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The wind was oddly quiet for this time of year. It gently swayed the snow-covered branches of the baron Greinhausen's garden trees, carrying with it the scent of gun oil and lavender over the snowy clearing. I stood in a neat row with the other maids, musket at the ready, once again trying not to shiver from the cold creeping up under the hem of my black dress. The endlessly uncomfortable Victorian outfit—corset, frills, apron—and beneath all that fabric, my fluffy tail twitching with every move, tightly strapped in place with special harnesses. Damn those things. I hate the restraints more than anything—but what can you do. Rules are rules.
My name is Miela. And, goddamn it, just eighteen years ago I was Michael Richardson, an electrician from Minneapolis. Middle-aged, mortgage, depression, despair. That night when I got drunk and yelled at the ceiling, "I want to start over in another world—even as a catgirl!" I honestly didn’t think anyone was listening. But apparently someone—or something—heard me. I don’t know if it was God, the universe, or some other crap. But the next morning, I was born again. Literally. I went through childbirth, fully conscious with my grown adult male mind.
I remember trying to say something, but all that came out was a loud baby’s wail. And how could I not cry. I was in shock. But the real shock hit when I realized I was born a girl. And not just a girl—a catgirl. With fluffy ears, a thin tail, and a body that year after year looked more and more like something off a fetish forum I, Michael, used to browse just “for laughs.” Well, laugh it up now.
At first it was diapers, screaming, and sleepless nights—I remember that very clearly. Especially the moment when the old caretaker lady tried to breastfeed me for the first time. As a former guy, I nearly had a heart attack. Okay, not a heart attack—but I spit it all out and wailed like hell. She thought I just had an aversion to milk. Yeah, right…
Then came growth. Slow, relentless, and with nature’s special attention to curves, just to screw with me. At first, I was glad to be a little shorter than the other girls—hoped I might not fully transform, maybe something went wrong? Ha. By fourteen, everything hit at once—breasts, hips, curves. Nothing manly left. And every day felt like a slap in the face. Dresses started to squeeze my waist, my tits got crushed by the corset, and my tail had to be stuffed through a specially sewn hole in my panties. Yeah, those existed. And no one here thought it was weird.
— Miela! — Mirael snapped at me. — Stop zoning out. Keep your fingers near the trigger, you’re on patrol, not at a ball.
— Sorry, ma’am, — I replied, instinctively lowering my gaze.
It was part of my daily game—be obedient, polite, invisible. When you’re a former dude in the body of a cute maid with ears, it’s best not to draw attention. Especially from men. Though to be fair, the baron runs a tight ship. Any guy who flirts with a catgirl guard ends up in the ice pit.
Catgirl maids-guards aren’t just...