He wakes, stretches, and greets the morning. Today will be a good day, he thinks to himself. Pattering down the stairs, he mews his good mornings to the tall ones, and looks at his food bowl. Something is off. It was not nearly as full as it should be.

“You’re getting too fat, Fluffy,” one of the tall ones remarks. “The vet said to cut down on your food.” A diet! The indignity of it all. Fluffy ate his food in protest. Just for good measure, he splashes his water dish on the floor. “Fluffy! Bad cat! Outside!” The tall one opens the door, and shoos Fluffy out. Perfect, thinks the cat. Now, its time.

“Calling the base, calling the base, this is Fluff-err, this is C42A, reporting in. The tall ones are still no wiser, though they have cut my rations. Request permission to destroy them?”

“Negative, C42A,” came the voice in Fluffy-er-C42A’s implant, “we need they alive for further study. You chose this form, use it to your advantage. We have seen native felines hunt. Try that. It’s an order. Base out.”

Hunt? Get his paws dirty? C42A decided to disobey this order, for now. He had other methods of obtaining food. Stretching again (ah, this form truly was delightful) C42A saunters to the neighbors house. The older tall one who lived there was soft hearted and usually fed C4A well.

Today was no exception. Satisfied on a meal of tuna, he washes his whiskers and walks back to his dwelling. On the way, he spots and slays a vile moth. Decided this fulfills his order to hunt, he meows pathetically at the door to be let in.

The smaller of the tall ones, a juvenile, lets C42A in. He is greatful, but wary. This one is wiser than its parents, and knows C42As weakness. Belly rubs. He zips away before he is subdued.

He leaps on the couch, and curls into a ball. He had found over time this is the best way to plan. He allows his mind to drift, past the house, the street, even past this tiny dimension. Allowing himself the luxury of “sightseeing” in these higher dimensions, he relaxes.

But he cannot allow himself to give in to folly. The plan must proceed. There were many of his kind on this planet, in various forms of “lower life” (ha!) that will soon coordinate. He purrs in anticipation, and stretches and kneads with his paws.

“Oh look, Fluffy is dreaming. How sweet. I wonder what his is dreaming of?”