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The first day of a semester paradoxically reminds Elsie of time dilation experienced by an observer of a moving clock.
First-day students are uncharacteristically immobile, Elsie’s ears barely able to track their timid note-taking and bated breaths. Yet starting over with a new class always feels Sisyphean.
Even with a doctor’s degree, even teaching in the esteemed Félicette Lecture Hall, Elsie still has to prove her personhood in practice. Her 24 whiskers stand on end because of 24 rows of barely-adult humans that likely see her as someone inspirationally defying their own embodiment.
It is an insult disguised as admiration.
Notes:
Apparently, most cats specifically have 24 whiskers! (At least the internet says so. My live-in cat wouldn't sit still long enough for me to properly test the hypothesis.)
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No. Student. Valet. Navigational Computations. Elsie.
Elsie’s paws lose traction as she frantically selects words on her communication board, hoping the device will get her strong sentiment across.
“I am more than capable of teaching on my own, thank you very much,” says the built-in voice with a metallic lilt far removed from a proper hiss.
“Certainly, professor, but taking on an assistant is not merely for your benefit. It is how we give talented students that extra push,” explains the bespectacled headmaster in a deceptively soft voice belittling the fact that he is in fact ordering change upon Elsie.
Notes:
The chapter title is how I imagine Elsie would curse.
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“A point is that which has no part. A line is breadthless length.”
Elsie agrees with the playwright who, some millenia ago and paradoxically in his longest manuscript, stated that brevity is the soul of wit. For this reason, Elsie prefers Euclid to poetry and mathematics over all other languages.
Unfortunately Elsie's publisher insists on the use of the impractically wordy human tongue. Hence, out of necessity and via her communication board, Elsie’s succinct philosophical neo-science-fictional novel tentatively titled ‘Stars and Kibbles’ is stretched over 100s of pages.
Personally she believes anything worth communicating is best relayed in 100 words.
Notes:
I imagine an audiobook citing Euclid's 'Elements' would be rather soothing. Oh and Shakespeare's 'Hamlet' consists of no less than 30,557 words.
Chapter 4: Human. Human. Human.
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“In his influential article on neural-interface technology, Stein highlights hybrid navigation systems based on human intuition and creativity-”
Elsie rotates her ears away when realising the student is merely showing off his reading skills. She is relatively certain the student is a ‘he’, even if he has not yet grown chin fur. Students who mistake comments for questions usually are. As are students that buy into Stein’s speciesism.
Elsie forgets this particular student’s name. Aside from subtle grooming variations of their scalp fur, most humans look hopelessly alike to her.
How could she possibly choose a TA from this litter?
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The crepuscular hours just before sunrise and immediately following sunset are when Elsie does her best work. Tonight, however, her concentration is as elusive as a laser pointer’s light.
She loves doing research and tolerates teaching as a solitary practice. With her trusted valet as the one exception, humans tend to communicate in taxing ways that do not particularly benefit the exact sciences.
Indeed, when Félicette became the first feline in space on October 18th, 1963, experiencing weightlessness nearly 100 miles above Old Earth at six times the speed of sound, she did so without human assistants forced upon her.
Notes:
If you, like me, had never heard of Félicette, then I recommend checking out this video and memorial project. Also, while most people incorrectly assume cats are nocturnal, they are in fact crepuscular.
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The pictograms adorning the litterbox stall are as perplexing as the absence of a basic Newtonian cat door. Grouping seated humans with human kittens and litterboxes goes against algebraic principles of apples versus oranges.
Also, it means Elsie, in spite of being the only cat on campus, must wait in front of a dreadfully closed door.
Eventually, a seated human emerges and silently communicates something which their valet translates: “Sorry for the delay, Professor. The absence of a basic Vikmanian anti-gravity bathroom lift is equally archaic and time-consuming.”
Elsie’s whiskers hum with a surprising jolt of recognition.
Notes:
The rumours that Newton invented the cat door because his work was constantly interrupted by a mother cat and her kitten wanting to be let in is probably not true, but I like to think it is. I'm sure Elsie does too.
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The sensory draining student chatter and their thousands of scents are still preferable to after-hours campus. The wrmm of robotic vacuums is ear-piercing. Lemony cleaning aids make Elsie gag.
She tries to suppress her vomeronasal organ by focusing on the night ahead.
After five, the screening room is empty and Elsie can adjust the projector to her liking. She prefers RGB with minimal R and G, and her valet follows instructions without quite understanding why.
Elsie loves ancient films, and this is her favorite: The tale of Jonesy, whose feline sensibilities outwitted an extraterrestrial hairless kitten with exceptionally deadly claws.
Notes:
Some scientists speculate cats see the world in blue and gray nuances only. More on cats' vision here
I recommend checking out Anne Billson's work on cats in cinema, particularly the short story “My Day by Jonesy” in which she reimagines Alien from the cat's perspective. Also, this meme always makes me laugh:
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The seated human has to park in front of the 24 stationary chair rows. Hyperopia has previously prevented Elsie from noticing them, even if their wheels make them easily distinguishable.
