**MY WIFE SWAPPED BODIES WITH OUR CAT — I ONLY REALIZED WHEN SHE STARTED PURRING AT THE DINNER TABLE.**
It started subtly. She’d rub against my legs more, especially when she wanted something. Then, the napping.
Long, luxurious naps in sunbeams. I thought she was just stressed from work.
Last night, I served salmon. Sarah *hates* fish. Yet, she devoured it, purring loudly. I asked her what was wrong.
She blinked slowly, then licked her paw, cleaning her whiskers. I tried to touch her face. She hissed and scratched me. Her eyes glowed yellow in the dim light.
That’s when I noticed the collar. A small, silver one with the name “Mittens” engraved on it. ⬇️
Terror clawed at me. My Sarah, my intelligent, witty Sarah, was trapped inside a fluffy, feline body. Mittens, our pampered Persian, possessed my wife’s form. The absurdity of it was staggering, the fear paralyzing.
I spent the night researching, frantically Googling “body swapping” and “cat possession” – anything that could offer a clue, a solution. The internet offered nothing but conspiracy theories and dubious websites promising ancient rituals. Dawn arrived, revealing a horrifying reality: Mittens-Sarah was remarkably adept at mimicking Sarah’s mannerisms. She even attempted a convincing impression of her morning yoga routine, ending with a graceful stretch that ended in a languid feline yawn.
My panic escalated when Mittens-Sarah started speaking. Not meowing, but speaking, in a voice that was undeniably Sarah’s, but strangely…flat. “Honey,” she purred, “Could you please fetch my…I mean *my* salmon?” The possessive “my” slipped out with a disconcerting feline lilt.
The conflict intensified when my neighbour, Emily, stopped by. Emily had always harboured a secret crush on Sarah. Seeing “Sarah” – Mittens in disguise – she launched into an overly enthusiastic conversation, completely oblivious to the situation. Mittens-Sarah, in turn, responded with disconcertingly accurate imitations of Sarah’s flirtatious charm, sending shivers down my spine. The jealousy was palpable, a sharp knife twisting in my gut. The thought of Emily, so oblivious, falling for my cat, fueled a fire of anger I’d never known.
That evening, a breakthrough. While combing Mittens-Sarah’s hair (or, rather, Sarah’s hair in a cat’s body), I noticed a small, almost invisible scratch on her paw. It was a unique scar, one Sarah had received as a child, playing with a rusty swing set. This was undeniably *her*. Hope, a fragile bud, pushed through the despair. If I could trigger a memory specific enough…
I went to the attic, rummaging through old photo albums. I finally found it: a picture of Sarah, aged five, beaming beside her beloved childhood doll, “Fluffy.” I held the photo up to Mittens-Sarah, now curled up on the sofa. She tilted her head, her yellow eyes focusing on the picture. A slow blink, then another. A tremor ran through her body – the cat’s body – before a weak meow escaped her lips. A single tear rolled down her cheek, human cheek, not cat cheek.
The swap reversed. Sarah was back in her own body, disoriented but relieved. Mittens sat staring at us, seemingly unaffected, then trotted off, leaving me to grapple with the fallout. Emily’s infatuation with my wife was over, thankfully. But a deeper question remained: why? Why did this happen? I’d found no answers in the mysterious events, leaving me with the unnerving realization that some mysteries, however bizarre, might be best left unsolved. The experience left an unfillable space in our lives, a silent testament to the night my wife became a cat and, for a terrifying moment, my life turned upside down.