It was Saturday afternoon, soon to be Saturday night. For Tom, that meant time to be human soon. He hopped down from his perch in the antique shop and started to run towards the good end of town. There are times it's good to be a quick and nimble cat.

This week Tom had devised a plan for his transformation time. A plan to be dressed to impress, rather than stark naked.

He took a few minutes to catch his breath when he was close to his destination. He'd made it before rush hour began, before everyone was off work. Which meant there was just over an hour until he changed from purring fleabag, to tall, dark, and handsome.

After a good washing and catching his breath Tom trotted over to the "Suds for Duds" a trendy little laundrymat that also offered wash/dry/fold, and dry cleaning. At the moment the place was deserted excpet for the attendant, who was engrossed in a phone conversation.

Tom trotted inside and strolled along in front of the machines. Only two dryers were spinning, and they looked full of women's clothing, that wouldn't suit. He slipped behind the counter and back to the dry cleaning. Here was some snazzy looking stuff. Stellar wardrobe choices awaited him. He found a corner to lay low in while he waited for six Pm.

Six Pm came, the woman who'd left her laundry showed up to empty her dryers and the attendant kept an eye on her, while still chattering away on the phone. No one took any notice of Tom's switcheroo.

He stood, and stretched once transformed. First he'd need some underthings. He began looking through some bundles of wash dry fold ready for pick up and found some tasteful paisely boxers and a white crewneck t-shirt that fit. Then he moved on to outerwear. A Kenneth Cole shirt in blue pinstripes, some Docker's khakis, and a lovely London Fog leather aviator jacket in black. HE pocketed a pair of socks.

He stepped out of the backroom and out behind the counter. The attendant was back in the bathroom, still on the cordless phone talking. He sighed. He needed shoes. He wouldn't find any here he knew. Blast but the rest of his plan had been brilliant. He gave a quick look in the lost and found, doubtful that anyone would forget thier shoes. There was however a check card. He pocketed it and hoped it hadn't been cancelled.

The attendant came out of the restroom then. "Hey you can't be back there!"

He leaped over the counter and bolted out the front door.

A well dressed man now jogged down the sidewalk barefoot. The attendant did not chase him, oblivious to what he'd done.

Saturday, by anyone's definition, is part of the weekend.

As such it's meant to be a time for relaxing. For catching up on your sleep and your Desperate Housewives. Maybe for driving out of the city and seeing some trees in their natural habitat, or reading a novel. But it never seems to work out like that.

It's Saturday afternoon and Professor Monroe is still being run off her feet. Most of the day has been already been spent in a chaotic whirl of committee meetings, plus lunch with a prestigious German philosopher. Which was difficult because Angeline's German is patchy at best. She ended up agreeing a lot, because "ja" is fairly easy to remember.

Elsie has been picked up from yoga, and deposited at Kathryn's birthday party (at the cinema, where they're seeing Beverly Hills Chihuahua of all things) and now Angeline is running a couple of messages. And then she wants a coffee, and maybe to put her feet up for two minutes.

It's a relatively nice evening (if a bit brisk) and Angeline is walking down the street, readjusting the weight of groceries in a couple of those reusable shopping bags. The heels of her boots click against the pavement. Her hair is french braided out of her face, and she is wearing a smart leather jacket and a crimson pencil skirt. She is, as ever, immaculately made up and tastefully adorned with jewellery. Her nails are long, perfectly manicured, painted black. She walks with a slight swaying of the hips to accommodate for the tightness of her skirt and the heels on her boots, and she is moving in the general direction of a little Fair Trade coffee shop.

Shoes, damn it all, shoes. Because civilized places want you to wear footwear and be hygenic. Tom wished there was more time. Saddly there wasn't so he was off with someone else's card to buy shoes. He picked something stylish and not too dressy nor casual in black. Black matches everything.

Shoes out of the way, his sweet tooth reared it's ugly head. It's hard to like sweets and be a tuna breathed flea farm, so he'd better indulge while he can.

He sniffed appreciatively as he approached a little coffee shop. "Mmmm, mocha." he muttered, and no doubt they'd have something that at least remotely resembled a brownie. So in he went to indulge.

The smell of coffee is perhaps one of her favourite in the world. Chanel no 5, roses and Elsie's shampoo are also fairly high on the list, but coffee... Well, it's the elixir of life. And it smells divine. Inhaling deeply, Professor Monroe gives the young, tattooed barista a smile, and rummages around in her patent leather bag for some money.

"I'll have a small soy latte, please. Double. Thanks."

She glances around the crowded shop, looking for an empty table and making sure that no one she knows is there. Mr Moritz from next door has a tendency to hang around the cafe, and despite her best Christian efforts Angeline still can't stand the man. Him and his bloody chemically greened lawn.

