Ky the Cat

I think of gender as a question of supply and demand.

No, seriously, hear me out!

So I knew a lot of trans people growing up. Guys, girls, folks in between. (You try getting turned into a toon and not dip your toes into the furry con scene once or twice. You can't swing a stick without hitting a trans person at one of those, but I digress.)

The cost of changing genders used to be crazy high. Like, you'd have to pay a bunch of money and lie to doctors for months to maybe, possibly—if the doctors believed you were earnest about being the other gender, really truly, honest honest!—you'd get hormones. But then you had the discrimination, and the, well. The folks in white hoods, with shaved heads and runic tattoos? Suddenly you're their enemy, and you end up with a brick thrown through your apartment window.

Been there, done that.

But nowadays? Now that I've moved to the city with Valerie Cat and have a cozy little job doing secret tours of Toontown? Things are real good.

For one, I don't have to worry about the skinheads anymore. We lived in a super cozy Toontown outside of Chicago where everyone flies ink-and-paint flags as a matter of course.

For two? I don't even have a gender anymore. Not in the way the Real world cares about, anyway.

See, I always kind of figured gender was like one of those social constructs held together with duct tape and good intentions, but turning toon really drove it home. The first time I tried on toon paint, I was a white-furred catgirl named Bunny. And I loved that. Lived that for years! But then the city started offering toon body-mods, and well—Val and I may have blown five grand on a body-swap cruise before I settled on my latest model. (That thing malfunctioned so hard I spent a weekend as a muscly himbo, a chubby squirrel girl, and at one point a literal rubber hose with eyes. And let me tell you, I came out the other side a changed person.)

I learned something important: when changing your gender is easier than a wild, body-swap vacation extravaganza, why not try new things out now and then?

I can always go back.

So yeah, I'm a 40-year-old transmasc toon cat named Ky. It's nice to meet you. Again. And bonus points for me: this latest form also just so happens to save my mother-in-law's life with the paint that courses in my veins, so that's fun.

And hey, worst comes to worst—if the world hates me, I can always go back to being Janet Perch. The old me, no problem.

It's not like gender matters or anything.

So. That Guy won.

I mean, we knew he might win, right? We saw the polls. We watched the debates, saw him rant and rave about "restoring Real values" and "keeping the Ink out of our communities." We knew his supporters weren't just some fringe group, that their rallies weren't just political theater. We knew.

But knowing doesn't make it hurt less. Or make it happen any more slowly.

I thought there would be a few days to breathe. To adjust. But it's been nonstop; quarantining toons on day one, then taking their papers, and the dignity of sport, all because they're toons.

It doesn't make it less terrifying to watch his people celebrate in the streets, burning toon effigies, spray-painting slurs on our businesses. It doesn't make it less sickening when the first executive orders drop, when suddenly ink-and-paint ID cards are "under review," when toon-run schools lose their funding overnight.

The fear is real. The anger is real. The exhaustion—oh, that is real.

But so is joy. And joy is resistance.

If they want to erase us, then every moment we exist loudly is an act of defiance. Every goofy toon pratfall, every ridiculous cartoon logic trick, every rubber-hose dance step is a middle finger to the people who think we should be scared into silence.

They hate us because we don't fit their world. Because we are, inherently, wrong by their standards. But the thing they don't understand is—we were never trying to fit.

We exist. We persist.

And we are funny as hell.

That's what scares them most, I think. The fact that no matter what laws they pass, no matter how much ink they try to scrub away, we will still be here. Laughing. Playing. Living.

So, yeah. I'm scared. You probably are too. But let's not let them steal our laughter. Let's make them furious with how stupidly happy we are in the face of their nonsense.

The Ink stays. The joy stays.

And if they don't like it?

Well.

That's all, folks!