(Ted’s lab.  A table is at C., with a high stool to one side.  TED sits at the table facing L., despondent.  The table is littered with papers.  TED scribbles furiously but is weary because he’s been up all night.

Enter KITTY after a moment.  KITTY wears a cheap short dress with no shoes or stockings.  She wears a cloth or velveteen collar tightly about her neck.  She slinks toward TED and brushes closely against his back, as would a cat.)

TED.  (startled)  Huh?  (looks about him) Oh.  I see you’re finally up.

KITTY.  Kitty sleep good.

TED.  That makes one of us.

KITTY.  Brush?

TED.  Not now,  I’m working.

KITTY.  Play.

TED.  Kitty, I don’t feel like playing.  I’ve been up all night, can’t you see that?

KITTY.  Play chase.

TED.  Play chase yourself, will you?  Go catch a mouse or something.

            (TED continues to scribble.  KITTY circles the table casually, then lays her torso

            across the table, on top of the papers, facing TED.)

KITTY.  Mine.

TED.  Kitty, get off the papers.

KITTY.  My paper.

TED.  No, these are my papers.  See?  My writing, my pencil, my papers.  Now get off.

KITTY.  Play?

TED.  Dammit, Kitty!  If I do, will you get off the table?

KITTY.  Maybe.

TED.  Then here.  Go get the paper ball.  Go, go get it.

(TED crumples a sheet of paper into a ball and tosses it across the stage.  KITTY scrambles after it and pounces.  She bats it a few times as TED continues to write.  After a moment KITTY looks up, hopefully.)

KITTY.  Play?

TED.  I just did.

KITTY.  Chase me.

TED.  Kitty, I’m tired and I’m working and I really don’t feel like it.  Why do you always pick the worst times in the world to do this?

KITTY.  Scratch, please.

TED.  I said “no”!  Now leave me alone.

(TED continues to write.  KITTY comes around behind the table and rubs her face against his arm, until he stands angrily.)

TED.  God!  I cannot do this anymore!

KITTY.  Brush?

TED.  Kitty – I’m afraid I have some news to tell you. 

KITTY.  Mews?

TED.  Not "mews", NEWS.  It’s over.  Finished.  I have to turn you back into a cat.

KITTY.  (hisses)   Ssssss!

TED.  Don’t you hiss at me.

            (KITTY snarls angrily and comes at TED, claws exposed.  TED evades her.)

KITTY.  Mrrrow!

TED.  Kitty, calm down.  This is not easy for me, either.

KITTY.  (pursuing, snarls again)   Mrrrow!

TED.  (picks up the stool to protect himself)   Kitty, stay!  Stay.  You stay.   (KITTY halts.)  Now, I know it’s a shock, but if you’ll just calm down and listen, I’m sure you’ll see my point of view.

KITTY.  Kitty no go back!

TED.  Kitty, this whole thing is just not working out.  Now, when we first started down this road,  I thought I was on to something big.  We were going to make scientific history together ... and yes, to a certain extent, we did.  But I’m beginning to wonder if it was all just a big mistake.

KITTY.  No mistake.

TED.  We’re not making progress here, Kitty.  We’ve been at this – what – six weeks now?  I mean, consider.  You shed.  Not as much as you used to, but still.  You go outside at all hours and you bring back all manner of vermin.  Before, it was one thing.  I could handle the mice and rats and the occasional chipmunk.  But now it’s possums.  Raccoons.  Last week you brought home a deer.  What’s it going to be this week?  A cow?

KITTY.  Maybe.

TED.  See, this is what I mean.  You eat from the floor.  Real people sit at the table, Kitty.  Real people use silverware, knives and forks and spoons.  Real people don’t lick their food from a bowl.

KITTY.  Me like bowl.

TED.  And did you clean your litterbox this morning?

KITTY.  No.

TED.  I rest my case.