The car ride home was probably the best moment of my life. I finally had somewhere to call home, after all. Dad's car smelled amazing, like cologne and campfire. He was a male who always took great care of himself. Roosters are prouder than lions, he would say. Even though we were different, I was excited to have such a handsome father.

I was pretty hopeful. The director of the orphanage, a giraffe named Ms. Jodie, told me she knew Mom and Dad, and that they would be a great fit for me. They had fostered a handful of other kids before, even some small carnivores, and felt they could handle a bigger challenge. I didn't know I was a challenge, but I was excited to get out of that place.

We arrived home, and it looked exactly like what I had pictured. Nothing fancy, just a cozy ranch-style house in the suburbs, wood paneling and little orange roof, but that's exactly what I wanted. Just a cozy little home. The inside matched the outside too. Just about every surface was covered in crocheted doilies Mom made herself, and every inch of the walls were covered in framed pictures of them and their old foster kids. Ms. Josie was right: as I walked down the main hallway, I stared at never-ending gallery of Mom and Dad with identical smiles on their faces, arms around a different animal. A parrot, a porcupine, a skunk, an alpaca, a tortoise… They even had some photos of carnivores like a ferret and a puppy. They all looked pretty happy.

Mom called me in the kitchen. I could smell that there was something waiting for me. Sure enough, on the table sat a big, bright custard pie. It was a pretty sight, sure, and Mom looked at me with expectant eyes.

"Here's a little welcome home gift, Toma." She said with that sweet gentle voice of hers.

"Oh, for me?" I asked.

"Who else is it for?" Dad snuck up behind me, nudging me further inside the kitchen and promptly took his seat on the end of the table. "Hurry up now, have a slice before it gets cold!"

I didn't have the heart to tell them that I couldn't taste sweet things. I'm sure they meant well, and I'm the first feline they ever took in. So I sat down next to Mom while she cut me a very generous slice.

"Enjoy, sweetie."

"Thanks, miss."

Dad tutted. "Now, now, don't go calling us miss and mister. We'll be taking care of you from now on, so we'll be Mom and Dad, thanks very much."

It was a little embarrassing, having to call people you barely know something like that. But I always wanted that.

"Yes, Dad."

"Much better." He nods, content. "Now eat up, son."

I obeyed. The pie was really creamy, but without the flavor, it felt like swallowing a spoonful of toothpaste. Still, I pretended to enjoy it. Mom looked happy enough, so I didn't mind.

"Now, sweetie…" She started, stroking the fur on my head as I ate. "Your father and I are really happy to have you here. Right now, you're our foster child, but if you end up liking it here, we'd be happy to adopt you."

I perked up at that. "Really?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full, son." Dad cut in.

I lowered my ears. "Sorry… Dad."

"Hm." He puffed up his hackle. I'd find out this was something he loved to do when giving lectures. "It's as your mother says. If we think you're a good fit for our little family, you're free to stay. So, let's all do our best to get along, eh?"

"Yes, Dad."

I woke up to the smell of breakfast, as usual. I never needed an alarm clock with Mom around. Every morning, she'd whip up some delicious eggs. Any way you could cook an egg, she'd do it. Scrambled, fried, hardboiled, omelette, poached, soft-boiled, Benedict, deviled… They were the tastiest, yolkiest, freshest eggs in all the world.

I hopped down the stairs and kiss Mom and Dad good morning. Dad had one hand propping up the newspaper and the other holding a steaming cup of pitch black coffee. From my seat, I could only see his great red comb peeking over the paper until he set it aside. Mom set down a plate of delicious eggs in front of me, and that woke me up real quick.

She'd watch me as I ate with a big grin on her beak.

"These are all your eggs, right?" I asked.

"Laid every one of them myself."

"Isn't that a little weird? It's like I'm eating your poop." I asked, scrunching up my nose.

Dad set down his paper with a huff. "You better watch your tone, boy!"

"Now, now…" Mom chuckled, waving at Dad. "He doesn't know any better."

