The morning light shines through your window. Stretching, you yawn and climb out of bed before heading into the bathroom to shower. It's a weekday, you have to get to your offices if you want to finish your project on time. As you rub your eyes in the warm water, you dimly remember something about latex puddles but pass it off a some sort of strange nightmare. You get dressed, grab a cup of coffee, lock up, and head to your car.
You left it parked outside your house instead of putting it in the garage yesterday, intending to wash it but never doing it. You climb in, flip the ignition, turn the car into drive, and press your foot onto the brake pedal.
*Smoosh*. You feel something thick and viscious squelch on your shoe. Looking down, you can't see the pedal in the shadows or whatever you've just stepped in. You breifly consider getting out before deciding that it's not worth the trouble and just head to work, being late as it is. As you pull out of your driveway and start down the road, you swear you feel the substance moving under your foot.
The whole drive there, the thing on the brake pedal seems to be undulating, moving on its own accord. You consider pulling over to the side of the road but the fact that you're fifteen minutes late throws that idea out the window. Eventually, the fluid seems to move upward, coating your foot and a small part of your ankle. Your foot then feels a tingling sensation as it seems to be...getting smaller? Like it's growing in some areas but shrinking in others. You lose feeling in the top part and feel sharp pricks at the tips of your toes. Just when you consider finally pulling over, your office comes into view. Sighing, you park in your spot behind the building and open your door, setting your normal, shoed left door on the concrete. However, when you place down your right foot, you freeze.
Your shoe is gone. So are two of your toes and most of the length of your foot. Your foot has balled up and inflated into a gray three-toed paw with sharp claws at the end. You barely have an feeling in your new appendage. Sitting down on the seat, you reach a hand and feel the new configuration, the barely moveable, plump toes and the sharp claws. It resembles a paw that would belong to a cat, dog, wolf, or really any cainine or feline.
It all comes rushing back to you. Your walk last night. The latex wolf. The transformative properties. The poor man who was turned into a cat. And now you, with a paw in place of your normal foot. You curse and stand up, grimacing at the clicking noise that erupts when your claws clack on the concrete. What should you do now?