Sequel to:
The cool spray from the humans dive bombing in the hotel pool provides a delightful contrast to the hot Caribbean sun on your tiny, exposed body. The aroma of sizzling meat and dripping fat from the burger cart is so intoxicating, you have to keep wiping drool off your own breasts.
The plane journey had been claustrophobic and cold, with harsh electric lighting and other passengers elbowing you in the ribs, such that you'd simply pulled your eye mask down, put your custom earplugs in, and tried to block out the experience. Only now that you're at the hotel do you become aware of just how exquisitely tuned the half-feline flesh is to pleasurable stimuli.
It's becoming a struggle to remain focused on the anger towards the airline company that left you stranded this way.
Your large tufted ears turn towards the sound of a human approaching along the pool edge. Your wife's shadow blocks out the sun, until she squats down to your level. She rolls her eyes at your pout.
"Oh, don't sulk so much, babe. You wanted a vacation to indulge, right? There are benefits to being pint-sized. Think of the portions. You can stuff your little kitty face to your heart's content, and never get fat. Well, maybe an ounce or two..." she giggles. "Here. I brought you a peace offering."
She flourishes a bottle of your favourite red wine. It is taller than your torso, and she giggles as you stagger under the weight.
"The company will sort things out. In a week you'll be a man again. In the meantime, I want you to relax. Consider yourself nothing more than my pampered pet."