“And then you asked ‘Do I look any different?’” Watson laughed as he handed the exhausted Mr. Lewis a cup of tea. After a bit of study we had brought him upstairs and he now lay upon my sofa, resting. Still in his cat-like state the constable let loose a hearty chuckle at the doctor’s comment. We’d of course given him a mirror so that he could see himself for who he really was for the first time in his life. After the initial shock he’d settled down a bit, but he’d been full of questions and was rather communicative, likely a result of the stimulant effect of the cocaine.

I sat in a nearby chair, my feet resting upon an ottoman, and drew heavily from my pipe as I continued to study the strange creature.

“Feeling well are we Mr. Lewis?” I asked.

“Oh yes.” he said. He paused to sip his tea but found his new anatomy to be troubling in that regard. After a moment he gave up. “I know that most would see this as something of a burden but to be honest with you Mr. Holmes I view it as more of a relief! To finally know that I’m not crazy, I mean that’s such a weight off of my chest that I can hardly describe it. Though I suppose I do now have a lot of work to do to figure out where I fit into the world and all.”

Seemingly having read my mind Watson returned with a little something to counteract the cocaine which had made our guest so incredibly talkative.

“Morphine?” I inquired.

“Yes.”

“From my private stock?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any in my kit right now Holmes. Besides, you’ve no business with the stuff any longer.”

I gave a half-hearted smile and nodded.

“This should calm you Constable.” Watson said as he searched for a vein. The man did not protest, and only seconds after the narcotic entered his bloodstream we began to see a change in his physical appearance.

“Incredible!” I asserted.

“Indeed.” Watson agreed. He turned to me and smirked, “I might have to lace some of your crossbow darts with that.”

“You jest Watson...but the thought has already entered my mind.”

“I don’t doubt it. Well if you have any more questions for the constable I suggest you pose them quickly. He’ll be drifting off shortly.”

“Only one.” I said plainly, “How did you know that I was in the building and that I was unarmed?”

As his human form began to return and his eyes grew heavy Mr. Lewis spoke through a smile that was quickly widening across his face. “That Roth chap, they’d thrown him in a cell. After a while in there, I reckon when he figured no other coppers were around to hear it, Chief Inspector Wilks went in there and roughed him up. He beat the tar out of the poor boy. He talked.”

“Surely he didn’t send only you to ferret me out. Who else went with you?”

“No one sir.”

My thoughts were back to the minotaur. “Someone else must have been ordered to search for me.”

“That’s not it sir.” he said, waving his hand awkwardly and getting drowsier by the moment. “Nobody was told to go looking for you. I simply overheard the chief inspector and Mr. Roth and took it upon myself, that’s all.”

A startling realization. I said no more, allowed the man to drift off to sleep. After he had done so I jumped from my chair and nearly collided face first with Watson who’d come out of his room carrying a book.

“Watson, I know who the minotaur is!”

“That’s fantastic Holmes.” he said, downplaying my excitement and peering at me over the rim of a pair of reading glasses. “And I think I know who...or rather what, our friend lying on the sofa is.”

“Do tell Doctor.”

“Well, take a look at this.” he held the book so that I could read it with him more easily. The volume itself appeared to be at least a century old, possibly a good deal more, and its binding was badly broken. Only Watson’s deliberate efforts to hold it in such a fashion that it did not completely fall apart kept it from doing so. The page to which he pointed contained a bit of text and a curious illustration, that of a cat, wearing what appeared to be a napkin or handkerchief upon its head and standing on its hind legs. No, not standing, rather dancing.

“A Bakeneko? Surely that’s not possible dear doctor.”

“Oh?” he asked.

“Firstly the Bakeneko is a legend from the orient, the island of Japan to be more precise, and as you can tell our constable here is anything but an oriental fellow. In fact I’d dare say he descends primarily from Welsh or possibly Cornish stock. Besides, the legends of those creatures do not refer to a man who exists as a were-creature but of a domestic feline who, later in life, develops the ability to transform itself into human form, speak human words, and generally manipulate human beings for its own ends...a sort of bewitching if you will.”

“Ah, that is the legend, yes...” he turned the page ever so carefully, “but on this page we have the firsthand account of none other than my very own great grandfather, who claims to have once met a Bakeneko, or something very similar to one at least, during his travels in Cambodia.”

