Stan hated the Cat Lady. She lived next door in a decaying house in the woods. He almost never glimpsed her, but he saw her cats. And more than once, he was sure they had killed a bird and left it in his yard. There was also a distinct urine smell that met him every time he went outside.
Today he was going to do something about it.
He approached the woman's door and knocked. She answered, peering at him as if she had not seen daylight in ages. “Yes?”
“Lady, I'm Stan Block from next door. Your cats are pissing all over my bushes and they kill stuff and leave it around my yard.”
“Stan is your name?”
The woman could not be that old. Was she losing it? “Yes. Stan. I said that,” he said impatiently.
“Hello, Stan. What can I do for you?”
He blinked at her. She was far shorter than him, and she was so fragile-looking that he probably could have pushed her over with a feather. A ginger cat wound its way through her legs, and she picked it up. “Would you like to pet Sammy? He's really friendly.”
Yes, the woman was bonkers. “Lady, can you keep your cats off my property? They're ruining it!”
“My babies don't do that. They're all spayed and neutered, like that lovely Bob Barker always asked us to do.”
Stan was growing more and more irritated. “My whole place smells like cat piss!”
“Oh, that's the strays. They're marking their territory there so my babies don't come to your yard. Don't worry. Little by little, I'm doing a spay-neuter-release program with the strays. So your urine problem won't be forever. Very nice to meet you, young man. Stan, right?”
Stan was left blinking again. “Stan.”
“Good-day, Stan.” The woman shut the door, and Stan wondered what just had happened. Obviously, it was time to take matters into his own hands.
He sat in a lawn chair in his yard, a BB gun in hand. And he began to shoot at anything that moved.
When a pellet met with a ginger cat in the brush that bordered on his yard, it yelped in pain. “Score!” he yelled in triumph, jumping from his chair and shaking his gun in the air. “Take that, Cat Lady!”
“That cat was not in your yard.”
The Cat Lady stood beside him, and she was not amused.
“What the hell-” he gasped. “I didn't see you!” She must have been pretty fast for her age, he decided with a shudder.
“You hurt my baby. Come, Sammy.” She beckoned to the whimpering animal, and it approached. She smoothed her hand over the wound, and the BB fell to the dirt with a clink.
“Are you a vet?” Stan asked confusedly.
She tittered, waving the cat away. “Off with you, Sammy. I'm going to get you a nice present.” The cat, looking healthier than ever, bounded off as if never wounded.
“You hurt my baby,” she said again, glaring at him.
“Well, obviously it wasn't too bad since it just ran off like that.”
“I healed it, you jerk of a man.”
“Right lady. You healed it. Keep telling yourself that.”
The woman drew herself to her full height, and somehow she seemed taller and stronger than the befuddled woman at the door had been. Perhaps even younger...?
“You will serve them,” she decreed.
“Serve them? Yeah, maybe their heads on a platter.”
Suddenly, a strange twinge worked its way through his body. He staggered backwards, wondering if he had done one workout too many at the gym. But this was nothing muscular. There was something wrong.
His legs suddenly gave way under him like accordions, and his vision grew blurry. He stared at the Cat Lady, who watched him with mild interest. “Did you drug me?” he hissed, falling completely to the ground.
She snorted. “How could I possibly have drugged you?”
“I don't...know...but I feel...weird...” Why did it feel as if his legs were glued together? And his arms seemed flattened to his side – and he could not move them. The cliched 'stiff as a board' was very real to him as he really felt his whole body...hardening?
“What...the hell...is this?” he forced out of his rigid lips.
“Payback,” the woman answered airily, looking off to where Sammy had run.
“But...I feel...like...flatter...Can't...move...lipsssss...”
“It's about time. I'm so done hearing your stupid voice.” She kicked at him. “Now, hurry up and finish changing already. I'm getting bored.” She focused on Stan, who was becoming strangely rectangular, and the odd modifications to his body sped up. He was taking on a blue, smooth cast, and it almost seemed as if he were curling up around his sides.
The Cat Lady smiled at his petrified eyes, which were full of fear. “Can't wait until those are gone.” And soon, with the rest of his human features, his face was swallowed up into blue plastic.
And he was a box.
The Cat Lady did a small jump. “Hurrah!” she clapped her hands in delight. “You turned out wonderfully!” She grabbed the new jumbo-sized litter box in her arms. “Oh, Stan. You will serve them well. You'll be of great service,” she inspected her work carefully, then sped back to her house.
Stan was in a state of shock. He could not move or see, and his body was not...his body. He was box-shaped, and he was very aware of it.
Fear gripped him; he was helpless, and, as he heard the Cat Lady's words, a feeling of doom washed over him. Somehow, this witch of a woman had transformed him. He was doomed to be a cat's toilet. Forever.
He was aware of her hands gripping his sides, and he wondered how he was able to feel and hear. Nothing made sense. In fact, the very idea that he was thinking and experiencing stimuli without a brain or nerves was simply unfathomable.
“Here's where your new home will be,” he heard above him. He was placed down in a corner; he could feel his sides meet up with the walls.
“And you'll be needing some of this, dear Stan.” A ticklish feeling erupted inside him, and he felt something gathering up on his clean plastic bottom. It felt heavier and heavier.
