It is my first time flying WereAir. It is more dehumanising than anything I've ever experienced, even RyanAir.
First and Business Class are relatively civil as I board, populated with humans, but the situation deteriorates as I pass through Premium Economy, Economy, and finally into Kitty Class. Each single seat holds no less than three passengers, their petite, feline bodies pressed tightly, already squirming in discomfort before the flight has even left the tarmac.
WereAir makes its savings in quantity, not quality. Animals can be transported using a fraction of the space and fuel consumption of humans - with females a further 14% saving. As part of the check-in process, passengers have their humanity sucked out, their human DNA extracted into vials in the cargo hold for collection and reversion upon landing, as they're transfigured into tiny, transportable animal girls.
Humiliating, yes, but Sydney to LA for $80 is nothing to sneeze at. Unless you have fur allergies.
Passengers scurry everywhere as I shuffle down the aisle, muttering apologies with each tail trodden on. A WereAir flight attendant grabs a passenger by the scruff of the neck, lifts her bodily, and stuffs her into an overhead locker.
I find my seat occupied. Three catgirls stare up in dismay, yelling in tiny Australian surfer bro voices, as my human body loomed over them.
"No fucking way, bro. We're squashed enough as it is," one snarls.
"I'm really sorry. The upgrade was only $20," I reply apologetically. "Honestly I thought they'd move you."
For the three Australian backpackers, the next 14 hours perched on my knee must be the longest of their lives. Especially the hour of turbulence over Bangkok.