My cat Urus - 14

Brad woke up feeling strange. His sheets clung to his skin like he’d been sweating all night. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, only to feel a long lock of hair fall over his shoulder. His chest tightened in panic, until the mirror across his room showed his regular, male self.

He touched his short hair, heart thumping. The lock was gone. Just a dream.

But the dream had been too real.

He remembered clearly: Britney, his Britney, was sitting at a bus stop in a plaid skirt and knee-high socks, legs crossed, scrolling her phone. A guy had sat beside her, offered a drink. She’d smiled, teased, leaned closer. Brad remembered the sound of her laugh like it was his own voice, but higher, sweeter.

Shaking his head, Brad pulled on a hoodie and went downstairs.

“Morning,” his mom said without looking up from the paper.

“Morning,” Brad muttered, pouring cereal. He caught his reflection in the microwave door, his lips curved in a tiny, playful smile. He wasn’t smiling.

He dropped the spoon with a clatter.

At school, Josh slapped his shoulder. “Yo, Brad. You look tired, man. Didn’t sleep?”

“Just… weird dreams,” Brad muttered.

Josh smirked. “Sexy dreams?”

Brad’s face burned. He shoved Josh away harder than necessary. “Shut up.”

But in the back of his mind, the blush wasn’t about embarrassment, it was because the word “sexy” fit.

That night, Brad lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Urus drifted lazily in the corner of his room, spinning on his back like he had no care in the world.

“Another dream tonight?” Urus asked lightly, not looking at him.

Brad stiffened. “…You know about them?”

Urus smirked. “I know everything that matters. Don’t worry. Dreams can’t hurt you.”

Brad turned away. “They already are.”

Urus’ eyes glowed faintly. “We’ll see.”

Next day, the dream was worse. Or better. He couldn’t decide.

Britney walked down the hallway of their school but everyone treated her like she’d always been there. Boys craned their necks, girls giggled and whispered. Someone whistled. She blushed but smiled, brushing her hair back with practiced grace.

Brad woke up gasping.

At school, he caught himself walking differently, hips rolling just a little. When he noticed, he froze. Crap. Stop it. But then a girl ahead of him turned, smiled, and let him pass. Brad blinked. She just… let me go by? Normally he’d have to squeeze through.

By lunch, Josh was staring at him funny again. “You okay, dude? You’re like… lighter or something. Like you’re floating when you walk.”

Brad shoved his tray down. “I’m fine.”

But he noticed it too. He was lighter.

That night, Urus hovered above his bed, grinning to himself as Brad tossed restlessly. He whispered just loud enough for Brad to half-hear in his dreams: Pretty girl. Perfect girl. Everyone sees it.

By day 3, Brad dreamt he was at the football pitch again. Britney jogged out, hair in a ponytail, shorts tight on her hips. The boys waved her over, eager, shouting her name. She laughed and joined, ducking and weaving through them easily. Nobody tackled her hard. Instead, they cheered when she scored.

When Brad woke up, his legs ached like he’d actually been running. He showered, shaking his head.

At school, in gym class, the coach called for teams. Brad started jogging across the field—then noticed how his arms tucked close to his sides, how his steps were shorter, neater.

“Brad, you coming or what?” one guy yelled.

He swallowed. “Yeah!” But he couldn’t shake the feeling his body was remembering something it shouldn’t.

Later, Josh nudged him. “Dude… not gonna lie, you’re kinda… different lately. Like, less… dude-ish.”

Brad’s temper flared. “Shut it, Josh. I’m the same!”

But deep down, he knew Josh was right.

That night, the dream came back, harder. Britney in a sundress, boys circling her, buying her food, holding doors. She laughed, letting them. She liked it.

Brad woke up biting his lip, chest pounding. No. I don’t. I don’t like it.

Urus chuckled from the shadows. He didn’t say a word.