Moving down the counter, she picks up her drink (juggling it with her purse and grocery bags in a calm, professional way) and heads for one of the stools at the counter along the window. It offers a nice view of the street outside, and she likes to watch all the people passing by. Here, everyone is tidy and well-dressed, so it offers a diverting and aesthetically attractive view.

Tom made his order, paid, and took his purchases to the counter too. Might as well scope out the passers by while he had had his vice of the hour.

He breathed in the aroma of the place happily as he took up his perch on the stool, humming a song stuck in his head quietly. Who doesn't like that smell. Tom finds the heady coffee scent and the smell of the sweets a comfort. He might just linger here for a bit.

Angeline takes a luxurious sip of her coffee - ohhh, so good - and then glances over at the man who has just sat down next to her, and who is humming. He immediately strikes her as both well dressed and pretty, so she gives him a thin smile. Then she undoes the zip of her jacket, and in an innocuous motion, shrugs it off. Underneath she's wearing a cranberry red suit jacket and something lacy.

"It's a gorgeous day, isn't it?"

The remark is pleasant, made casually. There is no reason to suspect any motives than casual conversation.

And oh, someone spoke to him. Tom likes people.

He turned to regard her and paused in his humming. "Oh it is nice, not too hot, not too cold, and the air is just turning crispy. My favorite time of year." he said. His own smile is easy to surface.

Angeline's smile stretches a little. She likes this time of year too. Then again, she likes almost all times of year. Even winter. The weather's awful but the snow's beautiful, and if you have a fur coat you can weather anything.

"I couldn't pick one," she tells him. "But this is beautiful, especially with all the trees turning." The riot in the treetops is all red and yellow and orange, vibrant flashy colours of the sort that she favours. Elsie, of course, would rather have pink and purple. But she loves to play in the piles of leaves that accumulate in the park or that Angie makes in the back yard for her.

Tom while in cat form delights in leaping in piles of leaves himself. Besides autumn is the best time of year to be able to turn into a black cat, Halloween and all.

"The trees are splendid, and the sky always gets that vibrant blue on fall afternoons." he remarked sipping his drink and still smiling.

Angeline licks a smudge of foam off the rim of her cup in a fairly unpropitious way.

"And it's just cold enough to actually drink hot coffee," she adds. She finds she prefers it iced a lot the time, especially if it's at all warm out. The brisk edge to the weather means that she can actually sit down with something steaming hot for once, and not feel like she's overheating her systems. Her body does tend to run a tad hot.

Tom will indulge in coffee in any way shape or form when he can. Though he doesn't say so. "It is nice weather for all things steamy." He agreed, still smiling amicably.

"Hot baths," Angeline agrees, smothering a smile and trying to pretend that he wasn't maybe just making innuendos. Because she's a middle-aged professor, and she has a kid. "With bubbles. Rose is my favourite scent..." She lets the sentence trail off and then grins. "I'm Professor Monroe, by the way." She offers him her hand to shake, a long, elegant hand with an obvious diamond ring on the ring finger.

"I'm more of a shower fiend myself." He says before shaking her hand firmly. "I'm Tom Lucien." He takes note of the long elegant fingers and the inescapably noticable ring.

However inescapable the ring is, it is on her right hand and therefore shouldn't threaten anyone.
"Pleasure to meet you, Tom-who-likes-showers," she says, retrieving her hand in order to drink some more of her coffee. "So what are you drinking?"

Her eyebrows go up in the direction of his coffee.

She could be Greek Orthodox. Tom has had a century to tuck away such trivial little bits of information.

"Some carmel mocha concoction, it's nice with the brownie." he tells her. Tom's got two fatal weaknesses in human form, choclate, and booze.

"Sounds indulgent," Angeline tells him. She is a big fan of Vogue and she's always loved those adverts for the right hand diamonds.

She likes a mocha every once in the while, but only if she's been being very good. "Latte, lots of espresso," she adds, meaning her own drink and realising that this is fairly boring of her.

"If I can't indulge myself, what's the point?" He asks with a hint of laughter curling into his words. He eats his brownie with a fork and knife, otherwise he might make his clothes untidy.

Angeline's smile is teasing. "Well. You could be a good person and make the world a better place," she suggests. "Or do fulfilling work that consumes your time and stimulates your mind." She laughs. "But no, that would be boring. Caramel and mocha are better by far."

There is definitely a tinge of irony in her voice, but it's all meant nicely.

No professor, actually I spend most of my time as a stray cat, snatching meals out of dumpsters and chasing females in heat, but I still deserve the mocha.....He does not however utter this thought outloud.

"Boring isn't my style, too true." He said instead.

