It’s your mother

“John!” she yells at you, her eyes wide and big rounded ears perked. “Are you awake? You are! You’re naked!”

You’re both now a little too in shock to speak, just staring at each other as you try to figure out what’s going on. You notice your mom’s frazzled fur and sense the panic about her which immediately gets you to your feet. She appears rather frantic, or at least she did when she first burst through the door, but now her intense gaze is trained on your golden form.

“I... I sleep naked, Mom, you know that,” you explain finally, grabbing your pillow to hide your exposed crotch behind it, though for the most part you were just a lot of fur down there which didn’t make your grower too eye grabbing at this time. “Is something wrong?” you try asking her.

The blocking of direct line of sight of your groin seems to also snap your mother out of her daze and she looks around the room with renewed vigor.

“I can’t find my pills,” she says hurriedly, now prowling around your space and inspecting the surfaces of your desk and shelves. “I can’t find my pills.” She repeats this a few times and you still don’t know how to respond.

“What pills? I didn’t know you were sick,” you say, watching the agitation grow in your mother as she starts rifling through your desk drawer. Despite the intrusion you let her do this, for now, more worried that something is wrong with your mom.

“What? No I’m not sick,” she grunts. Then she catches herself and turns to you, her expression softening but her canines and incisors are still bared. She take a calming breath. “Sorry. No I’m not sick. They’re just pills I need to take every now and then. In a pink bottle? Have you seen it?”

You tilt your head in thought.

“No? What are they for?” you wonder.

You mother sighs and continues to look around the place.

“They’re for… I just need them…” she begins. “They’re… for women.” She opens your wardrobe and you wonder what she expects to find in there. A witch maybe? “They’re …a feminine thing…” she says, obviously not wanting to spit it all out. You just continue watching her, admiring the huntress on display, even if all she was looking for was a little bottle of pills. Your mother is a proud creature, a model lioness really. Her beauty belies her age, and she has a grace to her slim but powerful limbs. Her blouse, a checker-patterned, sleeveless thing with a frilled and deep v-neck, gives you pause to think about the large chest she has half hidden beneath. You wonder how soft the fur is around her breasts and gulp, trying the shake the thought from your head. You see her turn and bend down, looking beneath your computer chair now for some reason, and the tight jeans she somehow squeezed herself into seem to stretch impossibly around her big round behind. This was the butt of a queen, and the frantic swishing of her tail through the tail hole almost hypnotises you.

Then you notice something...