When I stood up to go to my bathroom, I found my body covered in scratches, welts, and bites. My member seemed to have shrunk back into my body in an attempt to escape my lover’s demands.
Weak, I drew my own bath and lay there for some time, blinking in the steam. I had never felt so utterly complete. The sexual urge had been drained from me. I had filled Simew’s cup to the full and now my vessel was empty, but the experience had exhilarated as much as sapped me.
I knew that I could not keep Simew a secret, nor did I want to. I had no women’s clothes for her and this must be attended to before anything else. As I went back into the bedroom, drying my tender flesh with a towel, I gazed upon her lying amid the tangled sheets, her damp hair spread around her shoulders. She was sleeping now, but for how long? I dared not leave her alone, because Simew was accustomed to having the run of the house. If I locked her in my chambers, it was likely she would awake and then howl at the door until one of the servants came to her aid. Medoth had keys to my rooms. He would no doubt be summoned to let the cat out. It had happened before in my absence. I dared not think about the consequences of that.
In the end, I woke her with a gentle caress and told her we must go out of the house and purchase garments for her. As always, she appeared to understand my every word, although I sensed she was not altogether pleased with my suggestion. I remembered the occasion a previous lover of mine had bought her a jeweled collar, and the manner in which that gift had later been found shredded under the dining table, its expensive gems scattered by playful paws.
I dressed her in one of my own robes, using sashes to create a suitably fitted garment. Simew growled a few times as I made her hold out her arms to assist my adjustments. I bound up her hair as best I could, then led her from my chambers. Medoth had clearly been lurking nearby, and now came forward to hear my orders. Without explaining the presence of the oddly dressed female at my side, I demanded my carriage be made ready for a trip to town. Discreet as ever, Medoth bowed and obeyed my word.
The trip was not without its awkward moments. The proprietress in the dress shop we visited seemed to accept my story of a visiting relative having had an accident with her luggage, but unfortunately Simew was unable to behave in the way that women usually do while purchasing clothes. The noises she made, the attempts to bite from her body the gowns she found most offensive, plunged the staff of the establishment into silent horror. I laughed nervously and explained she had an hereditary affliction of the mind. At length, the proprietress suggested frostily that we take one set of garments now and that the rest might best be examined and tried on in the privacy of my home. Someone from the shop would be sent round the following day. I understood her desire to get rid of us, because several other customers had already vacated the premises in alarm at Simew’s behavior. Spilling coins from my purse into the tight-lipped woman’s hands, I agreed readily with her suggestion and Simew and I fled the shop. She was dressed now in a simple gown of soft green fabric, and wore emerald slippers on her feet. The outing had been a trial, but at least my lover was now dressed.
In the carriage on our way home, I tried to explain to Simew that it might be best if she remained silent in the presence of other people. Clearly, I had a lot of work to do with her regarding etiquette and good manners.
The story I concocted for the servants was that Simew was a distant cousin of mine, who had arrived in the night, having escaped a brutal father. I could do nothing but provide sanctuary, and indeed had even extended my services to offering her marriage, so that she would be forever safe from paternal threat. The servants were all stony-faced as I told them this story, and it was Medoth who ventured to tell me my cat was missing. I think he guessed the truth at once, because Pu-ryah was his goddess, but he did not voice his suspicions to me.
So the transformed Simew became part of my household. I decided that once I had trained her enough to be presentable in company, we would be married and all of my friends in the city would be invited. To the servants, I repeated the story that Simew — who I now called Felice — had been ill, because of the treatment she’d received from her father. Her mind was slightly damaged, but it could be cured and patience and love were the medicines she must receive. Because she was still essentially Simew, it didn’t take long for the household to learn to love her. Everyone became conspirators in my plan to transform this wild girl into a young woman of society. To her, I think it was all a game. She was playing at being human and thought it was hilarious to ape our behavior. She learned to laugh, and it was the most thrilling expression of joy any of us had ever heard. It brightened every corner of that vast house; she was like an enchanted light buzzing through its halls and chambers. No one could have overlooked her catlike habits, but they were prepared to tolerate and then to change them.
The portrait of Pu-ryah was hung in the main hall, and Simew would often stand before it, staring into that feline face, as if remembering with difficulty the days when she had looked the same.
One of the strangest things about Simew the woman was her incomparable clumsiness. As a cat, she had always seemed a little heavy on her feet, and no fragile things had ever been safe in her presence, but now she seemed unable to enter a room without knocking something over. At dinner, wine glasses were spilled with regularity, quite often onto the floor. Medoth arranged that a servant equipped with a pan and brush was always stationed near the door. We got through so much glassware and crockery that eventually I bought Simew a set of her own, crafted from gold. These, she could not break by accident. It took a while to teach her to eat using cutlery. She found that these implements simply delayed the consumption of food and would sometimes lash out at me and growl, when I pointed out a young lady of breeding would never eat food directly from her plate without even the agency of fingers. “Simew,” I murmured one night, with fraying patience. “You are here to be my wife. The Lady herself has arranged it. I’m doing all I can to keep my side of the bargain, please oblige me by keeping yours.”
Then, she laughed and shrugged. “All right,” she seemed to say, but there were still lapses.
Neither could she take to immersing herself in water to bathe. The shrieks and clawing that occurred when we tried to enforce it became too much, and eventually we had to compromise. At morn and eve, her personal maid would clean her body with a damp sponge. This she tolerated — just. The maid was often scratched.
It was also difficult to accept Simew’s gifts, which invariably she brought up from the cellar or in from the grain store. I would hear her muffled chirruping as she made her way to my studio, and then she would fling open the door with a dramatic gesture of her arms. A mouse, or even a rat, would be hanging from her mouth. It was worse when they were still alive. Her eyes would be shining and she’d run to me and drop her prey at my feet. I suppose she expected me to eat it with gratitude. It took some weeks to rid her of this habit, and I ached to see the sadness my disapproval conjured in her eyes.