Fried

Fox Skin

By Jenny Fried

Fox and Cat sat at a table. Cat was crying. Fox was smoking.

“You cry too much,” said Fox.

“I’m sorry Fox,” said Cat.

Fox stood up. “Come find me when you’re finished,” she said.

Cat watched her as she walked to their bedroom. The room was very grey once Fox’s orange fur was gone.

Cat stood in her house alone. It was dark outside. Inside she lit a candle, then another. Soon her desk was covered in wax. She let it drip onto her finger. It burned at first, but after a while the wax was too thick to feel the heat. She turned her hand, and the wax ran down her finger. It formed a claw. She admired it for a moment, and then started another.

It was smoky inside when the candles burnt out. It felt right. Cat closed the windows and fell asleep.

Fox and Cat sat at a table. Cat was eating. Fox was smoking.

“You shouldn’t eat like that,” said Fox.

“I eat the same as you,” said Cat.

“We’re very different, Cat,” said Fox. “You stay inside all day.”

Cat looked down. “I’ll clean up,” she said.

“Don’t worry so much Cat,” said Fox. “It’s beautiful in here.”

Cat stood in her house alone. It rained outside. She listened to the tapping on the roof. Where could the birds go, she wondered, when it was wet outside? She opened up the windows. No birds flew in. She waited just in case. A little rain crept through the window, blown in by the wind. She felt it on her hands a while, and then she went to bed.

“Why are your paws so wet?” said Fox.

Cat woke up early. She took one of Fox’s cigarettes and put it in her pocket. It was dark outside. The smallest birds sang in the air.

Cat sat at the table, Fox’s cigarette in her mouth.

“You shouldn’t stay so quiet, Cat,” she said.

The empty chair said nothing.

Cat took one of Fox’s matches. She thought about lighting it, but put it in her pocket too.

Fox and Cat sat at a table. It was bright outside, but they left the window closed.

Fox yawned. “You should get some sleep,” she said.

“I made breakfast,” said Cat.

“Excellent,” said Fox.

It was quiet while they ate. Cat shifted in her chair.

“What do you do outside?” she said.

“I mostly hunt for rabbits,” said Fox. “On cold days I play poker with my friends.”

“You could play here,” said Cat.

“That’s true,” said Fox.

Fox smiled when she left the house. Her teeth were very sharp.

“Don’t forget to lock the door,” she said.

Cat watched the window while Fox left. There was a short tree outside with red leaves. She liked it very much. Small round birds sat there sometimes. She followed with her eyes as they bounced from branch to branch. Their little beaks were beautiful. She watched until Fox was far away, and then she lit her match. It burned down to her fingers, a tiny orange trail. She took another match. It took a couple tries to light the cigarette, but soon Cat was smoking. She left the window closed. She liked the smell of smoke. It left a taste of orange strength on everything it touched.

Fox and Cat sat at a table. Cat was smiling. Fox was smoking.

“I think I’m very like you, Fox,” said Cat.

Fox laughed. “You shouldn’t lie to me,” she said.

She ran her fingers through Cat’s hair, looked at Cat and showed her teeth. “Funny,” she said, “you smell like something burning,”

Fox and Cat sat in a bed. Cat was crying. Fox was smoking.

“You shouldn’t cry about these things,” said Fox.

“I hate my body,” said Cat.

“I like it,” said Fox.

Cat stayed in bed a long time. Fox left through the front door.

“Be back late,” she said.

It was hot in the bed, but Cat did not move. She thought of Fox. How beautiful she was, how brave. How gracefully she walked outside. Cat wished her teeth were thicker, sharper, imagined the shape of a bird between her jaws.

Cat sat up. She walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. She poked her head inside and found the jam. She opened it and spread it on her face. The red jam dripped. It was cold, but it felt right. Cat looked at her reflection in the window. She bared her teeth. She liked the way they flashed in the middle of the red.

A bird ran into the glass. There was a loud noise, a spot of brown, and then it fell. Cat froze. The bird lay still on the ground outside. The red tree was empty.

Cat stared at the bird for a long time. Its matchstick legs looked wrong, too small for the dirty feathers around them. There were stains around the beak and under the eyes. One wing was tucked below the body, the other raised. It bothered her to see a bird like this. It didn’t seem to be in the right place. Cat decided to move the bird. She wasn’t sure where. The tree maybe, or the trash. She would move it. She closed the window and walked to the door.

Cat stood at the door for a long time. She opened the lock, then locked it again.

“Fox will be mad,” she said.

She looked outside. It was bright, and the red tree was empty. She took a deep breath.

“I’ll be fast,” she said. She unlocked the door and stepped outside.

It smelled different outside. Cat kept very close to the house. She stepped quietly, her back to the outside walls. The grass around the house was very tall, and there were no other houses in sight. Still, she walked carefully. A fly landed on her face, rubbed its hands against the jam. She killed it quickly, and felt a little proud. She showed her teeth, a warning to the other flies around her. They grew thicker as she came to the bird. She swatted them away from the body.

She leaned down, at first to pick the bird up in her hand, but this seemed wrong. She put a toe to it, rolled it over just a bit, but this felt wrong too. She looked around the empty field, and then knelt down. She lifted the cold little body in her teeth.

Cat crouched in the grass with the bird in her mouth. She bit down a little, just to try. The bird was firm, gave just a little where her teeth were sharpest. It felt right. She smiled. Her face felt stiff below the drying jam.

There was a chirp. A robin landed in the red tree. Cat let the bird drop, suddenly embarrassed. She hurried back into the house and stood in the bathroom. In the mirror, the jam suddenly looked ridiculous, as if a child had stolen their mother’s lipstick. She ran the water and scrubbed. She did her best to clean her teeth. The seeds came out easily, but the red was more stubborn.

