Catnip Surviving on Short Notice chapter 11 by deleted_user

You cling desperately to the barbed papilla on Penny's tongue, your fingers raw and slick with saliva, every muscle in your body screaming in protest. The cat's mouth is a humid cavern of nightmare, the air thick with the rancid stench of digested kibble and bile, assaulting your senses like a toxic fog. Her tongue undulates beneath you, a living, rippling muscle that flexes with casual indifference, as if you're nothing more than a stray crumb caught in her maw. You gasp for breath, but each inhale draws in more of the foul, sticky moisture, coating your lungs and making you cough violently.

Penny doesn't swallow immediately. Oh no, she's in no rush. Cats are predators by nature, and even a pampered house pet like her revels in the thrill of the hunt—or in this case, the torment. She tilts her head slightly, and her tongue shifts, slamming you against the ridged roof of her mouth with bone-jarring force. The impact rattles your teeth, sending shockwaves through your tiny frame, and you feel something crack—a rib, maybe, or just the fragile illusion of your durability. Pain explodes in your chest, hot and unrelenting, but you hold on, nails digging into the rough, sandpaper-like surface of the barb. It's like gripping a thorn bush in a hurricane.

A low, rumbling purr vibrates through her throat, the sound deafening in the enclosed space, shaking your body like an earthquake. She's playing with you. Toying. Her tongue flicks lazily, batting you from side to side like a ball of yarn. One moment you're pressed against her molars, the massive, yellowed teeth grinding ominously close, threatening to pulverize you into paste. The next, you're rolled toward the front of her mouth, where her lips part just enough for a sliver of light to pierce the darkness. You catch a glimpse of the outside world—the familiar carpet of your bedroom floor, now a distant landscape—before her tongue curls back, dragging you deeper into the gloom.

You scream, but your voice is lost in the wet sloshes and gurgles echoing around you. "Penny! Stop! It's me!" The words are futile, drowned out by the symphony of her indifference. She doesn't recognize you as family anymore; to her, you're prey, a squirming morsel that's awakened her instincts. Her tongue presses you against her cheek, the soft, fleshy wall yielding slightly before squeezing back with suffocating pressure. Your arms are pinned, your legs kicking uselessly against the unyielding muscle. The friction tears at your skin, the barbs scraping like tiny hooks, drawing blood that mixes with the saliva into a slippery, metallic slurry.

Time loses meaning in this hellish ordeal. Minutes? Hours? It feels eternal. Penny swishes you around like mouthwash, her tongue twisting and probing, exploring every inch of your fragile body. One particularly vicious flick sends you tumbling toward her uvula, the dangling flap quivering as you brush against it. You gag on the overwhelming taste—bitter, acrid, a prelude to the horrors below—but manage to grab hold of another barb just in time. Your shoulders burn from the strain, your fingers numb and bleeding. You try to shrink smaller, concentrating with all your might, but the panic and exhaustion make it impossible; your power falters, leaving you trapped at your current, helpless size.

The cat's play grows rougher, more insistent. She chews lightly—not enough to crush you outright, but enough to bruise and batter. Her teeth nip at your limbs, catching your leg in a glancing bite that snaps the bone with a sickening crack. Agony shoots through you, white-hot and blinding, forcing a guttural cry from your throat. Blood fills your mouth as you bite your own tongue in the chaos. Another roll of her tongue crushes your arm against the roof of her mouth, the pressure popping joints and tearing ligaments. You're breaking, piece by piece, your body a mangled ruin of fractures and lacerations. The supplements' "durability" holds just enough to prolong the suffering, turning what should be a quick end into a drawn-out torture.

Finally, when your struggles weaken to feeble twitches, when your screams fade to whimpers and your body hangs limp from exhaustion and pain, Penny tires of the game. Her tongue arches back, and with a casual, effortless motion, she swallows. You plummet into the tight, muscular tunnel of her esophagus, the walls contracting around you in peristaltic waves that squeeze the air from your lungs. It's like being crushed in a living vise, the descent slow and inexorable, your broken limbs scraping against the slimy lining as you're forced downward.

You emerge into the stomach with a splash, landing in a churning sea of acidic sludge. The chamber is a roiling pit of darkness, the air—if you can call it that—thick with the acrid burn of digestive juices. Half-dissolved chunks of cat food float around you, bumping against your battered form as the stomach walls contract and expand in rhythmic pulses. The acid bites immediately, searing your skin like liquid fire, eating away at your flesh in agonizing increments. You try to swim, to find some refuge, but your limbs are useless—shattered, numb, dissolving. Bubbles of gas rise around you, carrying the stench of decay and rot that makes you retch, vomiting up blood and bile into the mix.

The pain is all-consuming, a symphony of torment as the enzymes break you down cell by cell. Your skin blisters and peels, exposing raw muscle that sizzles on contact. You scream until your vocal cords dissolve, reduced to silent, writhing agony. Hours pass in this infernal cauldron—Penny's digestion is leisurely, her stomach grinding away at you with patient efficiency. Your thoughts fragment, memories of your family, Sarah, the lab, all dissolving like your body. In the end, there's only the burn, the fade, and then nothing.

Penny, oblivious and sated, curls up on your bed for a nap, her belly full and content. To her, you're just another forgotten snack, lost forever in the depths of her indifferent biology...