There was a small boy named Marcel who lived in Paris. Only four years old, he lived inside the decaying body of a cat. The townspeople and street-sweepers humored him because they loved the boy, but none were considerate enough to take him in, or kind enough to rescue him from his foul home.
People of Paris in those days were stricken with poverty, and often the key affliction of that disease is lack of empathy.
The boy spent all his time inside the carcass of the feline, daydreaming.
He hadn’t yet been taught language by anyone, so his daydreams were visceral and wordless. They danced inside his head constantly and were as rich and full as a long string of pearls on a necklace. His visions were replete with heroes rescuing damsels in distress of every kind, type, and hair color; vast vistas of remote undiscovered planets teemed with alien creatures of every make and form, explosive action scenes of terrible consequence both large and small, and inter-dimensional oddities, curiosities, and wonders aplenty.
One day, his fantasies spilled out into waking life, and suddenly he realized that he was able to bring the cat’s body to life and walk about the town on all fours!
Undetected by night, he stole into the nearby bakery tenement building and stuck the left paw of the re-animated cat onto the lemon meringue pastries, dabbing the creme from the top.
MMMMMMMmmmmmm, how sweet they tasted!
It just so happened that the baker, Eduard, who lived upstairs, heard the sloshing galumph of the fetid cat’s feet downstairs.
Eduard hunched in his attic, peeking through a crack in the door there, and seeing a little grotesque thief in action, remarked to himself in amazement:
“I must stop this mad horror at once!”, and turned away to get his pistol to shoot the strange phantasm he saw lurking below in his shop room. With his pistol fully armed and cocked, Eduard pulled the trigger, and with a loud crack that reverberated in the night, Marcel, (cat-body and all) jumped unconsciously from the searing pain of a bullet entering his hip.
Blood filled the cavity of Marcel’s costume all around his hips and legs, and suddenly he felt less in control of the movements of the feline. The legs of the cat floundered wildly, splaying in all direction and seemed to move of their own accord!
The opening of the costume near the stomach zippered shut with a gluttonous gurgling snip, and the rotting cat’s eyes filled with new color and interest.
Suddenly, Marcel realized he was now trapped inside the cat itself!
A pained meow was heard, and the cat ran for the exit door.
Two more shots cracked into the night; missed, and the cat mrawled as the bullet casings skittered aside him. Out the door went the cat, whilst inside: the boy screamed, but no one could hear him, for the sound had no words to give it form.
Later the next day, the feline lay tending his wound in the cool shade of a church balcony when alongside him came a well-dressed gentleman dandy.
Figuring the cat’s status as a stray, the dandy picked the cat up by the scruff of his neck from without his resting spot, intending to deliver the animal as a pet for his beloved Josette, at home.
Meanwhile, inside the body of the cat itself, the boy gnashed and gnawed, and dreamt and dreamt as hard as he could, but no power or will of effort could affect anything over his new prison.
The boy soon found himself subsurvient to the the cat’s wishes, and found himself eating dead fishhead rations with relish, and drinking milk from the plate of the gentleman dandy’s wife’s kitchen.