Wilma had her lycanthropy under control. Really, she did!

At least, being a woman, having to take sick time off for “that part of the month” and complaining about blood stains didn’t attract side-eye. The “flakiness” didn’t do her career any favours, of course, but what could you do?

Though the “morning after” experience was far closer to being hung over. Waking up in a random part of the house, finding things in peculiar disarray, trying to figure out WHAT you’d been doing/thinking last night, and having to deal with unsavoury messes first thing.

“Gosh,” Wilma grumbled, “I have to stop getting blood all over these hardwood floors!”

She’d deliberately hung up the rabbits in the kitchen for this exact reason, but apparently in the throes of moon-fever she’d decided it’d be best to drag her “prey” into the living room. Each time. For all four rabbits.

Honestly!

“This is why we can’t have nice things.” Wilma scolded herself. “Ugh. I’m going to end up redoing the whole place with laminate, aren’t I?”

She shuddered at the thought and redoubled her scrubbing. Hopefully Dad’s ol’ “gore stains be gone!” home cleaning recipe would come through once again.

Then she’d get the rugs back out, and finishing tidying through, and the house would be back to normal. Until this evening, when she’d put them all away again.

Wilma sighed. Two more days and the transformations would be voluntary, and her head no longer fuzzy and itchy all night. She envied those who could think straight even in a moon transformation. Lunacy was so EMBARRASSING!

“Sorry, while I’d LOVE to come to the party, I’ll be busy chasing my own tail around the living room and howling out the upstairs window at the neighbourhood cats. As you do.”

Don’t get her started on dating.

Giving up for the moment, she left the stains soaking and went to fix herself some marmite toast and chamomile tea. A nice, light, soothing meal she could easily take out into the garden.

Enjoy the fresh air, and the birdsong, and the floral scents.

Remind herself that she didn’t have much to do, having made sure all her furniture was suitable for her needs regardless of her form. She had the switch down to an art by now.

Reflect on how lucky she was to not have to hide her condition, even if she preferred to keep aspects of it out of the public eye. But there was no risk of her being fired (or worse still facing an angry mob!) if her health records got leaked. And the neighbours were very understanding about her getting noisy this time of the month.

Then finish scrubbing the bloody floorboards. And go for her run. And buy another set of whole rabbits - might as well pick up normal shopping while she was out. Oh, and better check her emails…

No, no, no. Don’t start spiralling. Do this wolf fashion - one thing at a time.

Tea. Toast. Garden.