I’d worried about this, before my journey—how to follow human speech on Earth. Our species is so advanced, we have no use for words. We pass information telepathically; images float, are consumed, and that’s it. Forget about chitchat. Forget about How was your day? (How I wanted someone to ask—to care—about my day!) So I’d studied whenever I could, revisiting scenes from I Love Lucy and picking up languages from previous travelers to Earth.
Now I was bombarded by sound, by feeling. It was both intensely wonderful and intensely distracting. I had to squint at the woman, trying to detect the subtle differences in her syllables. This was what I pieced together: a single word, over and over again.
Olive, Olive, Olive.
Either she was incredibly hungry, or this was raincoat girl’s name.
Soon the boat thumped against the house’s stairs, and the white-haired woman fled down the steps, her ankles steeped in water. She threw the towel off her shoulders; it was soggy in an instant, lugged away by the tide.
“Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?” she yelled, grabbing the boat’s stern and tying it quickly to the railing. That knot! It was ranger-worthy. “I’ve seen plenty of stupid antics in my day, but this one takes the cake.”
I knew this wasn’t the time to notice the older woman’s wardrobe, but she was wearing a checkered shirt under a khaki vest—both with plenty of pockets. My whiskers twitched enviously. As a human, I would’ve liked to wear those clothes.
“Listen here, sailor,” the woman continued, voice rumbly and slightly out of breath. “You could’ve bitten the dust out there. Am I making myself clear? Your mother didn’t send you down here to disobey a direct order. So when I tell you not to go outside in a tropical storm, you have to listen to me.”
It happened then: I felt myself being scooped into Olive’s arms. She clutched me close to her chest, her raincoat quivering. I had no idea what to do. There were no drills for this, no training. In three hundred years, it had never occurred to me: One day, a human girl will hold you.
Was now an appropriate time to moo? Was I supposed to kiss her on both cheeks, as some people do? I went for a fail-safe option: going completely limp.
“I couldn’t leave him there,” Olive said, stepping awkwardly from the boat to the steps, her rubber boots squishing in water. “I’m sorry, Norma. I just couldn’t.”
Norma towered above us, arms crossed, eyebrows knitted. I was slightly overwhelmed by the power of her presence—but also wanted to grab her face with my paws and shout, Do you know how lucky you are to have eyebrows? Do you?
When Norma spoke again, her voice was raspier. “You’re not hurt anywhere, are ya?”
Olive shook her head.
“Well . . . good,” Norma said, massaging a spot on her chest, as if her heart hurt. “Now, let’s get inside, before this storm eats us up.”
Then we were climbing the rickety steps. Norma unlatched the front door.
I felt myself shaking—this time, not from the cold.
I’d never heard of a mistake like this. No one in my entire species had ever ended up in the wrong body. It was supposed to go so smoothly: I would arrive on Earth as a human, interview for the park ranger position, accept the job immediately; my wilderness knowledge would astonish my colleagues. They’d throw a Welcome to Wyoming party in my honor, and I’d settle into a rented cabin, on the very edge of the woods, safe in the comfort of my plan.
But now? I was venturing even further into unknown territory.
“Don’t be afraid, kitty,” Olive said, slipping inside the house. She pushed off her raincoat hood, her hair wavy and dark, clamped down on both sides with daisy barrettes. A fellow flower enthusiast! We’d have so much to talk about, I thought, if I could talk. Did she know that flowers appeared 140 million years ago? Or that the largest flower on Earth is over nine feet tall?
Olive caressed my muzzle with a gentle hand. Maybe it was too soon to trust her, but there it was. A kernel of faith, blooming in my chest.
Carefully, she placed me on the ground, my paws touching floorboards for the first time. How many hours—how many years—had I spent imagining this moment? A human house! And me, inside it. Some things were exactly as I’d expected. There were books, magnificent books, stacked high against the living room walls. Wicker furniture dotted the space. And in the kitchen, I just knew there’d be a toaster. A toaster! Only humans could invent something so quaint. People cared deeply, about everything, even if it was just the crispness of their bread.
Other things about the house surprised me. For one, it was very quiet. In I Love Lucy, there were always noises. People laughing, making chocolate, a chorus of humans rushing in and out. Here, there was nothing but the howling of wind, the squeak of Olive’s footsteps.
Norma trudged down a hallway and stamped back a moment later, a large stack of towels in her arms. “I’ve been listening to the radio, and they say the storm’s getting worse. Some houses in Hilton Head are half underwater. Isle of Palms, too. Your mom’s been trying to call, but the line won’t stop dropping.” Letting out a rough breath, she peered down at me. I could see all the way up her nostrils. “Now, I keep food around for strays—and I thought I knew about every cat in this neighborhood. Where’d you come from, huh?”
It was an excellent question. Unfortunately, I barely processed it. My brain was spinning out of control. Hilton Head. The Isle
