There was a long pause. "S'pose nyat," she said at last, sighing. "Just seems silly for people to have to stay all cooped-up overrr something that isn't even, like, deadly or anything..."

"Well, nobody's thrilled about it," I sighed, trying to get my feelings back under control, "but even if you didn't risk spreading it...it's not deadly, but it's sure as hell life-altering. And, I mean, it's not like everyone is all stressed-out by this..."

"You arrre."

"I-!" I sputtered, then caught myself, got ahold of my emotions, and gave her a sigh and an eye-roll - not that she could see it from up there. "Can you, what, smell stress now?"

She gave a little churr of annoyance, and I could see her tail lashing behind her. "I think my firrrst clue was the bit wherrre you flipped out and rrran away," she said, "but, yeah? It's all overrr you lately." She clawed idly at the pavement with one paw. "I can smell it on the mailbox, for the love of Pete."

"Well, that's...that's a communal traffic area," I said, feeling something tense up in my chest as I worked on the adjustment. "It's relatively high-risk for an outdoor environment; it's not surprising for people to get a little uneasy there, in the circumstances."

"Nya-huh," she said dryly; I could tell she wasn't buying it. Then her tone brightened. "Say, if nya everrr wannya just get some 'people time' in, you could always come overrr for coffee. The thing alrrready did its worrrst on mya."

I could practically hear her grinning impishly, and I could just picture her altered features arrayed into that iconic happy-cat look - the one that Internet convention renders as =^_^= or thereabouts. To be honest, I kind of did want to take her up on that; I really wasn't as stressed as she seemed to think, but surely it wouldn't hurt to get out a little bit, chat with a neighbor, maybe pet her cats...

...No, what was I thinking!? It wasn't like I needed that, and even if studies seemed to support the notion that transformees were too resistant to the virus to pass it on, it wasn't certain yet...and for that matter, neither was the idea that this was "its worst..."

Why was I so prone to careless thinking? I knew that'd be irresponsible, I was trying to be diligent, and yet I was nearly suckered in by trivial pleasantries. Was this how it got you? Could it make even an introvert crave social interaction, just to spread itself? But that didn't make sense; it couldn't alter behavior unless...God, was I already infected? I felt my stomach turn, but then I realized that made no sense, either; if I was, why would it make me try to get infected? Was this just another innate vulnerability of the human brain...!?

"Nya okay down therrre, Kit?" Nicole queried. "I'm getting 'majorrr frrreakout' vibes from-"

We were both interrupted by a sudden commotion at the end of the row. I heard the Gutiérrezes' front door fling open and a fit of that shrieking-giggling kind of laughter you get from a kid who's just a little too worked-up from playing to be sure of whether they like it. I grimaced; I didn't remember it, but I'd heard that sound from myself before, on an old home video of my grandpa tickling me to within an inch of my life. He meant well, bless him, but I still got all jangled when I thought about it.

The giggling was broken by an "oof!" and a soft thud as someone hit the pavement. I scuttled out from under the Bug and scrambled to my feet, but not before clocking my shoulder on the tailpipe. Nicole was already sprinting over, only just holding herself back from dropping to all fours and bounding like an animal; I followed warily at a safe distance, rubbing my shoulder.

We found Frank and Alex rolling around in the driveway in some kind of horseplay, laughing crazily. I couldn't see too well from this distance, but I caught confusing glimpses through the tangle of limbs. Was I seeing what I thought I was seeing...? I hung back, leery of getting involved here; Nicole didn't hesitate.

But before she could say anything, Alex caught sight of us. His eyes went wide, and he was out from under his dad like a shot, eyeing us warily as he got his bearings. Something about him struck me funny, but I was more focused on Frank, who was still on the ground, shaking his head in confusion. "Al...Alex...?" he called groggily, trying to rise from his hands and knees. "Wherrre you goin', kiddo? Hehe, heh, 'm gunnya get you...!"

Something clicked in my brain; I peered closer, trying to get a better look without getting any nearer. His face was less craggy, his skin softer, his nose less bulbous; and his mustache was plainly thinner. Moreover, his voice had risen in pitch, and I heard hints of vocal tics that were becoming all too familiar. Then he turned towards his son, and I got a good look in profile; there was no mistaking that his ears were growing long and pointed, though they'd yet to migrate upward...

"Dad...!" Alex cried in exasperation. "Hsstop it, this is hssserrriouss! What's happenying to me-eeowr!?!?"

That got my attention. Turning back to Alex, I saw that I hadn't been imagining; he was much further along than his dad. Kids' immune systems adapted to combat the virus faster, but it didn't seem to spare the unlucky ones from their fate, just got them through the first phase quicker; and with less of them to change, they metamorphosized faster, to boot. He was only ten or eleven, so it was hard to say how close he was to no longer being a "him" in the clinical sense; but his ears were already over half changed, with a thin coat of black fur filling in on the outsides.

His shorts were tented out by the growing stub of his tail, and his legs were changing, too. He was steady on his feet - the proportions were just starting to really shift - but there was fur coming in at least up to the cuffs, and blood flecked his toes where the claws were starting to poke through the skin.° He clapped his changing hands over his mouth, surprised at the sound he'd just made, but not before I got a good look at a full set of fangs inside. From what I read, it'd probably be over for him by tomorrow evening, if not sooner...

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

° (Cat claws aren't quite as analogous to nails as you'd think. Nails're just a hard plate sitting atop the finger, dug into the skin; claws have a similar covering over a bone spike at the end of the digit. Nails don't become claws, they just fall out; it sounds horrible, but is allegedly painless. It looks horrible, anyway, 'til the skin grows over it; thankfully, that doesn't take long.)

