Hiya.  This is a Common People story.  I make no money.  (Not that it would
matter, since there's nothing remotely trademarked mentioned.)  Um.  I don't
actually _say_ that the main character's a mutant, but it should be pretty
obvious. ;-)

Comments to Kaylee1109@aol.com.  There's such a warm fuzzy feeling about
getting mail.

Enjoy!

"TCP:  So Many Turns"
by Kaylee (Kaylee1109@aol.com)

She calls me Tom.  I like that.  It was my name…Before.  Of course, she doesn't
know that…but that's okay.  One day, I know it'll happen again.  I just have to
be patient.  And try to get killed as many times as possible.

She's calling for me now, and I stretch long and hard as I stand up on the
couch.  I know I look very graceful doing it.  It's one of the benefits of this
go-round.  Eight turns ago, I was a sloth.  Not much grace there.

I jump from the couch and trot into the kitchen, where she's setting me a place
at the table.  That's a nice change, too.  Last turn, I had to eat out of a
slop trough.  That was gross.  The first few days this turn, she tried to get
me to eat out of a bowl on the floor.  I just stared at her for a while, and
then I hopped onto the table and meowed as loudly as I could.  She pushed me
back to the floor.  I jumped back on the table.  We had this argument for about
ten minutes before she finally laughed and relented.  I was very glad that we
lived on a farm all alone, so she was willing to forget about appearances for
my sake.

The food's good, too.  Sliced steak…a little bit of cold chicken.  I taught her
about that quickly, as well.  She actually wanted me to eat this dry crunchy
stuff that comes from a box!  I didn't touch it for three days, and eventually
my hunger strike had the desired effect.  Lucky for me, she's lonely enough to
cater to my whims.  I'd hate to think how difficult it would be otherwise.

She spends a while talking to me as I eat.  Her voice is soft and soothing;
very gentle on my sensitive ears.  She loves to talk, too; which is good since
I like to listen.  It almost makes me feel like I'm me again.  I may not be
able to really answer her back, but I get the feeling she knows I understand
her.  Why else would she tell me so much?

I follow her into the living room after dinner and take my place on her lap
while she watches TV for a while.  She keeps the volume low for my benefit.
She's really very sweet that way.  I get treated to the usual massage while I
sit there and purr.  (Of course, she calls it "petting".  I let her think
whatever she wants.)  Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever get to feel that same
soft touch in a different way, once I'm back in the right kind of form.  But
thinking that way gets me depressed, so I try to pick something else to chew
over when that pops into my head.

She turns off the TV early every night because she has to wake up in the
morning to feed the horses and pigs and cows.  (And me, of course, but that's
not a chore.)  I get to sleep on the pillow by her head, which I love because I
can pretend everything's right and normal for just a little while.  Since this
turn started, though, I haven't slept much at night.  There's really a
fascinating world out there for someone with my particular attributes, so when
darkness falls, I go prowling.  (After she's safely asleep, of course.)  I have
a wonderful skill for keeping her kitchen free from vermin.  The mice have
learned to tremble when I'm near.  (I never had much of a reputation as being
tough Before.  I rather like it.)  I don't kill any, of course.  What if one of
them was just like me?  I suppose I might be thanked for sending someone like
that on to the next turn…but death is pretty scary, as I've found out.  No
matter how many times you go through it.

Tonight the mice aren't very active, so I just spend a while exploring all the
nooks and crannies I already know very well.  There's a half-chewed piece of
rawhide under the couch left over from two turns ago.  (I'm a little
embarrassed to admit that I was a French Poodle.  Thankfully that one didn't
last long!)  It doesn't attract me now, so I ignore it.  A delightful little
ball with a tiny bell in it serves as a nice distraction for a while, but I
can't play with it too much or I'll wake her up.  She needs all the sleep she
can get.  After that, I rearrange the pictures she has on the mantle over the
fireplace.  At least half of them are of me.  (None look the same, though.)
That gets boring after a while, so I go into the kitchen and dump over my water
bowl.  (It's a labor.  She recently bought me one of the ones that are designed
to be hard to tip.)  Then I push the now-empty bowl to the refrigerator, which
proves even harder to open than last time.  When I look up, I notice that she's
put a child-guard on the door.  Clever woman.  But that's easily solved by
jumping onto the counter and batting the handle of the guard back.  Once I
finally get the fridge open, I very carefully tip the milk carton over.  Most
of it actually spills into the bowl, for once.  Happy at my success, I close
the fridge (because I don't want to waste her electricity…she was complaining
about the bill last time) and hop back down to enjoy my feast.

