You go back to the window where you came in and climb back out, making your way home, where you hope you might be able to deal with this better. Oddly enough, you start feeling winded before you're even out of sight of the mansion. Strange, you don't remember it being this hard of a walk on the way there...
Assuming that it's just because you aren't used to walking with trotters for feet, you sit down on the side of the road and rest for a bit. You wipe your brow, the unpleasant squeaking of rubber on rubber reminding you that you probably can't even sweat now that you're like this, and you pant heavily for a few seconds, trying to catch your breath. Then, looking up at the stars, you start thinking to yourself. Maybe this won't be that bad. Sure, it sucks that you're a freaky pig-man, but you can still sort of talk, can't you? Experimentally, you try a few words, and they come out as just barely understandable and very squeal-like English. Well, close enough. So maybe you could still function with other people, it might just be a little more... complicated. Of course, you know that this is all just wishful thinking, but right now you're willing to take what you can get, even if it's crazily excessive optimism.
Sighing, you put your "hands" down and try to lift yourself back to your feet when you notice that your gut looks a little round. Maybe rounder than before. Yeah, it's definitely bigger - it's actually pushing your shredded shirt aside with its girth. Looking past that, you see that your legs are the same: your pants look stretched, like they're on the verge of tearing from the mass they're trying to hold. You think your arms look fatter too, but then, you can't be sure. But then, you haven't eaten anything since this happened... so what gives?