Just before your consciousness fades you feel a profound numbness about your entire body, as though it weren't there at all. The bright light is all that you see before you sleep. It's an unknown amount of time later that you wake up, sleeping on some sort of very comfortable bed with a thick down comforter. You slowly, and somewhat reluctantly rise, stretching your back in an arch before lowering your front two paws and lifting your tail and rear up into the air, digging your claws into the comforter as the stretch continues. You stand atop your four legs, and look about the room.
It's a well furnished bedroom furnished in creams and sage greens, with tan-ish brown furniture, probably oak. You see nothing else of note, which briefly concerns you. Wasn't there something important about this room? Something that was here that isn't now? Something that concerned you quite a bit earlier. You sit on your back legs and wrap your tail around you, it twitches slightly at the end as you try to remember. After a quick walk around the mattress digging your paw slightly at the quilt in search of whatever it may be that you're looking for you get a bit tired. You close your eyes and yawn, your triangle shaped ears going flat against your head as you do. You're about to curl up in a ball and go back to sleep when it strikes you like a bolt.
Tail? Claws? Paws? You shouldn't have any of these! Your ears shouldn't be flexible, able to rotate to indicate mood, or to focus in on sounds behind you or to the sides. You're supposed to be a human, but as you stand again and give your body a once over, your head much more able to accomplish that then you should be familiar with, you realize that you're a small grey cat. You look around the room, remembering the brilliant ball of light that dragged you into this room, if indeed it was this room. It's nowhere to be seen. You look at the front door and find it closed. You hope off the bed and head towards it, trying to jump up to the door handle to open it, but failing each time.
You sit down and yawn again. Maybe a nap would help things. It certainly couldn't hurt, right? You shake your head as though to clear the thought. You're already having difficulty remembering small details about your human life, your name, your age, where you live, these are things that you can only remember with some effort when the should come naturally. Still those are things that really only concern humans, and you're no human. You shake your head again trying to clear out the urge to simply accept that you're a cat now and to simply let your new instincts replace your former memories.
Still in either case you're trapped in this room right now. What to do about that?