One morning, when haunting dreams woke Šárka with a start, she found herself transformed into a ball of fur. Thinking it was but a dream, she arched her back and debated if she should go back to sleep. A tail attached to her rump flicked back and forth in contemplation as she noted the oak bed frame appeared larger than usual.
Looking down, she could see two white paws like fuzzy mittens attached to equally fuzzy legs covered in orange fur. Nearly jumping in shock, she cautiously gazed behind her only to gasp in fright upon observing her body covered in tawny stripes.
"It's only a dream," thought she. "If I shut my eyes, I'll find myself transported back to my body, wake up properly, kiss my sweet Ivana on the cheek and start my day none the furrier."
For the past few days, Šárka had felt under the weather. Maybe uncorking and drinking the entire bottle of Moravian wine from the cupboard after an argument over the finer points of art was a bad idea. Šárka painted commissions under the male name Marek Makovec when not teaching at the nearby primary school. An eccentric Bohemian bloke often purchased her work to supposedly show off in Vienna, but she never received more than a few Kronen as thanks. Thank Mary, Jesus and God above she knew more than a spattering of German to conduct business with him.
"The only explanation for this illusionary nonsense is a subsequent hangover." Šárka paced back and forth over an ornate quilt draped over a pair of sleeping figures, her brows furrowing, "The wine caused a headache, and the headache caused hallucinations -- that or the mushrooms we foraged were not boletes like I thought. All I need is a generous helping of garlic soup and some sleep."
Adamantly, she shut her eyes but upon reopening them, her hands were still paws and her tail still flicked back and forth -- this time in frustration.
The pattering of rain on the window thrummed gently over the glass while Šárka perked her ears which had become more fine-tuned since yesterday. She could hear wooden carts clacking over the wet cobblestone paving Havelská Street below as merchants readied their wares for the morning market. She could even hear a mouse scuttling between the stucco of the apartment, and for some strange reason, she felt the urge to chase down the vermin until its dying squeak extinguished triumphantly between her teeth.
From a gap between the miserable grey sky, the early morning sun let down a ray of light that gently brushed over the hushed rooftops of Prague. Loosely parted curtains allowed a sliver of cool sunlight to trickle into the darkened bedroom. Forgetting for a moment the urge to dig into the walls in pursuit of the mouse, Šárka found herself entranced with the way the column of light moved and expanded when her eyes rested upon the first of the sleeping figures.
"Ivana!" Šárka leapt on top of her. "My princezna, my laská."
Tenderly, she nuzzled her nose against her lover's cheek, taking in the sweet scent of rose hips and chamomile. If anyone could recognize her, if anyone could reel her in from the brink of madness, it was Ivana.
From beneath wisps of dark brunette hair, a set of hazel eyes fluttered open. Šárka gazed into them, feeling the hot breath of Ivana ruffle her fur as she pressed her face against hers. Her front paws unfurled and clenched in anticipation.
With a yawn, Ivana stretched her arms out from beneath the thick wool quilt, the sleeve of her white cotton nightgown hanging over her bare shoulder. A look of annoyance flitted over her face.
"Číča, you stupid cat. Let me sleep," grumbled Ivana. She shooed Šárka away, pressed the pillow over her face and vehemently ignored her.
Šárka stared at the gently heaving chest of Ivana, completely flabbergasted. And how could she be Číča? That was their pet. Šárka remained steadfast in her conviction that she was, in fact, human.
"True, we haven't been on the best of terms lately," she mulled, "But a kiss at the very least would be appreciated." Gingerly, she placed a solitary paw over Ivana, her body warm but her countenance cold.
A speck of dust jerked her attention away from her lover. Her head cocked back and forth like a pendulum while it dipped and twirled. Šárka recalled the unbridled passion that rushed through their veins, the raging current of love that once set the two ablaze. All the while, her eyes remained enchanted with the dancing dust as it tumbled in a downward spiral over the bed.
Their sapphic love affair had stoked a fire between her legs, but the intensity with which those violent flames licked and thrashed against her core petered out as nothing more than a flicker of a bygone memory. The grating reality of their relationship continued to chafe against her delicate heartstrings. For in truth, Šárka couldn't remember the last time she had sex, much less been touched. She felt utterly deprived.
Ivana had been occupied with her women's club more and more, leaving little time for the two of them. They both labored to cut out a slice of middle-class life in a world where their job options were limited by law and, as two teachers, the expectation of chastity loomed over them like the ironclad rule of the Austrian empire over Bohemia -- not that the education ministry ever considered sexual relations between two women as any more than a few whores printed on a French postcard.
The threat of discovery meant she kept her relationship secret lest she face ridicule from her colleagues and the disdain of her family back in Zlín. She always suspected her father was disappointed that she moved west to Prague rather than work in the shoe factory with the rest of the family, and she wouldn't dare add fodder to his already distasteful view of her. It was bad enough when her brother ran off to become a monk.
Shaking off the thought of her father, she went to curl up in her usual spot only to find it occupied.
Her heart dropped in her chest, shattering at the sight in front of her. A comely young woman lay, face obscured by wave after wave of blonde locks. A hint of her small bosom peeked over the quilt, large reddish nipples protruding from two rounded peaks like juicy red raspberries ready to pluck.
"That lying snake." Šárka inhaled sharply through her nostrils, a snarl building and her face wrinkling with the stench of unforgivable betrayal.
Unsheathing a set of claws, instinct took over. No one slept with her Ivana but her, but before she could dig deep into tender, adulterous flesh, the woman let out a yawn, brushed her hair out of the way and locked eyes with Šárka.
"Light brown eyes, high cheekbones, mole over the upper lip..." Šárka executed a series of comparisons in her head, "She looks awfully familiar. An awful lot like me."
Gazing mischievously into her eyes, the stranger sat up, letting the covers pool around her thighs. With sly smile, she ripped the bedsheets off the sleeping Ivana and straddled her without breaking eye contact with the dumbfounded Šárka, who could only slink against the footboard of the bed and watch. Šárka could swear she heard a purr stir deep within her doppelgänger's body.
With a growl, the Šárka-impersonator (for she was sure this was the most reasonable explanation) smacked the pillows off Ivana's face, leaned in and, without a word, bit Ivana's lower lip, tugging it roughly like a wolf tearing apart its prey.
"Oh, Jesus, this woman is mad!" thought Šárka, her eyes glued to the action in front of her. Letting Ivana's lip free, the nude doppelgänger raised her hand and slapped Ivana square across the face with a loud smack, jolting her awake.