"You're probably right," Angeline concedes. It's not her fault, she can't be expected to know that he's usaully a stray cat. Anyway, she's not so much boring as watching her figure, mind. Not that there's anything wrong with her figure, but you never know. You look the other way, and next thing, you've got flab.

It's not her fault, he knows this. But with twelve hours a week to be human, his mind isn't quite right. "Though I can't properly guess what this look does say about me." he jokes.

She isn't boring, at least not yet, and Tom would agree, there's nothing wrong with her figure.

Angeline's eyes flick over him again. He's cutting a fairly sharp figure, and she likes his shirt. Blue's not really her colour, but it looks nice enough on him. "You look..." she considers, pauses, smiles, "Sharp, without being posh. Fun, without being dangerous. Attractive without being marriageable."

"Oh, I'm not posh or marriagable, I'm a wild bachelor who isn't yet housebroken." He said laughing. "And I can be fun." His smile has broadened, flattery brings out his most dazzling smile.

Angeline has a desperate, wild desire to say, 'prove it,' but she bites down on the urge. After all, she's a respectable woman, and a mother. She just smiles (a smile which really says it all, anyway) and says, "I bet you are."

The smile does say almost everything from Tom's perspective. It indeed seems to taunt in light of his claim that he can be fun. He finishes his brownie and licks his lips, though there are no crumbs. "You don't believe me?" He looks abashed, but his tone of voice is clearly teasing. The twinkle in his eye also betrays him.

Angeline drains her cup and wonders if this is going to turn into a challenge. "I'm a Professor, Mr Lucien. I rarely believe anything unless given good evidence to back it up." She smiles slightly and sighs. "It's a trying profession, I'm sure you understand. All that skepticism."

"Are you trying to tell me you want me to prove it?" He is all grins as he asks. This is proving funny to him. Tom does like to be amused. Something also tells him, that professor or not, this woman probably isn't repressed.

Angeline shakes her head firmly. Of course she doesn't want him to prove it. That would be forward and uncalled for and would probably lead to trouble. "I'm just saying that I wouldn't believe you unless you did. Not that I'm actively doubting you, of course." She grins. "I have no reason to think you aren't trustworthy, I just don't trust you."

Which made him laugh. "Oh, no, I'm probably not trustworthy." He found this hillarious. "Though that's not to say that you shouldn't trust me. I may be wild, but not I'm not completely feral."

Angeline processes this. "So... I should trust you, despite the fact that you aren't trustworthy, because although you're wild... I think I lost you there. Feral means that you used to be domestic, so you're saying you weren't, so..." She's be lying if she said she wasn't confused.

"Oh, don't overanalyze it. I was domestic, ages and ages ago." Not that Tom looks like he's seen ages and ages of anything at first glance. If one looked deeply though, and studied his eyes, that feature alone would seem older than everything else. "I'm just saying, I can have fun without trouble."

Over analyze? Of course she's not over-analyzing. She wouldn't do that. Course not.

"So you tell me," she agrees, smoothly. They are heading straight back for the original problem of her not actually believing anything he says, and she doesn't want the conversation to loop. But she also doesn't want to challenge him to present proof. "So, you can have fun without trouble. But do you choose to do so?"

"Depends on who else is having fun with me." he admits. "Mostly it's better to stay out of trouble, trouble puts a damper on the potential for future fun. There is a fine line between risque, and risky, I try not to cross it by choice. I guess that's a yes."

"Very sensible," Angeline says. Her idea of risque is lace lingerie that no one ever sees, except perhaps Elsie. Elsie is enamored of her mother's dressing table, of things that are shiny and lacy, of powders and perfumes. And Angeline prefers this to other things that her child could be interested in. "I'd hate to think of anything bad happening to you," she adds with a smirk.

Bad, turning back into a cat in ten hours bad Professor?Something else he does not give voice to.

"Oh, nothing bad will happen. I don't have enough time for that. Though I am touched by your concern." Really, he is.

Angeline's concern is all of her that he's gonna be touched by. She hopes. It would be a bad break in character for it to turn out otherwise.

"Not enough time?"

Her perfectly arched eyebrows go up a bit.

"That sounds ominous."

"My weekly schedule is hell. I really only have free time on Saturday evening and part of Sunday morning. Nothing exactly ominious." He explained, perhaps lamely.

"Of course," Angeline says, in a definite I-don't-actually-believe-you-but-I'll-play-along-anyway way. "I know exactly what you mean..." Ha ha, yeah. "My schedule is impossible." She glances around the coffee shop, wryly. "I shouldn't even be here."

"Really? Where should you be?" He is curious, a curious guy or cat.

"Home, I suppose," Angeline tells him. She toys with her coffee cup. "Or work. Or church. I'm not doing a whole range of things just now. Doubtless I will suffer for it later."