I kept my distance, feeling torn; Alex was clearly confused and scared, though he kept trying not to let on to us that he was, and he was coherent enough to realize something deeply weird was happening to his whole body - unlike his dad, who was still out of it. I couldn't do anything about that, but it felt like I should at least try to comfort him...but even if he wasn't contagious, Frank might be, and I'd just put myself at risk...

My mind was a jumble of emotions. Why did it have to be like this? Why should I get dragged into other people's problems, just because they happened to live next door? Why did I have to feel obligated to help when I couldn't change a thing about what was happening, and would only invite trouble upon myself? And...why did I feel bad for doing the safe, rational thing...?

While I dithered over that, Nicole padded over to him. Alex was visibly losing his composure now, and having her there to turn to broke down his resistance completely. "Miasss Schumyacherrr!" he said, voice quavering. "What's going nyan!? Am...am I gonnya turrrn into a cat!? That's what the nyaborrr kids hssaid...!" He started to shake, and in moments he was flinging himself into her arms.

She held him close, stroking his hair with a furry hand, claws velveted, letting him nuzzle into her soft coat. "Shhh," she said, in a soothing voice, "it'll be okay. You'rrre gonnya be okay, shhh..." She glanced toward me briefly, like she meant to ask me something, but thought better of it. I felt useless just standing there on the periphery, but what else could I do...?

Then Frank stumbled over to them, slouching loose-limbed like a thoroughly drunken man. "Heh...hehe, heh, mmrr, hi," he slurred, still out of it. "Thankss f'rrr...f'rrr takin' carrre of 'm...mrrr..." He started to rub his head insistently against Nicole's chin; she was annoyed by it, but kept her cool and let him continue while she soothed Alex.

It was the first time I'd seen someone in the grips of the virus. It wasn't quite a glassy-eyed stupor, but it was clear that something else was scrambling certain messages in his brain. It lacked the queasy horror of, say, those fungi that infect insects and make them attract birds, but it was unsettling all the same, however harmlessly goofy this behavior might seem by itself. I had the sudden urge to dash back into the house and lock the door behind me...

But there it was again: that feeling like I should be doing something, finding some way to help, making myself useful instead of just standing there gawping like an idiot and working myself into a tizzy. I caught Nicole's eye and was about to ask if there was anything I could do, but she shook her head. "Better nyat," she sighed. "Nya might get morrre than nyew're preparrred to cope with."

For a moment, I felt my spirit flare with indignance; I wanted to push back, defend myself against the charge, prove that I could so take a risk for the sake of someone else. But my sudden resolve turned to alarm when Frank caught sight of me. He grinned drowsily. "Hhh...hhey...!" he called out; I could just feel something behind those eyes telling him that it'd be great to come over and nuzzle up against me for a change...

But Nicole was quick on the draw; maybe she recalled her own experiences with this phase of the virus. "Mya, listen," she said hurriedly, rousing Alex from her embrace and taking his dad by the shoulders, "why don't we all come on overrr to my place? Therrre's a grrreat sunny spot to sleep in, and the kitties'd just love to meet you...!"

Alex was wary at first, but he caught on quickly and followed behind, flanking his dad as Nicole walked him drunk-tank style to her door. Frank kept glancing back at me, and it wasn't until I heard the door latch behind them that I could finally breathe freely. There was a finality to the sound; I knew that I wouldn't be seeing either of them again as I'd known them previously...

And that...well, I'd have liked it if that was that, but I still wasn't done with the Bug, and I couldn't leave it like this; on top of finishing the tappets, I had to readjust the carburetor before it'd run properly. I spent a long, nervous couple of minutes waiting for my neighbor to barrel back out the door and subject me to the Cuddle of No Return, but the lot remained quiet. Hopefully that meant Nicole had a handle on things...

I slipped back under the car, trying to remember where I'd left off a short eternity ago. God, I really felt like a heel now, just standing there gormlessly while the neighbor lady took care of the whole thing, watching a little kid try not to have a freakout and failing to make myself do a damn thing about it...oh, sure, I could tell myself that it was the only rational choice, that getting involved would change nothing and risk further spread, but it didn't help; I still felt cowardly...weak...superfluous.

But what good would it've done? I couldn't do anything about their transformation, Nicole would surely be much more of a comfort to Alex than some random guy who happened to live next door, and getting anywhere near Frank would, as a simple matter of fact, leave me exposed to the virus and potentially passing it on. It would be irresponsible of me to do that just because I wanted...wanted...

...what did I want? To play the hero? Be the one to take charge, "solve" the problem, prove myself capable and competent and needed? Was that really why I wanted to help? Sure, I knew from my job that being appreciated felt good (when I got any appreciation for it, anyway,) but that was no reason to be foolhardy, just so I could validate myself. But if that wasn't what I was after, then what...?

I finished with the valves, popped the covers back on, and refilled the oil, then let it settle for a bit, brooding all the while; chasing out intrusive thoughts, left over from my conversation with Nicole, about just giving in and letting the damned thing have its way with me. It wasn't like that'd make anything better; even if I had come down with it, whether I changed utterly or merely felt like shit for a week, I'dve been just as powerless to spare my neighbors from its ravages...

Finally, I started the car and spent the next few minutes letting it warm up, tweaking the adjuster screws on the carburetor, trying to get it to a smooth, stable idle. After a little fiddling, and by the standards of an antique four-cylinder engine, it was purring like a kitten.°

° (Damn it.)

I nodded to myself, killed the motor, and started gathering up the assorted detritus from the project. I sighed heavily as I took the old rubber bits, worn gaskets, et cetera over to the dumpster; I usually got more of a sense of accomplishment from this, but I just wasn't feeling it right now. Anyway, I told myself, heading inside to wash up, I'd gone to far too much effort to just give in now; it couldn't all be for nothing...