There was another illustration on the second page, this one apparently not copied from an ancient text as had been the first one but instead a sketch done in the naturalist style. Despite the typical 18th century dress the man appeared to hold a good deal more than a passing resemblance to Constable Lewis in his bestial form; the eyes, the whiskers, even the small tuft of fur at the chin that was reminiscent of a goatee.

“I will admit that the likeness is uncanny, but this in no way proves that a Bakeneko is truly what we are dealing with.”

“But listen to this...” he pointed his index finger at a block of text on the page and read it aloud, tracing it with his finger as he did so. “The man related to me that he’d been found, at around one year of age, and taken in by a family of Mors that had relocated to his part of the world. That to me explained his relaxed demeanor in my presence and his willingness to allow me to sketch him. I found him to be a kind man, relatively meek and gentle. Still, he admitted to me that when his temper did have occasion to be roused he found it difficult to control, and regretted having hurt others before when they had treated him badly. Because of this, he claimed, he had relocated several times during his life so as not to arouse suspicion from neighbors or townspeople. As to his physical appearance he was covered from head to toe in a coat of thick, yet fine, blue-grey fur that was as soft as mink to the touch. He possessed rather formidable claws, as black as obsidian, but which remained sheathed at all times save for when he allowed me to examine them. His whiskers were thick and as white as snow; eyes, a pale orange and with slitted pupils like any other member of the family of Felidae. In this state his knees bent in the opposite direction to that of a man’s, much like that of a Werewolf but unlike that of my own kind, resulting in a peculiar gait that was oft times accompanied by a side to side motion of the tail that sprang forth from his backside when metamorphosed.”

“Lastly,” Watson continued, “in regards to my observances of the man, I should like to note that in cooler weather his coat of fine grey fur had the tendency to collect charges of static electricity, which would result in a mild shock upon touching him, and that, though he never admitted to the act himself, I seemed to observe him on several occasions appear to bewitch another person into telling him the truth when he believed them to by speaking a falsehood. I suppose that it is not beyond the realm of possibility that I merely imagined such acts, so I include the information as nothing more than a footnote.”

I listened intently to the words, written in India Ink upon the antique paper, and watched as Watson turned to the next page, this one with only a short block of text.

“Remaining in Phnom Penh for five months I had occasion to meet with the gentleman’s adopted father who had come to visit with him. He confirmed for me that the boy had been found wondering near a rice field on the outer edge of a village near Koulen, in the north. He related to me that at first the boy was wild, near totally feral. He attested that it had been sheer luck that he had been the one to come upon the child. The boy would partially metamorphose at the slightest provocation and had it not been a Mor or other were-beast that had found him it is very likely that the child would have been hunted down as a demon of the forest and killed. Furthermore, while not in the presence of his adopted son, the man sat down with me to explain his theory as to the boy’s origins. It was his belief that the legend of the Bakeneko, a creature of Japanese folklore, was the explanation. A common domestic cat, having lived a long but abused life, would somehow, upon reaching its twelfth year of age, transfigure itself into human form and begin a new life. He believed that most of them lived out their second lives as outcasts, demons who haunted mountain passes and preyed on travelers; in some fashion taking their revenge upon humans for the wrongs done to them in previous lives, but that by taking in and caring for one it was capable of living a life little different than any other were-beast. Though I found the concept to be intriguing in the extreme there was, of course, no way for me to either prove nor disprove his hypothesis. In the end I was left with a mystery.”

I squinted my eyes, pondered the meaning of it all.

“From where did you obtain this book Watson?” I said after a moment.

“It was handed down through my family. It began as the travel journal of my great great grandfather. He wrote little of note in it save for mildly interesting descriptions of far off places, but my great grandfather, as you’ve seen, made it a point to investigate the mysterious creatures that he encountered on his travels. There are quite a few other accounts in here, all very intriguing.”

“Fascinating. It seems as though scientific inquiry into the phenomenon of homo-monstrum did not begin in your family with you my dear Watson.”

“Oh not at all.” he shook his head, “Though my grandfather and father did not have the means nor opportunities to travel quite as much they too added to the book what they could during their time.”

“An excellent addition to the resources I have thus-far collected then?”