A sound outside disturbs me.  I raise my head and lick my whiskers free of milk
while trying to figure out what it is.  It doesn't take long to place it; boots
scuffing over the ground outside.

There shouldn't be any people outside!

I slip out the kitty door she put in for me, intending to investigate and solve
this problem.  My job is to protect her, no matter what the cost.  (Three
deaths, at last count.)  I'm as quiet as a…well, as a cat.  It probably
wouldn't have mattered to him, though.  He doesn't even notice me when I peek
around the corner at him.

But he's trying to get in her house!  That's not right!  I watch for a minute
as he works at the window, trying to figure out what I should do.  She's a deep
sleeper.  She might not even hear him, even though he's making a terrific
racket to my sensitive ears.  I could run inside and wake her…but then what
would she do?  I can see the knife tucked into the waistband of his pants.
She's not a fighter, being more of the peaceful nature.  She doesn't even keep
the rifle loaded.

All right then.  I'll have to try the direct approach.  While his head is bent
trying to gimmick the window open, I begin my rush.  He doesn't know I'm there
until I've landed on his back and dug in the claws.  He shouts (hopefully loud
enough to wake her) and turns to try to grab me off of him.  I hang on tight,
though, and start scraping with the rear claws until I feel skin tear.  All the
while, I'm yowling at the top of my lungs.

It doesn't last long.  But then, I knew it wouldn't.  He finally catches a hand
on me and jerks me around to face him.  I scratch and claw every bit of him I
can reach, but he's already pulled the knife.  He stabs it into me, and it
hurts just as badly as I imagined it would.  The world starts to go gray.  I
keep my eyes on his face as long as I can, memorizing every detail.  As the
last bit of conscious thought fades, I put every bit of my will into wishing
for something stronger, fiercer, more powerful than this turn.

And then blackness.

And then light.  I'm across the field, which isn't a surprise.  Whenever this
happens, I always reappear somewhere very near where I died.  I blink my eyes,
surprised to find that my vision hasn't changed much.  I can still see very
clearly in the dark…clearly enough to make out the form of the man holding a
dead cat in his hands while he stands outside her house.  I stand up, aware of
increased weight and the heavy feel of strong muscles.  From the house, I hear
her scream as she realizes what's going on.  Good.  She'll get the gun, then.

He notices that she's awake, and he drops the cat and starts to run.  I have to
wait a moment to get my bearings.  I hold out one limb and look at it
carefully, trying to decide what I am this turn.

And then I smile.  (Or as near to that expression as my new face can get.)
Even as he reaches the tree line, I'm acclimating to my new form and launching
into motion.  Muscle bunches and flexes with a smooth, powerful ease.  I can't
help but be delighted by the choice whatever fates there are made for me.  So
close to my most recent one…close enough for me to take action instantly.  I
can feel the broad pads of my new feet spreading with every step to absorb the
impact of the great weight.  It feels good.  It all feels good.  My nose is as
keen as it was last time, so even though he's already reached the cover of the
trees, I know I won't have any trouble finding him.  There's nowhere too close
by that he could have parked a car without me hearing it.  He'll never get to
safety in time.

Behind me, back at the house, I hear the door open as she rushes out with the
rifle to check on my old body.  I ignore that for now.  In the darkness, with
her distress, she won't see me yet.  I race after him, glorying in the
wonderful newness and raw power at my beck and call.  His scent reaches into my
brain, tinged with the blood of the injuries I already gave him.  I try to
laugh, and it comes out as a growl.  That feels good, too.

I'll catch him.  I'll deal with him.  No one threatens her while I'm around.
And I've been around a very long time.  (Though only with her for a relatively
small number of turns.)  I'll stay with her as long as she'll have me.  Maybe
one day, I'll get my rightful form back, and I can ease the pang of the
loneliness she's told me about in so many short lifetimes.

But for now, as I race silently through the night and close in on a man who's
about to die, I just have to wonder how difficult it's going to be to train her
to let a tiger eat off the table.

--end--