Fox came home late. She was very drunk.

“I brought Bear!” she said.

Bear stepped into the kitchen. He ducked, turned sideways when he stepped through the doorframe. Cat looked up at him. He smiled.

“He can help you with your problem,” said Fox.

“My problem?” said Cat.

“Your body,” said Fox. “He can make you a skin.”

“I’m a tailor,” said Bear. His voice was deep and quiet. “I’ll make anything you want.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Cat.

Fox drank more and more that night, and soon her head lay on the table. Cat and Bear sat and listened to her snore. Frogs chirped outside. The candles flickered and spat. Bear’s shadows filled the space up to the door.

Cat stood up. “I should take Fox to bed,” she said.

“Of course,” said Bear. He stood, and they walked to the door. Bear stopped.

“Did you really want a skin?” he said.

“It was Fox’s idea,” said Cat.

“I see,” said Bear. “You look very nice already, if that helps.”

They were both quiet for a while. Cat looked away. Bear looked down.

“There’s something on your leg,” he said. He pulled away a burr. Cat hissed. She grabbed his hand.

“Don’t tell Fox,” she said.

“About the burr?” he said.

Cat looked down. “I’m not supposed to go outside.”

Bear looked at Cat. His eyes were very sad. He nodded and he walked out. Cat closed the doors behind him.

Fox and Cat sat at a table. Fox was snoring. Her ears twitched. Cat watched her very carefully. Fox wasn’t much bigger than her. Her arms were thin and delicate. Cat wondered what it would feel like to hold her in her teeth. She dragged Fox’s chair back from the table. She brought her teeth close to the back of Fox’s neck. She counted down from ten, then from twenty, and finally she sighed. She dragged Fox to her room, and tucked her into bed.

Fox was looking at Cat when she woke up.

“Did you like Bear?” said Fox.

“He’s very nice,” said Cat.

Fox showed her teeth. “Did you like him?” she said.

“We didn’t do anything Fox.”

“That’s not what I fucking asked.”

“Bear is fine, Fox. It was nice to have company.”

Fox stood up. She tensed her arms and stared at Cat.

“I’m going to leave,” she said. “I’m going to lock the door. I hope I don’t find you outside. It really isn’t safe for you.” Her breath felt hot on Cat’s face. Cat stared at the ground until she left.

Bear opened his door. Cat walked in.

“I’d like you to take my measurements,” she said.

Cat and Bear sat naked on a bed. Bear was sewing. Cat was smoking.

“Bear?” said Cat. “I think I’d like a fox skin.”

Bear looked at Cat. Her teeth were very sharp.

“Fox is my friend, Cat.”

“She scares me, Bear.”

Bear was very quiet. The smell of smoke was very strong. He did his best to hold it in, but couldn’t help coughing.

“Fox told me a story once,” said Cat. “When she was little, she liked to go on walks with her mother. They would play hide and seek as they walked, dash in and out of burrows and ivy and fallen trees. Her mother would sing to her, or tell her stories, or they would just talk. When her brother was born, her mother wanted to take him with them. Fox refused, and so her mother took her brother and left her at home. When they came back, Fox had broken everything in the house.”

Bear wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry, Cat,” he managed.

“She won’t let me go Bear. I can’t just leave.” She put out her cigarette. “Don’t you want to see me again?”

Bear’s throat felt tight. Cat looked at him hard.

“I can sew it for you,” said Bear. “That’s it.”

Cat smiled. Her teeth were very sharp.

“Thank you, Bear,” she said.

Before Cat left, she killed a bird and left it on his step. Bear watched her creep closer, but closed his eyes while the killing was done. He watched her wipe the blood off her mouth. It looked pretty on her lips. She waved goodbye and then she was gone.

He buried the bird behind his house. Sewed a ring of little feathers that he placed on a stone. He burned fresh pine needles and sat outside with the smell of winter smoke and the warnings of the birds that still lived. When the last of the smoke was gone, he stepped inside.

Cat cleaned her teeth. It felt nice. She watched them fade in the mirror from red to pink to white. She took a final walk around the house, careful to step over the shards of broken dishes. She dragged her claws through the wallpaper, tracked mud across the floor. She threw things through the windows, candles and picture frames, table legs, keys. The gentle ring of scattering glass hung in the air for a moment, and then it was gone. Cat picked shredded paper off her claws and lifted the heavy black duffel. It was time to go.

She stopped for a minute by the short red tree. The birds were gone, but still she watched the leaves. She picked one off a branch. It filled her palm, deep red, splintered off in jagged fingers. Red. She picked another. Wished the tree could come with her. She tore another leaf off, another, filled her eyes with only red, and then the tree was bare. For a moment, she was embarrassed. She considered leaving them, an offering where the roots met the soil, but instead she opened her bag. She let the leaves fall in. Red and orange mixed together, a soft decaying shroud. She zipped up the bag and continued on her way.

Cat liked her new Fox skin a lot. She wore it everywhere. Bear had made it very well. He was good with his hands. Sometimes after dinner, she would choke him. It was fun. Bear liked it the first time. After that, he kept saying yes. He wasn’t sure why. He thought maybe it was the Fox skin. Fox deserved to choke him. Sometimes he missed Fox. Cat didn’t really like smoking, but now she was hooked. Besides, it went with the Fox skin, which she knew she liked. She mostly smoked outside. Still, Bear would cough a lot. The smell hung over their bed, full of orange and feathers. At night, Cat slept in her own skin. She knew Bear liked this a lot. She wasn’t sure why. It was in her Fox skin that she was the most beautiful.

Jenny Fried is a trans writer living in North Carolina. Her work has appeared previously in Strange Horizons, Wigleaf, Booth, and other magazines. Find her online at https://jennnnnyyyyyy.github.io/