“I should say so.”

“Then what do you make of this notion of the Bakeneko Watson?”

“I must say,” he removed his glasses and set the book onto the table with all of the care one would expect a man to treat a family heirloom, “the very idea of a were-creature that began its life as something else entirely...it’s shocking. If true then this man,” he pointed to the sleeping constable, “would be a near mirror-image of the rest of us, not a man with an inner beast, but a beast with an outer man I suppose you could say.”

“I am certain that I already know the answer to my question, but am I correct in assuming that you have never once met, or even heard of, a family of Bakeneko?”

He shook his head in the negative. “No Holmes. I’ve met all manner of beings during my time but never once have I even heard of such a creature save for in the written account of my great grandfather.”

“That goes at least some way toward validating the theory.”

“Surely, but it does not confirm it.” he reminded me, “If they are creatures of the far-east then it’s possible that families of them are simply a rare sight for the eyes of westerners such as ourselves.”

“True, but I fear that we shall find little more evidence upon which to base our own conclusion and at this time we must work with the most sound theory that is available to us.”

“Even though it flies in the face of everything that I know as both a were-creature myself and all biological knowledge that I have pertaining to homo-monstrum?”

“Oh come now Watson,” I began as I allowed myself to drop into one of the chairs across from the sofa, “you know as well as I do that despite the fact that were-creatures seem to fit nicely into a mostly scientific mold as far as defining their characteristics and origins that there exists in this world a plethora of other beings that have no explanation that a reasonable mind can wrap itself around.”

Looking partially defeated he responded, “On that point I suppose I cannot argue.” then he smiled, “Though you don’t have to be an arse, reminding me that what I don’t know about homo-monstrum greatly outweighs what I do know about the subject.”

I laughed, “Not my intention at all dear Watson. Merely a reminder that we must at all times keep an open mind.”

He changed the subject slightly, “Now that I do think of it I noticed a small discharge of static electricity when I went for his arm to administer the morphine. That fits in line with the description.”

“We should also not discount the possibility that Constable Lewis here is not a Bakeneko but instead some little-known relative of the form.”

“Would that not be more likely, seeing as how he is not of oriental descent?” Watson posed the question.

“When dealing with such an unknown, a creature that may not be the result of inherited biology as we understand it, we could likely rack our brains all night and not settle upon a satisfactory answer.”

“I suppose that we may have more time to study the chap. That is, assuming you’ve decided his fate.”

I went to open my mouth but he cut me off before I could speak.

“Keep in mind Holmes, that in my opinion this man is relatively harmless and that if you are intent upon harming him I will have no part in it.” I looked up to see that he was staring at me with a furious gaze. I turned away, then began my thought.

“Let us assume that he is what your great grandfather’s acquaintance claimed, the product of a life of abuse, a vengeful soul if you will, granted another life with which it might strike out at those who harmed it...”

“Holmes that is...”

“Please allow me to finish Doctor!” I said firmly, not meaning to offend but simply to be allowed to speak my mind. “Let us assume that origin. From two accounts, the one recorded in your journal and that of Mr. Lewis himself, these creatures do have occasion to lose control and become violent.”

Again Watson began to interject but I raised a finger in protest.

“However,” I said loudly, having no fear that I would wake our sleeping guest, “in both cases their outbursts seem to have been triggered only when they themselves were in some way or another wronged. This puts the constable here into a very grey area in my mind. He is potentially dangerous, yet I do not think him to be purposefully ill-intentioned. Therefore, if he should be willing to forgive my kidnapping of him from Scotland Yard this evening I believe the best course of action to be to allow him to leave when he wakes in the morning. I shall then endeavor to do my best, especially once this matter of the assassination plot is resolved, to study the constable in detail and uncover both the mystery of his origination as well as his true potential for violence.”

“And it wouldn’t hurt to have a friend inside of Scotland Yard would it Holmes? Most specifically one who can bewitch others into telling the truth, that is of course if the legend is to be believed.”

His words were uttered with smug satisfaction. Watson believed himself to be quite adept at anticipating my thoughts and sadly there was some truth to it. Beginning to feel exhaustion from the many hours I had been awake creep over me I suddenly found myself without the desire for a verbal joust. I conceded the point to him.

“Touché Watson.”