Lost Time

Murph woke and tried to figure out why he was in bed during the day. His memories were in a muddle, but other things were clear priorities.

He wanted a toilet. And he was hungry enough that his stomach was rumbling. So he wrestled free of blankets and shuffled toward the toilet, scratching at a shirt he couldn't remember choosing.

And what had possessed him to put on boxers?

Bladder relieved, hands and face washed, he was feeling good. Better than good. Well-rested enough to take on the world. And then … something furry brushed against his calf. He spun, eyes wide, quite sure that it had been an animal.

It happened again, and he pivoted. Then backed out of the loo.

Only when he twisted around did he catch sight of bristling fur. Right up behind him. While he watched it twitched and puffed like a living thing.

He tried to move slowly away from it, but it followed him. Then the thing moved, and he could feel it move. No. Wait. He could make it move.

Mirror.

Mirror.

He didn't have any mirror besides the one over the sink. So he slunk to the bedside table, aimed his phone, and took a picture.

Egads.

His boxer shorts were riding low, pulled up to the base of a lavish tail.

Biting his lip, Murph reached around and confirmed that yes, the tail was very much attached. The hair was a rich red, a shade or two darker than his body hair. And it was slightly coarse, because it was fur.

The tail—his tail—swept nearly to the floor, its tip twitching between his ankles. All of it bristled and settled in time with his panic attacks. And then his phone buzzed.

Notifications were piled up, and there were several missed alarms and missed calls. Murph stared at the display in utter confusion. This couldn't be right. He'd missed two full days of work. And this was Sunday? He'd been asleep for four days?

Then came the sound of a key inserting in the lock on his door, and Murph panicked anew. He cowered in the corner, ears straining for more sounds.

The rustle of a plastic bag.

The clink of keys being pocketed.

The scuff of shoes being removed.

And … a familiar scent. A safe scent.

"I'm back, Murph. You awake yet?"

His voice croaked when he called, "Angelo?"

The man moved further into the room. Plastic bags of takeout dangled from the fingers of one hand. He held out a liter of water with the other. "Easy does it, Murph. Man, you were out of it. I checked back as often as I could. You feeling okay?"

"It's Sunday?"

"I let Becca know you needed some sick days."

"You … told …?"

He shook his head. "It's just me. I dropped by every morning, during lunch breaks, after work. Sorry for just letting myself in."

"What happened?"

"Not much, really. Changed your clothes. Tried to make you comfortable. You wouldn't take any food or water."

"But … what happened to me?"

"No idea. The tail was already there the first time I came back."

He discovered that he could tuck his tail. And that it was vaguely embarrassing to do so in front of another guy.

"I have a tail," he complained.

Angelo gave one of his lugubrious shrugs. "Any other changes?"

Murph slunk into the bathroom. Returning, he reported, "My toenails have gone all pointy. And it may be incidental, but my sense of smell is as keen as my appetite."

He held out the bag. "For you."

"Won't be enough." Murph winced at his own rudeness and cast about for his wallet.

"I'll bring more. Groceries, too. Oh, and … just a heads up." Angelo looked uncomfortable. "You know how Levity gets when any of us is down with a cold or whatever."

"No, I don't." Murph didn't get sick. Apparently, he sprouted fur.

"Well, I kept it quiet for as long as I could, but she finally noticed."

He warily asked, "What does that mean?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if she showed up on your doorstep."