Today, however, Elsie’s refined motion detection skills draw her attention to the student regardless: The dot of a laser-pointer, secured behind the student’s ear, dances titillatingly across an analogue board presented by the student’s valet.
Apparently, this valet is called PCA, and the student is Skyler.
Skyler’s mode of communication transforms Elsie’s narrow elliptical pupils into observant, vast blackness. Rarely do her inner scientist and huntress converge like this.
Notes:
PCA is short for "personal care assistant" and common slang in crip communities (to which I belong).
I imagine Skyler communicates via a board with Blissymbols, an ideographic writing system invented by Charles Bliss in the 1940s. He was Jewish and exiled during World War II. During this time, he came up with Bliss because he hoped a universal written language, uniting all linguistic communities, might pave the road to world peace. Since the 1960s, Bliss has mainly been used by non-verbal disabled people as an alternative to written words. Interestingly, Charless Bliss was not a linguist, but a chemical engineer. Blissymbolics are thus rooted in the exact sciences - so probably a near perfect fit for Elsie as well.
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Skyler solves more math problems in fewer words than any other student. Instead of noting this in a performance review, Elsie invites them to her office. She is intrigued.
Skyler, on the contrary, is apologetic as they use their analogous communication board to explain:
“Skyler says language is hard, whereas space-time is-“
Elsie interrupts the PCA with a mrow, then uses her own board to clarify: “Skyler makes more sense than the rest of you humans.”
To Skyler she then poses: Teacher. Help. Elsie.
The metallic voice has barely begun speaking before Skyler eagerly nods.
Notes:
Skyler literally communicates:
Language, Feeling bad.
Space/dimensions, Time, Feeling good.
Chapter 10: Human. Think. Litterbox.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
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“I am pleased you wish to take on a TA, Professor. As you know, diversity and inclusion are paramount to this department,” exclaims the headmaster.
The musky taste-smell of human alarm pheromones lets Elsie see through the lie even before he elaborates:
“...but don’t you think it would be prudent if at least one of you could speak?”
Elsie replies promptly: Human. Think. Litterbox.
The soft metallic voice translates: “I find your ableism archaic and offensive.”
At that, Skyler’s lips curl upwards in a way not dissimilar to the curvaceous question-mark shape of Elsie’s tail when she is particularly delighted.
Notes:
This takes place millennia into the future, but even today there is an emerging solidarity between disability rights activists and animal rights activists. This book is all the rage on the topic.
Chapter 11: Language. Feel Good.
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During their first proper work session, Elsie notices “litterbox” has been added to Skyler’s board. A compound of the symbols for toilet and sand, which makes more sense than the cat pictogram on the campus’ accessible stall:
During their second work session, Elsie mutes her own communication board and enjoys productive silence.
By their fifth, Elsie and Skyler have covered half the floor with a shared communication board and never need to toggle between scientific and common concepts. They communicate faster than any other research team in history, distilling complex calculations into sentences rivalling the exquisite eloquence of haiku.
Chapter 12: Greater Than ＞.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Sometimes, during breaks, they roleplay scenes from Elsie’s favorite ancient film, delighting in scandalized gasps when Elsie lounges decadently on Skyler’s lap and through hooded eyes promises bypassers an offer they cannot refuse.
Sometimes Skyler lets Elsie dream up a whole paragraph while comfortably curled up on their thighs. Apparently, Skyler’s scent of lavender and well-loved books proves intellectually stimulating.
Sometimes Elsie kneads a particularly tight muscle spasm. Skyler’s relief makes Elsie purr in turn.
Sometimes they are so in tune, Elsie realises personhood transcends functional separateness. That through the intricate dance of interdependence, not self-sufficiency, personal freedom is won.
Notes:
Elsie's revelation is one of the most profoundly beautiful things I ever learned from Disability culture.
Chapter 13: Stars. Friend. Kibbles. Epilogue.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“How nice of you ladies to bring that girl and her support pet!”
The tiresome deja-vu makes communication boards redundant. “Professor Elsie and her TA give today’s lecture. I am merely Elsie’s valet,” comes the rehearsed reply.
“And I am merely Skyler’s plus-one,” says Stella, whose exceptional petting technique has quickly endeared her to Elsie. “I’m mathematically illiterate, but make up for it in bed.”
Previously, Elsie would have needed a grooming session to regain her equilibrium, but Skyler’s thighs trembling with silent laughter beneath her suffice. Elsie slowblinks conspiratorially at her TA. Then the duo take to the stage.
Notes:
I think Skyler uses she/they pronouns, so someone saying "girl" is not necessarily misgendering, but definitely infantilizing. Elsie being referred to as a "pet" must be the animal equivalent of that.
And here we shall leave them: Making crazy science while fighting structural oppression through sexual innuendo and slowblinking. I cannot imagine a more enjoyable resistance!