She looked back at me. "It's normal for chickens to eat our own eggs, and feed them to others. It means 'I love you' in chicken."

I reflected on those words. It still felt a little weird, but I was happy. The eggs probably only taste so good because they're filled with love. Dad had to leave in a rush for work, so it was just me and Mom. It would be me and Mom for most of the day; Dad only got home in the evenings.

While she washed the dishes, I inched closer to her. I hugged her waist and buried my face in her tummy. It was a wonderful feeling. Hens have feathers softer than any fur. They were warm, fluffy, and never seemed to end. I felt her clawed hand petting my head and scratching my ears, still wet from the dishes. Even with my eyes closed, I saw the sunlight shining through, deep within her feathers.

I opened the gift box. Inside was some colorful, crinkly paper, and on top of it, a not-so colorful paper covered in tiny print. But the letters at the top told me everything.

"CERTIFICATE OF ADOPTION"

I looked up at my parents with massive eyes. They smiled and nodded. I flung my arms around both of them, not bothering to hold in my purring.

"Thank you, Mom, Dad!" I yelped, my voice cracking. My eyes stung as big tears started rolling down my cheek, which wiped off as I rubbed my face in my parent's clothes.

"You're officially a chicken now!" Dad said with a laugh. "We ought to go shopping for a comb and wattle once you're old enough!"

"We're so happy you're our son, Toma." Mom bent down to pick me up. With a grunt, she raised me into her arms. "Phew, pretty soon I won't be able to do that."

"Careful with your back, hun." Dad reminded her. "But, she's right, Toma. You may be our son, but you're still a carnivore. You'll have to mind your manners if you wanna get along in this world."

"I mind 'em!"

"Yes, you're our sweet little kitten…" Mom crooned, pecking my cheek.

"You're a stand up child, all right. That's why you're our son." Dad said. "So let's keep it that way. Remember, you're a chicken now."

"I'm a chicken. Dad."

"Atta boy."

My feet were cold. The chilly sensation was enough to wake me up. Sitting up, I spotted the problem. My bedsheet didn't reach the end of the bed. I narrowed my eyes at the footboard. It was still late at night, I didn't want to wake Mom up for a bigger blanket.

My ears pricked up. Never mind. I could hear her voice ringing from her bedroom. She was awake after all. I was still groggy, but I heaved out of bed and made for the door. The hallway was dark, but the end was lit by a trickling stripe of light peering from under their room. I quietly tiptoed down the hall, the fuzzy carpet muffling my steps. I only got halfway though before I heard them.

"—Do not need to be lectured by some female!"

Dad's voice. Sharp, piercing, screeching.

"I'm not lecturing you, dear, I'm just worried about where the money—"

Mom's voice. Small, pathetic, barely audible.

"It's my job to handle the fucking finances! I'm the male of the house! You need to focus on keeping the house and raising the kid, which you can barely handle!"

"I'm trying my best, dear—"

"Your best?! Is that pathetic excuse for a meal your best?! Lukewarm canned soup?!"

"It's all that was left in the pantry—"

"It's because you feed everything to the fucking carnie, is why! He's ballooning into a monster because you insist on stuffing him with the food I paid for!"

"It's a growth spurt, dear… He's twelve, it's natural for males to get hungrier at this age…"

"He's eating us out of house and home, you stupid bitch! Always defending him… Letting him join that fucking swim team… He's twice my size now! What do you think will happen when your shitty soup won't fill him up, huh?!"

A pause.

"Don't say that about our son…"

A dull slap.

"'Our son'… You're the one who wanted to keep the little bastard. You just had to be the martyr…. Taking in a fucking panther… for what?!"

I sighed. Another one of those nights. No blanket for me.

I gasped as I broke through the water, desperate for air. Vlad, a snapping turtle who thought himself the king of the pool, startled chortling at my floundering.

"That's the longest you can hold your breath?"

I shot him a toothy grin and wrapped an arm around his neck, forcing him underwater. "Let's see you hold it longer!"

