Part 2

He whirled and saw the black tomcat grinning up at him. He gasped, wondering if he were completely insane, but in a flash understanding came. "Frank!"

"Well, don't act so surprised. I can tell that you took some yourself."

"Yes--but how--"

"I thought it would be an easy life and I want to stay around here and watch things for a while. It ought to be fun."

"But _how_?"

"I anesthetized the cat and grew a bridge into his skull. It took five hours to transfer the bulk of my personality. It's odd, but it blended right in with his."

"But--your speech!"

"I've made some changes. I'm omnivorous now, too, not just carnivorous--or will be in a few more hours. I can go into the hills and live on grass, or grow back into a man, or whatever I like."

Amos consulted his own inwardness again. "Is this possible? Can a human mind be compressed into a cat's brain?"

"Sure," said Unconscious, "if you're willing to junk all the excess."

He thought about it. "So you're going to stay around and watch," he said to the cat--no, Frank. "An intriguing idea. My family's taken care of, and nobody'll really miss me."

"Except Alice Grant," said Frank cattily. "I've seen the way you look at her. The cat part of me has, I mean. And she looks back, too, when you aren't watching."

"Well," said Amos. "Hm. Maybe we can do something there too."

* * * * *

His own metamorphosis took a lot longer than five hours; he had a much bigger job of alterations to finish. It was nearly two months before he got back to the plant.

He peered in through the window at Detrick, who'd inherited Amos' old office. Detrick was chewing out a salesman. Amos knew what would be happening now; Derrick's ambitious but unsound expansion would have gotten the division all tangled up. In fact, with his sharp new eyes, Amos could read part of a letter from Buffalo that lay on the desk. It was quite critical of Detrick's margin of profit.

The salesman Detrick had on the carpet was a good man, and Amos wondered if he was to blame for whatever it was about. Maybe Detrick was just preparing to throw him to the wolves. A man could hang on a long time like that, shifting the blame to his subordinates.

The salesman was finally excused, and Detrick sat alone with all the frustration and selfish scheming plain on his face. No, Amos thought, I'm not going to turn this drug loose on the world for a while. Not while there are people like Detrick around.

There were no other pigeons on the window ledge except himself and Alice; the rest had stopped coming when Amos disappeared and the feeding ended. For that matter, they tended to avoid him and Alice, possibly because of the abnormal size, especially around the head, and the other differences.

He noticed that Alice was changing the color of her feet again. Just like a woman, he thought fondly.

"Come on, Pigeon," he said, "let's go somewhere else. This tightwad Detrick isn't going to give us anything to eat."