The tabby sucked air in sharply, and it came back out as a hiss of pain. With the next breath, she mewled, deep in her throat.

Her Shift had started.

I sat on my feet, my fingernails scraping the hardwood in excitement. “It’s happening, isn’t it? Do your feet hurt?” For a moment, there was no answer but more mewling, with her eyes still shut tight. “Wait, now, look at me.” No change.

“Look at me.” I demanded, firmer that time. I was emulating my father now, and doing a damn fine job of it, in my own estimation.

Whether surprised into compliance by the change in my tone or desperate for more instructions, the tabby opened her eyes, staring straight into mine in pain and in growing fear.

“Do your feet hurt?” I repeated, and this time she nodded. “Good. I know this part sucks, but it’s supposed to feel like that. Really. That means this is working.”

She shook her head, and I sighed silently. “No, don’t try to stop it. You want to be human again, don’t you?”

She nodded and closed her eyes again, this time in concentration. She was trying so hard to deal with the pain, and the poor thing now had my respect, as well as my sympathy.

“You’re doing great. Seriously. The next step is to push it forward, instead of pulling it back. Picture your legs, like you did your feet.” Her eyes were still closed, so I leaned to the side to check her progress. There was no visible change in her yet, but I could hear the muted popping as her bones began to rearrange themselves.

To keep the pain to a minimum, she needed to Shift evenly—put each part of her body through the same stage at the same time. In short, her top half needed to catch up.

“Okay, you’re still doing very well. Now let’s work on your hands. Do you have long, pretty fingernails, or short stubby ones like mine?” Not that it mattered. If she’d been in cat form for a matter of weeks, rather than hours, her nails were going to be long, and likely ragged in human form. But for the sake of the imagery exercise, picturing them the way she liked them would work just as well.

Movement near the floor caught my eyes; the toes on her front paws were wiggling. She was really trying. I had a soft spot for people who did what I wanted without questions or complaints. I got that from my father, too.

Another tiny joint popped, and the tabby’s right front leg buckled beneath her. Before she could shift weight onto the other leg, she overbalanced, toppling to the ground on one side.

Oops. Forgot to warn her about that part.