Vlad struggled to break free of my armlock, but there's nothing a turtle could do against a panther. I knew he'd be fine, breath-wise, but I took pity on him eventually and let him go. He reemerged, and with a snort, splashed a tidal wave of chlorinated water in my face.

"Predator! Ambushing me!"

"I'm a menace." I growled.

"Menace is right." Vlad kicked off, comfortably bobbing along the water on his carapace. "Half of those medals on the cabinet are yours, you know."

"Whatever." I mumbled, imitating him by floating supine, staring at the faraway ceiling of the pool. "I just swim for fun."

"So stoic. If you were just swimming for fun, you wouldn't still be here. Sun's nearly down."

"Well, neither would you." I retorted.

"I gotta wait for my stupid sister's piano classes. You're here cuz you're creepy."

I closed my eyes. Leaning my head back, I submerged myself underwater once more. After being exposed to air, the water's touch was comforting and warm. Not like Mom's, but still nice in a different way. I could feel my short fur waving like a kelp forest, my tail floating around like an umbilical cord. My hearing was warped, distorted, as if I were in another dimension entirely.

I kicked the new atmosphere I found myself in, reveling in the sensation of bubbles tickling my legs. My kicks were getting stronger, too. I'd built up quite a lot of muscle within the past year. I liked it.

I knew I couldn't change who I was. One look at me and you'd know: that is a panther, not a chicken. And I didn't want to be a chicken. Panthers like swimming. I started more or less on a whim - maybe it was my natural instincts guiding me - but once I was in the water, you couldn't get me out.

I liked using my muscles, I liked going as fast as I could. Mom once filmed me during a competition. I rewatched the footage of that little black bullet dart from one end of the pool to the other dozens of times. It looked like exactly what I was supposed to be doing.

When I outgrew Dad, I liked that too. He'd always be staring down at me until then, felt nice to look down on him now, even if it was a petty thing to like. Dad always told me to watch myself. I got sharp teeth and claws, I'm too strong for my own good, my fur is too dark and my eyes are too yellow. But when I'm away from him and that house, underwater and surrounded by cyan tiles, I really do love this huge, dangerous body of mine.

The sun was a savage red when I came home. I tried not to come home a lot. Friends would let me crash on the couch when they could. But it had been a couple of days. Gotta let Mom know I'm okay. I snapped open the lock with my keys and greeted the entrance hall and stairwell, dyed red with the sunset. To my dismay, Dad's shoes were already by the door. I tossed my bag near the stairs and crept in the kitchen. As expected, Mom was there. She smiled warmly at me, her tired eyes twinkling.

"Hey, Mom." I gave her a kiss on the cheek while peeking at whatever was boiling on the stove. "Beans?"

"Your father's favorite." She winked.

"How's he been?"

"He's… better. When…"

"When I'm not around." I completed the sentence for her. Her breath hitches, as if my words suddenly made it into a sad reality she couldn't handle.

I shrug. "I don't mind."

"You're welcome to grab a plate. Supper's almost ready."

"Don't worry. I already ate."

She looked up at me and tilted her head, unconvinced. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. I think I'll do some homework and hit the hay."

"Okay, kitten." As I turned, I could tell she had more to say. She always did. I could stand there for hours, but she would never work up the courage. That was the problem with Mom.

I snatched my bag from the floor and headed up the stairs, each footstep causing the framed photos of my siblings to rattle. The first thing I saw at the top of the stairwell was Dad.

Just my luck.

"Well, look who remembered where the front door is." He sneered. "You reek of chlorine."

And he reeked of alcohol.

"Hey." I mumbled, hoping to slide past before he got started. No such luck.

"Speak up, boy!" He crowed. "I told you to speak clearly to the male of the house! You fucking teenagers and your tones. As if it's such a fucking chore to greet your father."

My jaw tightened.

"Hello, I am back, Adam." I reply, articulating every stilted vowel slowly. Maybe now he'd understand.

Dad slaps me across the face.

"What did you fucking call me, boy?!"

"I'm back… Dad."

He shoved me out the way. Rather, he pushed at my chest and I allowed him to pass by.

