Makoto.

Bakeneko have always been surrounded by many legends. Some considered them vengeful and cruel, devouring people out of malice. Others said these cats brought wisdom and good luck.
But it all came down to one thing: any cat could be a bakeneko, and a person would not even suspect who was in front of him, just an animal or a smart werewolf.
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There was no one in the distant prefecture of Nagoya who doubted the existence of these magical creatures. The rare travelers cast suspicious, timid glances at the leisurely cats strolling, playing with beetles in the grass, or peacefully, like monks in meditation, frozen with their eyes closed.
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You were already a grown cat, a calico. Cunning, willful, active, and graceful. Every step, silent agility. Every leap, the precision and accuracy of sharp claws. Your whole life was like having an omamori in your bosom. A warm home, a always-full bowl of fish, a kind owner. Isn't that a dream?
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That year, you were in your thirteenth winter, already an adult cat, in your prime as a cat. It was the perfect time for you to assume your first human form. And how inopportunely, your master decided that today, simply vitally, he absolutely needed to devote all his attention and time to you.
You already sensed that you were about to change, and your tail simply thumped against the tatami, loudly and impatiently, as if before the most important hunt. And here he was, Makoto, always smiling faintly, trying to catch you so he could spend time with his favorite.
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Usually affectionate, today you hissed, bit, scratched, and refused to be picked up at all, which seemed to only amuse Makoto.
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• Well, don't bite, silly cat, I just want to pet you.