Anna's eyelids droop and her joints ache. Her paws sting from running on rough concrete and occasional bits of broken glass. She's been out all night painstakingly collecting one hundred potent moondrop mushrooms for her boss. It's taken several trips, because she can only fit so many in the little basket that hangs around her neck.

She pads down main street, weaving between bicycles, prams, and jogging feet. The town wakes early, and all the people are out, greeting each other. "Closed" signs turn to "Open", and bells ring as shop doors open. Wonderful smells waft out of cafes. Eggs, bacon and fresh coffee. Mmm.

It's the little things Anna misses the most about being human. Making small talk with the barista. Beers with friends on sunny afternoons. Vivid colours. Dank Memes. Chocolate.

She sighs and turns down an alleyway behind the main strip.

'Hey kitty.' Jonte is out the back of his parents' bakery, sitting on a milk-crate in his school uniform with a steaming cup of tea in his hand, scrolling on his phone. His hair is an untidy mop, and his tie hangs untied around his neck.

'Hey Jonte.' She says.

'You hungry? Want a treat?' He sets his phone down on the milk-crate and slips through the door.

She jumps backwards, startled, as a deep voice booms in her mind, 'Where are you? The sun is up! Those mushrooms had better not be withered.'

'On my way, boss!' She rolls her eyes and sends her reply. It's not that warm yet. The mushrooms will be fine.

'Here ya go, kitty!' Jonte bursts back out the door with a juicy strip of smoked salmon. She likes that he lets her eat it out of his hand, instead of throwing it on the dirty ground like some people do.

'Thanks, kid.' She purrs, headbutts and walks around his ankles a few times to show her appreciation, and enjoys the scratches behind the ears.

'Jonte!' Mr Thorpe barks, appearing at the door.

Poor Jonte nearly jumps out of his skin and retracts his hands, biting his lip guiltily.

'What have I told you about feeding that damn familiar?'

'But she's so cute!'

Anna sits back on her hind legs, holds front her paws up under her chin and tries to muster her cutest meow, but Mr Thorpe is not convinced. 'She's not cute. It's a filthy profession. What makes you think it's a she, anyway? Orange cats are usually boys.'

Because he's got magic lying dormant in his veins , Anna doesn't say, because she has the sense that this kind of father would not take that kind of news well.

'It could be anyone in there. Could be a demon. Can't trust 'em as far as you can throw 'em.' He turns to Anna. 'Go on, now. Git!'

Not in the mood to be shooed with a broom, Anna scampers away down the alley. She leaps up a stack of wooden flatpack boards and up onto the top of a fence where she darts along gracefully, looking down into the private courtyards. Deck chairs and lanterns, the occasional fire pit. God, Anna misses barbecues, roasting marshmallows, chatting about nothing till the wee hours over a bottle of wine. Crying tears of laughter and telling strangers she loves them. Something glows in the corner of her eye. The vivid purple of magical energy piercing through her otherwise colour-blind cat-vision. She hops down to inspect it, but a mouse scuttles along the edge of the wall, distracting her. Before she knows it, her instincts have taken over and she's crouched down, bottom wiggling, vision zooming in on the poor helpless creature's every micro-movement. The mouse darts for a hiding spot behind the pot plant, and she pounces before she loses her chance. Too slow. She only succeeds in knocking the pot over, jagged terracotta pieces scattered over the concrete. Whoops.

The crash brings her back to her senses and she scrambles up the wall and over the fence, hearing Mrs Windly opening her door and muttering about damn strays. She doesn't go back for the mysterious magical object. It was probably just a piece of quartz or something. It's everywhere in this town.

Buttons has apparently been roaming, wandering outside of his usual territory. She can smell his lingering scent, rubbed deliberately on phone boxes and electricity poles, along with various other neighbourhood cats, but most of them mind their own business. Still, her heart speeds up, and she picks up her pace at the thought of the asshole tabby leaping out from some hidden corner. The scars from his last ambush are healed now. Luckily they're only on her belly, and a few on her upper arm. She can easily hide those, or brush them off as a little accident. But any claw-shaped scars on her face would definitely give away her profession, once she's back in human form, and that's not a kind of stigma she needs following her for the rest of her life.