"That's what I fucking thought, you beast."

Beast. He called me that more than my name. Ever since I outgrew him. I wondered if he genuinely thought I wanted to eat him. I wondered if I should, just to shut him up.

I shook my head. As if to expel the very thought. Absolutely not. That would only prove him right. If there was one thing I knew, it was that Dad was completely wrong about me. I retired to my room, which looked the same since I last slept in it, save for a little dust. I never bothered decorating the place, but Mom left some saints on the nightstand all the same.

With a sigh, I reached for the books and pencil case tucked away in my bag and began my homework. I actually appreciated extra assignments on days where I was home. Gave me something to do. As much as I would have liked to listen to some music, I always had to keep an ear out in case Mom was in danger. Dad drank more and more these days.

After an hour of working, I decided to rest my hand. I got up again, stretching my arms up skywards and touching the ceiling with my fingers. Looking out the window, I stared blankly at the view. The sun was still out, but barely, lurking on the horizon. It made the neighborhood look surreal, like we were trapped in a lava lamp. I glanced down at our miserable lawn. Years of neglect had turned it into more of a junkyard. We couldn't afford to fix the fences, and Dad would always yell whenever I tried to mow the lawn. 'Don't mess with my house!' He would say.

Trouble itched my ear. I heard Dad shrieking about something.

"—The boy do it!"

Then nothing. After a few seconds, I heard footsteps come up the stairs and towards my room, stopping in front of my closed door. Good footsteps, though.

"Toma…" Mom's voice chimed like small bells. "Come help clean up the table."

I immediately opened the door. "Sure." Mom always asked politely whenever she wanted me to do something. A direct request meant it was urgent.

I followed her down to the dinner table to the tune of Dad's TV show all the way in the living room.

Silently, Mom and I collected the plates, containers and silverware from the table, wiping the PVC tablecloth down with a rag. My whiskers stood on edge. Whenever I was home, I felt as though I was trapped in a thundercloud, where lighting could strike me dead at any time. There was nothing I could do; the haze was too thick to see through. Any movement could upset the electrons, any strong exhale or wrong comment could bring this whole storm pouring down. All I could do is tense my muscles, feeling electricity graze my fur, and pray the lightning wouldn't hit tonight.

The table was cleared, and my mother gives my arm a small squeeze, meaning I was allowed to go back to my room. I could hardly wait. I'd fall asleep, and then next morning I could eat Mom's love-filled eggs and escape this place for the next few days.

Dad's slurred voice stopped me before I could reach the stairwell.

"Toma!" He barked. "C'mere!"

A crackle of electricity. I needed to be careful.

Dad was slouched on the armchair, face lit up by the rickety TV set in front of him. A half-empty bottle of whiskey sat at his feet.

He looked up at me with unfocused eyes. "You ungrateful beast. You sh-shouldn't have to be called to help around the house! This isn't a fucking hotel!"

"…I was doing my homework."

"Yeah, sure…" He muttered, wrapping his hands around the neck of the whiskey bottle and bringing it to his beak. The amber liquid sloshed down his gullet, spilling onto his hackle. "Hulking monster… With all the money we wasted getting you that big…"

He suddenly stopped his garbled diatribe and his eyes went wide with fury. "DONNA!"

In mere seconds, Mom skittered up to him.

"Yes, dear?"

"Call the school! Tell 'em Toma's quitting the swim-swimming team!"

Mom and I exchanged bewildered glances.

"B-but dear, it's too late to call the school—"

"CALL THEM!" Dad roared. "Dunno why I didn't do this sooner… Poisoning the house with that fucking smell…"

"Dad…" I dared to speak up. "I'll take a shower. The school's closed. You can't call them."

That only seemed to further anger him. "Don't tell me what I can or can't do, you little shit!" He threw himself off of the armchair, stumbling to keep his balance. I reached out to him, but he smacked my hand away.

"Get away, beast!" He wheezed. "Don't fucking touch me with those claws!"

"Dear, please calm down…" Mom pleaded.

