"So, how often do y'all wash your soap?"
Like any rational person would at that question, Sleeve thought to himself, "What the fuck am I doing here?"
It seemed as though he was the only one, though, so he kept it to himself.
The instructor was nice, he guessed, in the way most of his mom's friends were nice.
She had a wide smile, and judgement in her eyes.
She managed to look relaxed and maintain perfect posture all at once, feet tucked under her butt, bushy tail curled up on her thigh.
She smiled warmly at her students as they each recounted their soap-washing escapades and presented the schedules to back themselves up.
Finally, she got to Sleeve.
"You're new," she said, staring into the empty abyss that was his soul.
"Yes indeedy!" he replied, baring his fangs in a horrid attempt to match her smile.
"I've heard about your methods and how you change lives, and I'm at such a low point, that I figured it was worth a try."
Some of that was true. In the month since Mr. Zooz had given him his mission, he had tried everything. He even became a Twitter influencer for a little while. Nothing seemed to work.
But then, just as he was on the verge of giving up and resigning himself to the hell of being a decent person, he heard about Ms. Martha's Mind Mountain.
It was hyped up to be this place where people would go and "shed their old selves and reveal the beautiful, mindful mind underneath their ugly, mindless mind."
It literally said that on the business card.
Ms. Martha's Mind Mountain
...shed your old self and reveal the beautiful, mindful mind underneath your ugly, mindless mind
Obviously, it was a place meant for the truly desperate; but somehow, that didn't prepare Sleeve for the fact that it was on top of an actual mountain.
He was shaken out of his inner monologue when he realized that Ms. Martha had been talking to him the whole time.
He waited till it seemed like she was done and basically shouted "Yes, ma'am!" all soldier-like.
"Okay, then. Step up in front of the group."
Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitttt
Everybody was staring and smiling like their faces were frozen in place. Seriously, nobody was blinking. It was creepy.
He got up.
Heads turned slowly, fixated on him as he made his way to the stage, and he had to fight all the instincts telling him to jump up to the ceiling and then out the door.
"Show us what you've got, Mr. Sleeve."
He licked the back of his hand—not because he needed to—cat people hadn't needed to lick themselves clean in generations; not since they decided that showering was better.
Sleeve just did it when he was nervous.
"We're waiting, Mr. Sleeve."
"We're waiting, Mr. Sleeve," the class echoed.
It was now or never. He had to do something. And then it clicked.
He did a backflip and landed on his feet. The class whooped and cheered. Then, he proceeded to do the worst dance ever seen in all of recorded history. The power of the cringe made everybody's fur shoot straight up.
Even the chubby little bunny woman in the back was so shook that you could almost see her tail poofing out behind her.
When the shitshow was finally over, nobody was left smiling. Nobody, that is, except Ms. Martha.
"Thank you for sharing your truth, Mr. Sleeve."
Yeah, he could definitely learn a sin or two from her.
The rest of the session went pretty smoothly, but with a lot less enthusiasm. The people were obviously weirded out by him. They hated him. But none of that mattered. He'd found his mentor. He would study her, learn from her, and find the truth behind her resilience.
...
"Congratulations, group. You've come to the end of this session. Remember to keep your minds mindful."
"We shall!" vibed the rest of the group.
These fuckers were weird.
As the students filed out of the room, Sleeve decided that this was his chance. He was going to talk to and get close to Ms. Martha.
He pushed through the people and probably fucked up their harmony; but he didn't care—he was finally getting close to his goal.
Just as he got through the crowd and had Ms. Martha within his sights, a shadow fell on him, and a tall ass woman with long, strong-looking legs stepped in front of him.
This was it. He was going to get kicked to death for dancing like a drunken fool. Or for robbing that one homeless shelter. Or any one of the other horrible things he'd done so far.
The little, evil bastard cat man looked up to see the face karma wore to face him this day, and was not expecting what he saw.
Slender waist, thick, weighty breasts, and strong arms confirmed his fears; but her golden mane, soft violet eyes, and the way she beamed down at him put him at ease.
"Hi! I'm Azura. You're Sleeve, right?"
"Uh… yeah…?"
"Oh. my. frogs! I loved your share. Everybody else is so boring, but you… You made me believe in this place again—"
Sleeve tried to look around her to see Ms. Martha, but she was gone. Shit.
"—so do you want a ride?"
She'd been talking the whole time. He made a mental note that he should listen more to what people said. He wouldn't, but he liked the idea of taking notes.
"Um… what?" he asked, confused.
She went on all fours. "Do. You. Want. A. Ride?"
Horse people are fucking weird, he thought to himself, but he also really didn't feel like walking, so he accepted the offer.
"Thanks, Azura. You're good people."
He climbed up on her back and she galloped towards the housing area.
It turned out she lived in the same block as him, and as they talked on their way there, he found that she was pretty interesting. Plus she didn't hate him, as everyone else so obviously did, so he decided she was okay.
"Hey, do you want to hang out for a while longer?" he asked.
"Your limbs must be sore from all that running; I have some ointment that might help."
He didn't mention that he stole it from a children's hospital.
"Yeah, I'd like that." she answered, and then she said like a thousand more things.