Fielie rolled over. Even though she lay on a soft mattress, her skin prickled as though she was lying on a straw pallet. Her green eyes blinked shut in pain, then opened again, now the gold-green of a dandelion. She squirmed as midnight-black fur grew up through her skin and her long, sharp fingernails curved like claws. Her thick, short black hair parted to reveal triangular ears, and her lower lip was adorned by curving fangs.

Entranced, Fielie leapt off the bed and out the window, landing, graceful and silent, on the fence. Her paws padded softly across the fence, her tail waving gently, as though to say goodbye. She slipped through the silky leaves of an overhanging tree, then sprung down from the fence.

Here was her favorite haunt, an empty lot with a little herb garden in the back. The herbs were hung with dew that sparkled like crystals. A silvery butterfly flittered from plant to plant, hovering a second over each. By instinct, Fielie lifted one paw and batted the small butterfly down. It fluttered feebly for a second, almost lifting, but trapped by Fielie’s carelessly lain tail. Quickly, Fielie lifted it. The butterfly flapped its wings, heading for a basil plant.

Fielie would have watched it longer, but she could feel the prickling and could see the vibrant colors of dawn spread across the sky. The drops of dew seemed to catch it, glowing like tiny globes of liquid fire. Reluctant, Fielie paused just a moment, then hurried back home. She crawled in the window, sprawled on the bed as she transformed.

Bells clanged, announcing to the world that it was morning and quite early enough to begin the tedious job of beginning to buy all the bell-ringing merchants’ wonderful wares. Fielie groaned, then smiled a little. How she hated and loved this bustling, friendly human world. Just like how she hated and loved the serene, lonely world of the silent, moonlit cat.