Dad grabbed Mom by her wattle and yanked her towards him. "Shut up! Always taking his side!"

"Don't touch her!" I cried, running to shield Mom from another blow.

"I'll do with her what I damn please!"

Claws slashed my left eye, and in my daze, I stumbled to the floor, helplessly clutching at my injury.

I saw black and red, and blood on the carpet, and the bottle of whiskey and the flashing lights of the TV. I heard my mother shriek, the sounds of a scuffle, the dull thud of fists colliding on flesh, the ripping of feathers.

"That'll… teach you— you, to turn against…. Me!" Dad huffed in between blows. "Stupid… bitch!"

Panic overtook me. I sprung to what I thought were my feet and blindly darted in the direction of the struggle. My massive frame collided into a smaller one. My one working eye detected Dad's bright red crest. I clutched the fabric of his shirt and shoved him into the wall. Further down, I heard the clatter of photo frames falling to the ground.

"Let— let go of me, you little shit!" Dad snarled.

I looked into his black, hateful eyes and bared my fangs, pressing him harder against the wall. He squirmed desperately, sinking his claws around my wrists, but that wasn't going to be enough.

I wanted to bite his head off right then and there. It would've been my right. But then, I knew if I were the rooster, and he were the panther, he wouldn't hesitate to kill me. And I wasn't like him.

I flung Dad to side, watching him fall on the floor. My mind raced with what I should do next. I decided the most important thing was getting Mom out of there. But before I could turn around...

A sharp pain on the back of my head robbed me of strength. I collapsed on the floor, feeling liquid, both warm and cold flow over my face. I could touch shards of glass around me, poking out from the rancid carpet like jagged snowflakes. The smell of metal and whiskey burned my nostrils.

I simply lied there, twitching and useless, staring at my pathetic dad in a similar stupor. All I could do was listen to the sound of crunching glass, and Mom's sobbing voice, claiming she and her husband had been attacked by a carnivore.

Maybe she had always been scared of me, deep down. Maybe she still loved Dad and couldn't bear to lose him. Who knows. They all took her side.

Nobody believed me.

They shaved my whiskers off.

"—ma!'

"—Oma!"

"Toma!"

The panther opens his eyes.

The first thing he sees is Hafsa's worried face.

"Where… am I?" He croaks, not strong enough to sit up yet.

"The nurse's office." The serval replies. Other faces are there. Principal House, Solomon, the nurse.

"What… happened?"

Hafsa looks away, worry replaced by dread. "Your collar went off during the debate. It knocked you out."

"The debate…?"

The bespectacled goose puts a hand on the president's shoulder. "We should probably let him rest a bit more before we bombard him with problems."

"N-no, it's fine…" Toma groans, propping his upper body up by the shoulders. "What happened after?"

"The debate was cancelled, naturally." Solomon explains. "Students have been escorted back to their dorms. Ezekiel is waiting in the principal's office."

"You were only out for about ten minutes or so." Hafsa adds. "It all happened very quickly."

"Yes…" House nods. "I must return to my office and figure out what to do with Ezekiel. His behavior was completely inappropriate, riling up his classmates like that…"

The waterfowl lets out a terribly weary sigh before waddling out of the nurse's office with an "If you'll excuse me…"

Only the three felines are left, with the raccoon nurse off in a corner boiling some tea.

"So…" Toma begins. "They all know now, huh?"

Hafsa's brow crumbles. "Yes."

"I see…"

Wordlessly, Solomon storms out of the room with a far more irritated expression.

The other male lets out a weak chuckle. "That makes sense. You… should probably go too."

"Did you…" Hafsa blurts out suddenly. "Did you really do it?"

Toma smiles. "Does it make a difference?"

AN: Thank you for reading. Pretty heavy chapter. Toma's had it pretty rough. I tried writing it as competently and respectfully as I could, I didn't want Toma's 'dad' seeming too cartoonishly evil.

But unsurprisingly, our beloved panther is innocent! As if he would commit a crime, especially one as nasty as that. But what will become of the election and his reputation?

Take it easy and stay safe.