A Magical Girl? Do I Have to Become One Too?

You're twenty years old, and a Maine Coon tells you to become a magical girl. What do you do?

A. Refuse, fill out the "Waiver of Participation," and go home to lie flat and keep being a slacker.

B. Call the police and report a cat pretending to be a spirit and running a scam, trying to lure a respectable young woman into trouble.

C. Pretend to be asleep, pull the covers over your head, and act like it's all a dream.

D. Give it an elbow to see if this round-headed old cat has really become a spirit.

E. Negotiate. Ask about benefits, whether meals and housing are covered, and how workplace injuries are handled.

F. Sign, and casually write the cat's name in the space for your own.

I, Li Jiujiu, chose F. Wait, is this actually a ranking?

I thought it was a part-time job, but then I found out: other people cast magic, while I turn on the gas stove. Everything I've sealed away was buying groceries on this street just yesterday.

The work order had a note in red pen: "Death confirmed. Do not attempt resuscitation."

I lost a hand, the cat turned into a white tiger, and there was only one name on the form: mine, the one I filled in on a whim. It can't be changed.

I'm starting to regret this.

So I'll ask again: do I really have to be a magical girl? Folks, is it still not too late to run?