Nine Lives to Live
Chapter 1: The Transformation
The young woman walked alone down the dark, semi-deserted street. She checked her watch. <>
Further down the street, three burly men in uniforms watched her approaching. "Okay," whispered the one who was obviously the leader, "here she comes. When she gets close enough, I'll step out and talk to her. If she offers any resistance, come up from behind."
The youngest of the three seemed unsure. "Uh, Frank, I don't know about this. Are you sure she's the one we're looking for? I mean, she doesn't look exactly like she does in her file photo."
The one who had not yet spoken shook his head. "That's because it's a bad, blurry, black-and-white picture taken a year ago. Anyone would have changed in that time. Besides, have you ever seen anyone who looked like their drivers license picture?"
The youngest shook his head. "Uh, no. I just don't want to make a mistake and do this to the wrong person!"
Frank, the leader, glared at him. "Look, Jim, I know what I'm doing! That's her, all right. Just leave this to me, but don't forget the plan!" 
By now the young woman was almost upon them. Frank stepped out of the shadows and barred her way. "Hello, Springfield."
She looked at him, confused. "Springfield? Who's Springfield? I'm sorry, but you must have me confused with someone else. Now if you'll excuse me." She tried to walk by him, but he grabbed her wrist.
"Always the actor, eh, girlie? Now don't toy with me. We both know you're Melissa Springfield, escaped convict. Now come along, we wouldn't want to be late for you 'appointment,' now would we?"
She looked at him with a mixture of fear and anger in her eyes. "Look, pal, I don't know where you got the idea that I'm--whatever you said the name was, but you've got the wrong girl! Now let me go!"
She was so busy with him she didn't hear the footsteps behind her. Two strong men grabbed her arms and held her down. Startled, she struggled frantically, but to no avail. "Come on, Springfield, you're comin' with us!" The middle man snarled, dragging her toward a van.
"Sorry, I've got other plans! Hi-YAH!" She kicked both the men in the shin. They let go of her wrists and hopped around in pain. She smashed their heads together, leaving them unconscious in the middle of the sidewalk. The leader was quickly coming toward her.
"Hold it right there!" he shouted, trying to tackle her.
"Make me!" She dodged nimbly to one side, then pushed him into a wall. Not taking the time to see if he was still conscious, she lit out running as fast as she could. She got about twenty yards, then felt a sharp pain in her leg. Everyone went black as she fell face down on the sidewalk.
Frank ran up to her and pulled the tranquilizer dart out of her leg. Jim and his partner, George, were by now coming around. They stood up slowly and made their way over to him. "Woah, that's some fighter!" Jim moaned, rubbing his head.
George was still nursing his ankle. "Yeah, just like her description. Hey, what's that?" He pointed to her wrist, which had a strange looking device on it.
Frank took it off her wrist and looked at it, then shrugged. "I dunno. But what ever it is, you can bet she stole it!" He threw it on the ground and stomped it into pieces with his boot heel. He picked up the limp female and dumped her uncerimoniously in the back of the van. "Come on!" he barked. "That drug will keep her out until after her little appointment. It probably won't wear off for about two hours, let's move!" He jumped into the drivers seat, and Jim and George followed suit. As the van turned the corner, a streetlamp reflected off the foot-high letters on the side: Orange County Prison, R & D.

They carried unconscious young woman into a lab and placed her on a table. A doctor in a white lab coat stepped over to her. "So," he said quietly, "this is our little guinea pig?" He picked up a syringe and plunged it into her arm. 
"What's in the needle, doc?" Jim asked.
"Feline DNA. If it merges with her body and her blood doesn't reject it, she'll become a brown cat and human mixed, a felo sapian, if you will."
"Why?" Jim asked, still a little confused.
Frank answered that one. "Because Melissa Springfield is a convict. She's a hardened criminal without a thought for others. If this experiment works, and we really can fuse animals and human together, the entire medical world could be turned around. And what better person to help society than one who was hurt it?"
Jim looked at her one more time before they walked out. "Still, her face seems so nice. And I still don't think she looks like her photo." He turned to the doctor. "Doctor, have you ever seen Springfield in person?"
The doctor shook his head. "No, why do you ask?"
"Sir, don't you think that she doesn't look much like her photo?"
Frank and George both rolled their eyes. "Come on, Jim, drop it."
He persisted. "Don't you?"
The doctor shrugged. "I don't think she looks exactly like it, no. But it was just an old photo, and she looks close enough to me. Now come on, the commissioner wants to see her, and you three need to get back out there." He pushed them out the door, then stepped aside to allow a middle-aged man in a clean, pressed, business suit to enter. "Hello, commissioner, go right in. I'll be right out here if you need me."
"Thank you, doctor," the man returned absentmindedly. The lights in the room had been slightly dimmed, so as not to disturb the young woman. He walked over to the table and stared at the effects of the transformation, which had already finished. He started at the head and worked down. Two pointed ears poked out of her brown hair, and she no longer had ears on the sides of her head. Her entire face, with the exception of her lips, was covered in fine, soft brown fur. Her eyes had changed shape to look more like, well, cat's eyes. He knew that when she opened them, they would still have their brown color. She had three whiskers coming from either side of her cheeks, and he also knew that her teeth were sharper now, more pointed, with fangs in the front. She had lost her little finger(because cats have only three "fingers" and what could be called a "thumb"), and her fingernails had been replaced by short, sharp claws. He whistled. When she had reason to extend them, they would be about three inches in length, strong, and lethal. All in all, that was about it, except for a bushy brown tail extending from the seat of her jeans. He leaned closer for a better look, and gasped. He had worked with Melissa Springfield often, and this was not her. It was close to her, and on a dark street, they could easily had been mistaken. But this-this-catwoman before him as definitely not Melissa Springfield. Before he had time to do anything, two guards burst in, dragging a screaming, cursing woman between them.
"Sir! We have Springfield!" one of them shouted.
He panicked. "Excellent. Good work. Quickly, take her to the doctor. Move now!" They nodded and disappeared. He approached the victim again, wondering who she was. The face was vaguely familiar, he felt sure that he had seen it on TV before. But what with the changes, he couldn't quite place it. Just then, he noticed a wallet that had worked its way half out of the girl's front jean pocket. Nervously, he picked it up and read the driver's license. His face paled and his eyes when wide in horror. As if in a daze, he moved toward the phone on the wall. Nervously, he picked up the receiver and dialed a number that was well-known in Anaheim.