Mom knocks back an Ambien with the complimentary glass of champagne, and stretches the elasticated band of the WereAir branded eyemask over her head. She thumbs the recline button on her seat. "Marcus, honey, I'm going to get a few hours of sleep. Your father is going to have to sit in your lap."
I stare at the creature curled up on her knee. "Wh-what?! No way! Can't he stay with you?"
"He's tiny, Marcus! You want me to roll over in my sleep and squash him?"
"But-"
"No 'buts'."
She grabs dad by the scruff of the neck and dumps his reduced feline form in my lap. He barely weighs more than a housecat. He mewls indignantly at being disturbed, yawning a mouth of sharp cat teeth. His gaze turns up to me, cocking his head to the side as if trying to recognise my face.
Is there any intelligence left behind those eyes, or is he just playing dumb? I wonder.
"Mom, I'm really not comfortable with this," I mutter, keeping my hands well away from the curvy little animal he'd been turned into. He pads around in circles in my lap, his ginger tail swishing as he tried to find the most comfortable position.
Mom yawns and pulls her eye mask down. "Just scratch him behind the ears. He loves that."
She's asleep in moments. Finding a spot that interests him, dad begins to paw at it. "Would you stop that?" I hiss. He ignores me with feline aloofness, and I grip the arm rest, my face burning, as his half-animal paws continue to knead up and down. Finally, with one last spin, he settles his warm, fuzzy ass precisely where I don't want it, vibrating with a deep purr.