Finally she makes it back to the workshop. A neon sign out the front flashes with the words, Westergaard Wise Men, with a pointed hat hanging off the first "W". When the famous franchise finally came to town, Anna was so excited. She used to spend hours peering through this store window after school, mesmerised by all the glittering wares inside. Too shy to even speak to the handsome and charismatic store owner. He was so majestic with his purple robes embroidered in gold and dazzling smile. The first time he saw her hovering at the window and winked at her, she just about fainted on the street.

Now she knows that the shimmering potions are diluted with saline, and the intricate carved pendants hanging in the window, sparkling in the morning sun, are nothing more than cheap dyed glass bought in bulk online. The luck charm cast on them is so weak, it will wear off after a few weeks, but the confirmation bias will remain.

'And about bloody time!' Hans takes the little basket from around her neck and tips out the shiny black mushrooms onto the bench. He sips on a mug of coffee, shirtless in paisley pyjama pants. 'Some of these are squashed.'

'Sorry.' Anna leaps up onto the bench and walks carefully in the spaces between the scattered ingredients. Jars of herbs, poorly labelled. Tiny bird bones mixed up with tiny snail shells. A few rusty nails. 'It's kinda hard without opposable thumbs.'

He doesn't take the hint.

She surveys the work he's begun for the day. The new line of heavy duty ward jars are looking good. She follows the scent of ink and finds salt drying in a blackened bowl. She says nothing. Just like she didn't say anything about the fact that the ward jar recipe clearly said it required raven feathers, not crow feathers. She keeps her mouth closed when he dips his candles and chants incantations, skipping a verse here and there, never bothering with the full ten repetitions.

It's not the place of a familiar to question a wizard's methods, but she can't help but feel a pang of worry when she sees customers handing over their hard earned cash with hope swimming in their eyes.

She nestles into a spot on the windowsill and lets the sun warm her back, hesitating a moment before speaking. 'I really need some human time.'

'What for?' He doesn't look at her as he speaks, but annoyance flickers across his face. His lips barely move as he scoops up a handful of tourmaline stones. His hands glow purple for a few seconds as he charges them, then drops them into long, narrow ward jars along with a crow feather and a pinch of the "black salt". He seals them with crayon wax. It's bright, and cheaper than wasting candles that could be imbued with a low-level charm and resold.

'Because I have things I need to do.' Anna's tiny cat heart begins to race, so much faster than her human heart ever could. She feels like she's in trouble already and her voice shakes as she continues. 'Errands to run. People I need to see. You know, human stuff.'

'Darling,' She used to swoon when he called her pet names. Now they just remind her she is small and stupid and bound to him forever. 'You know switching you costs me mana. And mana is money. You're already behind on your work as it is.'

'I could work faster with a bit of human time!' She hops down onto the bench, inching closer to him, wanting to be heard and seen, but not foolish enough to properly get in his way. 'Like with these mushrooms. I could sniff them all out in my cat time, then go back during my human time and pick them all at once. With a backpack and a bicycle.'

He charges more stones with a flash of purple from his hands, before screwing the lids on and sealing them with more crayon wax, looking down satisfiedly at his work. They need to be out on the shelves and ready for pickup by ten, when the store opens. His answer comes in a dismissive mumble, 'And how would you know which ones to pick? Hm? You wouldn't. We'd have to sort through the charged ones from the duds. It would take extra time-'

'I could just change back-'

'And then I'd have no mana left for customers' spells if I've switched you back and forth five times before lunch.'

She knows she's pushing her luck, arguing like this. But stubbornly, she continues, 'Couldn't you maybe take it out of my pay?'

'Anna!' His voice is sharp as a rubber band snapping, and she shrinks back into the corner. 'The answer is no. Have you ever heard the saying, be careful what you wish for? You you signed up for this and you have a job to do. So go and do it.'

He draws a thick black line through the word mushrooms on the ingredients list tacked to the wall, and taps on the next item with his sharpie: rat skulls.

'Fresh ones.' He says sternly, as though she's ever brought him sub-par ingredients. 'With plenty of life-force.'

Anna jumps down off the table and wobbles a bit in her exhaustion. She takes a drink of water from the container in the corner, then pads out the door toward the forest on the edge of town, sniffing for the sweet, pungent scent of life-force. Worst case scenario, she'll have to bring him live rats. Be careful what you wish for, indeed.