Oh, God, she's filling me with litter!
“Well, of course I am, Stan. Isn't that what good litter boxes need?”
You hear me?
“Yes I do! And you can be sure I'll be using only premium litter in you!”
Why?
“Well, it's not for you. I use only the best for my babies!”
Stan grew so angry, he found himself shaking slightly. Movement! It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. What the hell are you, a witch or something? How the hell is this possible?
“You know, I love the way you do something that requires an inordinate amount of skill, and then you're termed a witch. If I can do unsolvable math problems, does that make me a witch?”
Who the hell cares! Change me back!
“What makes you think that's possible? You're plastic. Can you form a human being from a plastic box?”
This comment brought greater trepidation to Stan, and he grew silent. He was plastic, and plastic only! Rapidly, he became livid. There had to be a way to restore him. He could not remain like this forever. He would go mad!
Stan shook back and forth violently, spewing litter across the floor. I do not like this, I will not let you...do this...to me...
“You can't fight me, are you insane?” her voice boomed from across the room.
I will! I can!
“Of course you can, Mr. Litter Box.” She went over and grabbed his side to steady him. “Hmm, we'll have to work on getting you unable to move. I can't have you scaring my babies when they need to use you.”
He shook even harder. No, please!
The cat lady waved her hand over him almost dismissively, and he grew still. Painfully still.
“That's better.”
Oh, God! I can't move at all now! I'm...solid and...hard...
“Yes, and you're already to serve. Sammy! Kimmy! Tangela! Crilly!”
Stan could not see the numerous cats lining up beside him, but he felt pressure as one entered him and began digging around in his litter. You can't. Please, this is a horrible thing to do to someone! he cried in silent desperation.
The cat settled down.
Oh, God! Don't let him do it!
“You think this is a horrible thing to do to someone? What about shooting innocent creatures with a BB gun? Huh? At least this isn't painful!”
Apparently when one was transformed into a litter box, they retained their sense of smell. Stan learned this the hard way. Sammy finished his business, covered it with some litter, and exited from Stan.
Oh, God! What the hell do you feed them?
“Fragrant enough for you, Stan? Oh, Kimmy's feeling the urge now.”
NO!!
But Kimmy stepped in and made use of her new litter box. She scratched her claws down Stan's side, and it felt like someone scratching their nails on a chalkboard.
Oh, help me God...Stan moaned defeatedly.
“God doesn't help litter boxes. Or maybe, God helps litter boxes that help themselves!” the Cat Lady chirped. “Enjoy your new existence, Stan!” she cried, and walked off, a spark in her step.
Over the days and weeks, Stan resigned himself to his new form. His life was a series of cat...voidings...and he measured his days in that way. Sammy went first thing in the morning, then Canada, then Peggy was at lunch time. Kimmy went after lunch, followed by another Sammy use, then Tangela and Crilly before bed.
This is what he had been reduced to, and his mind was beginning to change.
It wasn't like he was losing his mind, he was just more litter box than person. His thoughts were calm and deep. There was no anger or strife; merely contentment at being a useful object. He kind of liked his new existence. Of course he could have done without the urine and feces part, but, after all, that was what he was for. He was serving his purpose. There were no worries here, and the Cat Lady kept him clean.
And he began to accept the cats. He could not see them, but he knew the feeling of their feet and the outside-smell of their fur. They, like him, were living beings, no matter what form they were in, and he felt guilty about shooting at Sammy. He could have been a better neighbor than that.
But none of that mattered now. He was strangely content.
“Well we can't have that, can we?”
Have what?
“You're happy in this form. Well, guess what? I'm not letting you off that easy.”
Let me stay like this just a little bit more.
She began to cackle. “That's Stockholm Syndrome in a whole new way. You want to stay a litter box? You like being defecated in? Why?”
Well, maybe not a litter box, but... I like being an object. It's honestly much easier than living life. No cares, no worries. Could you just turn me into something else less...revolting that you can use?
She studied him with surprise. She never had expected this turn of events. “Hmm...there's so many possibilities there, but, no. As long as you promise not to hurt my babies anymore, I'll restore you.”
But–
“Just be a good neighbor. Like that insurance company.”
And with that, Stan stood in a pile of used litter, human once more.
He picked up his feet and shook them off, stepping carefully back. “I'm sorry. I'll clean that up for you,” he said meekly. He went over to her closet, extracted a broom and dustpan, and swept up the mess. “You know, you don't seem like that frail old lady that I met when I first came here,” he commented.
She chuckled. “Well, I am old, but, well, the frail part's kind of my cover, you know?”
“Why do you need a cover?”
“Hey, it got you away from my door, didn't it?”
“True.”
She watched him dump the litter into the garbage. “You were a very nice box, Stan,” she commented. “Very easy to scoop and clean.”
“I did my best,” he responded with a snicker. “You sure you can't use me for a bit more? Maybe as a nice...flowerpot, or...pitcher? I hate that I have to go back to...dealing with everything. It was a nice vacation, to be honest. Well, it was disgusting, but the form was nice.”
She smiled the first genuine smile he had seen. “Listen, if you continue to be good, I'll turn you into a cat toy for a day. Is it a deal?”
His eyes shined. “Deal!”