Beccan deftly traversed the streets of her home, relishing the familiar textures beneath the pads of her feet. She closed her eyes allowing her other senses, newly heightened, to lead. Her human eyes were still a weakness. Sooner or later they would have to go.
Daniel’s house was only a few blocks away. Beccan slowed, letting the ache of anticipation fold within her. She passed a fruit stand, the owner’s radio blasting a report about the latest genetic breakthrough. Something about a new record for heads grafted to a single animal. The scientists were elated, the usual genetic purists trumpeted their distaste.
Beccan crossed the street and entered Daniel’s building. Inside she was greeted by Stafford, the keeper.
“Beccan! Love the new look!”
He motioned her through.
Daniel’s room was bisected by glass. She stood on one side, he on the other. His orange and black stripes were as radiant as she remembered. He advanced, pawing at the window.
“The glass is still here,” Beccan said. “But we’re closer now.”