Hangman dyed my face. He’d bought several different bottles of coloring, all browns ranging in shade from almost-blacks to almost-whites, and he mixed them over the sink, applying first one treatment to my whole face, then another to just my cheeks, then a third to just my ears. He did touch-up with cotton balls, then stood back and grunted approval.
I looked in a mirror. He’d done a truly fine job, completely hiding the stripes, then matting and recoloring the glitterpaint to a more natural sandy-brown color. He’d left my ears a bit darker, and given me a faint trace of liver-spotting about the whiskers. Perfection.
In my room, I changed into the cougar skintights Hangman had brought. They fit like a glove. When I dropped to catform and padded back in forth before the wall mirror, admir
