I woke up in a basket. A soft, fleece-lined, slightly smelly basket.

  I did not own a basket. I lived in a studio apartment, and the closest thing I had to "soft and fleece-lined" was a blanket I hadn’t washed since November.

  Something was wrong.

  I tried to sit up.

  Four legs responded. Tiny ones. Wobbly. One of them twitched against my face, and it was covered in fur. My fur.

  I scrambled upright—more like rolled sideways—and flopped out of the basket with all the grace of a potato in freefall. I landed on a rug. The world loomed above me. Enormous furniture, a crackling hearth, and across the room, a woman with kind eyes and a spoon in her mouth stirring something bubbly and green.

  “Aw, Muffin! You’re up!”

  Kill me. Again.

  I glanced back at the basket, now clearer in the glow of firelight. A stitched patch on the side read "Muffin’s Nap Nest" with hearts. One of them was shaped like a paw. I was in a cottage. A real, lived-in cottage with flower pots, bubbling vials, and walls full of scrolls and glowing crystals.

  And I was a cat.

  I tried to say something—anything—but all that came out was a warbling mrrrow. It startled me enough to tumble backward into a broom.

  A cat. I was a cat. This wasn’t a dream. Or if it was, it was very committed.

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  The woman laughed and scooped me up. “You're such a rascal. Look at those curious little eyes.”

  I blinked. She smelled like mint leaves and soot. I had so many questions and absolutely no way to ask them. So I did what any sane, newly reincarnated feline would do.

  I napped.

  It took a couple of days to get used to my new reality. I couldn’t talk, couldn’t walk in a straight line half the time, and had to sit very still during "belly rub ambushes." My meals were regular, my naps were long, and the human woman—who I mentally nicknamed “Apron Lady”—seemed to think I was just a very playful kitten.

  But on the third day, something happened.

  It started with a noise under the floorboards. A chitter. Then a scrabble. And then, while Apron Lady was out picking herbs, a furry blur darted into the kitchen and made a beeline for the corner where dried root vegetables were stored.

  A rat.

  A big one.

  I’d never fought anything in my life. In my old body, I used to flinch at loud toasters. But something inside me stirred. Something feline. Instinctual.

  I crept forward on soft paws. Heart thudding. The rat sniffed around, unaware.

  Then I pounced.

  It wasn’t graceful. I slipped on a wooden spoon. My claws snagged a sack of potatoes. But I landed on the rat with a squeak and a flurry of flailing fur, claws, and high-pitched panic.

  And I won.

  The rat stopped moving. My chest heaved. My whiskers were a little crooked, but I was intact. I stood there, proud, confused, and slightly dazed.

  Then, out of nowhere:

  +3 XP Gained!

  You have reached Level 2!

  New Ability Unlocked: Pounce (Rank F)

  Stat Increase: Dexterity +1

  I froze.

  Where had that come from?

  A glowing text box floated in the air for a few seconds, then vanished. My heart thudded again—but not from fear. From wonder. I sat down next to the defeated rat, staring into the empty air where the message had been.

  This wasn't just a fantasy world.

  It was a game.

  And I had just leveled up.