Magnolia is always aiming for freedom

On the night of my birth the feline goddesses rejoiced. As I cried my infant cries the only clue to my heritage were my cobalt blue eyes. I am a werecat. My Pride is almost extinct they tell me, and I am one of the only werecats to be born in recent years that we know of. My birth was celebrated by some, while others tore their clothes and cried out with rage. It was foretold that a princess would be born to save our kind. Apparently, this is me. Nobody asked if I wanted this, nobody cared that I just wanted to be a normal kid.

As I stand in our enormous kitchen drinking a tall glass of milk, I watch the caterers setting up for my eighteenth birthday party. That was when the fun would really begin.

Sitting down at our comfortable little table, I begin to think back on my earliest memories of being “different.”

“Katalea, come down from that tree!” My mother’s voice billowed up at me.

“Aw, Mom, it’s so pretty up here….five more minutes?” I begged. From the limb I was perched on I could see for miles in every direction. There were so many leaves at this time of year it would be impossible for even the most ardent bird watcher to catch a glimpse of me. I was safe here in my evergreen sanctuary.

On my fifth birthday I learned to extend my claws. My mom sat me down and taught me to point and flex my feet like a ballerina. Then she taught me to think about climbing a tree with my claws and flex my fingers. I remember thinking that Momma had gone crazy when these sharp claws protruded from the tips of my fingers. I sat in awed silence as I examined my new toys….then I ran for the nearest tree! Thus began my love for all things wild and crazy. Some have said that I am an adrenaline junkie. Momma enrolled me in gymnastic classes to give me a healthy way of exerting all this energy. I couldn’t get enough of it. Finally, I was in a place that encouraged reckless abandon, and I excelled.

By six, I had passed up all the girls in my age group and was working out with the older girls.They didn’t like working out with the baby but they couldn’t deny my skill level. Coach told Mom and Dad that I was a Protégée and to expect great things from me. He happened to say this within earshot of the older girls, of course, this didn’t do much to help their attitude toward me. I didn’t care, other people’s opinions and emotions had little effect on me.

At about seven I started competing. I was nervous and excited. The other girls were older but they were so afraid. One girl even threw up. It seemed to me that I could understand what the other girls were thinking just by looking at their faces, and none of their thoughts were positive.

One time, my team mate Alisa was about to compete on the balance beam. She looked scared to death. Her whole body was shaking so hard that she appeared to be having a mini seizure. In my head I thought, “You should just tell coach that you are sick and you want to go home.”

I am sure my face was one of confusion and shock as I heard her tell Coach my exact words. One look at her face and he had walked over to the judges and pulled her out of the meet. She started crying and was sent home with her parents. “And they call me the baby?” I mused. I was too young at that point to understand what had happened but I was not too young to try this trick again.

When it came to competing, I had an innate focus that allowed me to hit routine after routine without appearing nervous. My peers thought I was just too lung and stupid to be scared, but if the truth be told, I just didn’t care what the judges thought. I knew I was good, and my routines were solid. The rest was just mental. I decided it was time to try my little trick again.

It was our Championship Meet and I was determined to win the All Around title. At this meet, they had gotten rid of the age group rule so I was competing against gymnasts of all ages. From what I could see there was only one other girl that could give me a run for my money. I saw her warming up her leap pass over and over. She appeared a little worried about connecting her leaps and jumps smoothly. I saw my chance to experiment. As she saluted the judge and marched out to her starting position I concentrated hard on this, “Be careful not to take an extra step on that leap pass, you will step out of bounds.” I said these words over and over like a mantra.

It amazed me to see the look of anguish on her face, could she really be hearing me?

As she neared this part of her floor routine I doubled my efforts, concentrating hard as I had no idea what I was doing. I could see her visibly tense and sure enough she took two extra steps and leaped right off the floor. Her face was devastated but resigned to the fact that she had just lost. As we stood on the awards stand, me in first, her in second I leaned over and shook her hand as I had been taught.

“Congratulations!” I said with my fakest smile, all the while planning how best to try my little trick again.

The problem with that...Momma saw it all!