. “I greet you in all meekness and charity. Inhale the smoke of my candle, for it is made of milk and incense. Drink the milk of my doorstep so that you may grant me your favor. This house is yours. Finis.”

Right after her prayer, I shifted into my grey cat form again. Mainly because I didn’t want her to catch my baffled expression.

“Ah,” she said. “So the two of you are soulbound?”

Did she mean my cat form and the nekomata form? Er, yeah, “soulbound” was one word for it if you squinted… I meowed noncommittally.

Then I looked through the tempting space between her legs. Since the cloak was a little too short to touch the ground, the inside of the cabin showed through the gap. Hence the temptingness.

She stepped to the side, and for the first time I saw Reed’s Cabin in the full light of day.

On my left was a bright and spacious living room made cozy by its lumpy sofas, heaping blankets, glass-doored cabinet of books, and dormant fireplace. Family photos and knickknacks sat on a stone hearth. What really drew my eye was a massive framed picture right above that hearth.

I walked in, treading lightly. After being treated so disrespectfully by Sierra, and so weirdly worshipfully by the green girl, I was just in the mood for moving as if I truly were a hallowed being in a hallowed place. With my front paws on the hearth, I stared up at the photo—no, the painting. It was incredibly textured, rich with raised swirls of paint…and yet realistic, a fully convincing portrait of a family on a hill overlooking the mountains.

Who was up there? I thought I recognized a father, a mother, two grandparents, and three children. My eyes flew to their hair: grey-haired grandparents, a sandy-haired mother, but other than that, magenta.

“This isn’t my house,” said the girl in the huge hood. She and her milk-and-incense candle had come up behind me. “I’m just a guest here. The pink-haired man up there, his name is Bastian Gnaeomi. I think he’s still the owner of the house. They all used to live here every summer, and Mr. Bastian and his own father, that one over there, they built this cabin together with sweat and magic.

“But the cabin’s probably going to Reed soon. There she is,” the girl added, pointing to the child on the right. There were three of them in the painting, all dressed like brawny little farmers, looking like they could be triplets. I wondered if Reed had been a tomboy as a kid, but I was pretty incapable of asking, and it wasn’t the biggest question on my mind right now.

I turned to the woman and said, “Meow.”

She gulped and bowed her head. “Me?” she asked.

“Meow.”

“My name is Chora, Chora Chressen. I’m just a visitor.”

I pointed, first to the picture, then to her.

“Reed and I were friends, a long time ago… She was kind enough to take me back.” The words came out in a grumble, and I had a feeling she wouldn’t have said them at all if she hadn’t suddenly started revering me.

My biggest question wasn’t about her or the blue-haired witch or even about Reed, but this: what was I to Chora?

I mean, why was she worshipping me at all?! Yeah, she knew I had an Inventory, and when she saw it she went all dramatic and whispered “what are you,” but was it really a big deal? Was it because animals like me weren’t supposed to have Inventories, have magic, have multiple forms? But wild animals used Skills all the time. Plus, the condor Murder on that mountain not only seemed to have profound magical power, but also a place of some importance among humans. Yet they weren’t kneeling and praying to him. What was even the difference?

And why start worshipping me now when she used to be a total jerk?!?!

“Can I interest you in any more offerings, spirit?” Chora said.

That’s when I realized that everything she was doing was mere ritual. She was still a total jerk deep down. What changed were the rules she decided to follow. I used to be a weird stray animal to her, someone only worth tolerating. Now suddenly I was a bizarre spirit who could, I dunno, rain down bad luck on the house if mistreated.

Funnily enough, that thought made me feel a whole lot more regal than before. I got the fantasy in my head that this was the way Earth cats had been treated when farmers had no choice but to make things comfortable for them—or else the mice would decimate their crops.

And if by “offerings” she meant “food” then I was game.