SEEMA STRETCHED HER striped limbs, from the tips of her toes to the ends of her whiskers. She rolled over and started kneading, keeping her claws in, and purring.
But something was off. The body was not soft enough. Her heavy eyelids resisted her attempts to open them when she sensed a shadow descend towards her head. Her muscles contracted, preparing for flight, as her whiskers twitched, until she realized it was a hand, one that scratched her chin and rubbed her belly. She tensed again – the hand was too small, the air too clean, and she was in a bed too warm.
Seema forced her eyes open and examined the person that was looking at her. Mussy, black hair framed the woman's face, a face where the eyes were warm, and a corner of the lips lifted in a lopsided smile. Mina, they'd called her.
