Chapter Text
Oscar was cold. He was very cold. Not that it was a new thing - Oscar had been quite cold for the last two weeks.
Oscar had been under the care of his mother since he was just a little kitten. She was nice, and he got along with his siblings as all few month old kittens do. That didn’t last so long. When Oscar was nearly a year old - around six years as a human - his mother was taken. Oscar had watched it happen. He’d watched her be snatched off the streets and taken to some shelter or another. He didn’t know better.
Oscar had run. He did just as his mother had told him to and he ran. Oscar, and his family, were considered different. Special, his mother would say.
Oscar was to let nobody know about his special ability. To be both a cat and a human at will was… fantasy. It was a made up concept that was saved for books and stories. It wasn’t supposed to be reality.
Except, it was Oscar’s reality. It had been since he was little.
Now, Oscar was a stray. He thinks he’d always been considered a stray, but before he’d had family, he’d had the old lady who left them food on her porch, he’d had a cozy heater that they could plop themselves under. He didn’t have that anymore. He was a proper stray now, out on the streets, either snatching scraps from under tables as a cat or begging passing people as a human kid. He’d found that he was noticed more as a human, and therefore was more likely to get a little something from sympathetic people on their way to their fancy job wherever.
Sometimes, he was worse off. Sometimes, Oscar resorted to going to a town over and looking for food stands of sorts. If he couldn’t beg food off of someone, he would steal food. While it was a last resort, he was usually good enough at it. Oscar was small and agile, he was less visible when it came to sneaking up to stands, and he wasn’t an easy target when shopkeepers inevitably chased after him to get their goods back. Not to mention, he was skilled at weaving in and out of crowds, losing his pursuer as he dodged between the legs of business men and other passerby. He considered it a talent.
It was winter, now. Approaching winter, at least. If you asked Oscar, the street rat that he was, he would claim that winter has long since started. Anyone with proper heating would claim that it was just now starting. Oscar wasted no time envying them. (That wasn’t true. On the days he went hungry, huddling under a torn blanket on his makeshift cardboard mattress, Oscar would imagine what it would be like to live like them. He would imagine shivering in the cold and not caring because he knew he had a warm home to return to. He would imagine that the cold and the hunger and the soreness had an end. All he had to do was head home and ask his mother for something warm. It didn’t usually do him much good.)
He spent a lot of time back and forth between feline and human these weeks. He never could decide which was easier. He had fur as a cat, and he could fit more blanket space around his smaller frame. On the other hand, as a human, there was more skin and body fat to maintain what little warmth he could manage. It wasn’t as effective as it should be, and Oscar figured that would be different if he ate properly. Oh well.
There was no snow yet. Oscar was thankful for that, of course. He figured it would be a month until it started, and a couple of weeks more until it got heavy and truly a problem. Oscar was determined to make the most of that. He’d spend the next few weeks scavenging for whatever clothing, bedding, and extra food, that he could find. He’d stock up, just like he did every year.
It always reminded him of a squirrel. Oscar took what he could to make him smile these days.
Oscar was tired today. More than usual, at least. He lay on his sheet of cardboard, a blanket tucked around him. It had been thrown out because of the tear towards the end, and Oscar had eagerly taken it back to his makeshift hideout. He’d scrounged up a couple of worn out sweatshirts, but he was still stuck in the athletic shorts he’d found two months ago. Gritting his teeth against the cold, Oscar shifted into a cat. He huffed softly, blinking slowly. He was so, so tired. The cold made it harder to rest, but he found that being a cat made that part easier at least.
Oscar’s eyes were shut, and he was halfway into a sleep when he heard footsteps coming down his alley way. His eyes snapped open, his head lifting quickly as he looked blearily up and down the alley. Before he properly processed being awake, there was a pair of shoes in front of him.
“Hello there, sweetheart,” came a man's gentle voice. Oscar looked up at him, tense. He never knew what to expect when humans approached him. Sometimes, humans had awful intentions. Oscar had met some very nice humans in his short life though, humans willing to share food with him before going along with their days.
The man, who Oscar realized had an accent similar to his own, crouched down in front of him. He was rummaging through his bag and Oscar perked up, hoping more than anything that there was food in there.
“I hope you’ve got a home, kitten,” the man mumbled, finally pulling a smaller bag out of his bag. Oscar sat up. He didn’t have a home, obviously, but it’s not like he could speak up and tell that to the man. Instead, he only let out a small mewl as he tracked the man's hands. He carefully opened the bag and brushed off a spot of cardboard and dumped what looked like it could be some sort of bacon and pasta. “Here you are. I haven’t got much, but my husband always packs me too much lunch, so I don’t mind sharing.”
Oscar only wished he had that problem. He meowed gratefully at the man, directing his attention to what may as well have been a three course meal in Oscar’s current state. He crawled forward and took a tentative bite before determining it safe and beginning to scarf down the food as quickly as he could.
The man chuckled beside him, amused. “Careful there, kitten. Don’t choke. I’ve got to get home now.”
The man moved as if he might reach out to pet Oscar, but clearly thought better of it. Instead, he pushed himself up to stand and watched Oscar for only a second before he began to walk away, leaving Oscar alone with his food. He appreciated it, Oscar didn’t appreciate people lingering around his food. He was protective, can you blame him?
The food was incredible, and Oscar was grateful that someone thought to stop just for him. He didn’t even have to sit out and beg.
It took less to fill him up when he was a cat. He was smaller than he was as a human and therefore needed less sustenance. That was another bonus of shifting. People gave him more food when he was a human, so it lasted longer when he was a cat.
Oscar had learned to be strategic after so many years.
Now full and sated, Oscar yawned wide and settled into his blanket with a content little sigh. Sure, he was still cold, but he wasn’t so hungry anymore, and that was something. It made it a lot easier for Oscar to slowly slip into a light sleep, nuzzling his head into the folds of his blanket. He dreamt of nice Australian men and warm homes and bacon, and tried his best not to be disappointed when he eventually woke up.