Stumbling in after a late night...

Stumbling in after a late night, I discover an old woman in my bed. I’m drunk, but this is no hallucination; when I try to shake her awake, she snorts, and her arms and head shrink into her nightdress like a turtle. I collapse beside her, too drunk to care, but sleep doesn’t come. The old woman’s cold as death, smells something awful, and every couple of minutes she rolls over and cries out a different man’s name. It takes a half-hour of tossing before my eyes grow heavy, when I realize I have to pee. Feeling my way back down the hall, I see a warm light pulsing from the bedroom. The old woman floats up by the ceiling, transfigured like a prophet, and where she lay there’s a litter of kittens. The kittens mew softly, hungry, but I have no bottle of milk to feed them. Instead, my masculine breasts are engorged, and my nightshirt soaked through. But why am I crying like a child? My mother had left when I was just an infant, and here is the gift of the old woman: the chance to nurture another living creature as I had never been.