Author's note: No, I m not proposing that anything in this story would actually work. If something is wild and wacky, it is probably by design. That said, basing the story on a real thought experiment makes it even more fun.
My name is Elliot. My friends call me Doctor, my enemies call me crazy, and my mother calls me every weekend to make sure I haven't killed myself. I'm a mad scientist, entirely self-employed, and have a few assistants that keep me company. I never bothered to learn their names, so they're all Jim to me. It helps me achieve a sense of continuity in my work. Having the feeling of your help leaving after four hours, only to have another one come in interrupts any kind of flow that I might have in my experiments.
Ah, my experiments! Now to the subject at hand. It's been a few years since I created a serum that allows someone to turn into an animal, and approximately three weeks since I invented the formula to turn back. Naturally, the Jims that I tested this serum on were less than impressed with my order of priorities, but they became reasonably docile once they realized that I would be in control of the antidote.
Throughout my studies, however, I have yet to successfully produce a serum that would turn someone into a hybrid. Why do I want to? Does the term "mad scientist" mean nothing to you? All mad scientists need a couple of hybrids running around in order to complete the effect for anyone who might come in on a holy quest to end their research, after all. Following stereotypes is about the only way to get noticed these days, after all...
Regardless, administering a smaller quantity of the formula to turn someone into an animal never works out. The only reason the formula works is because it moves fast. By stopping it halfway, you end up with quite a few mechanical impossibilities, and the body ceases to function correctly. Thankfully, the vital organs survive reasonably well, but the subject's limbs tend to get locked in impossible positions, making it inconvenient at best to try to work in such a form.
As I write this, however, I am documenting the discovery of a way that we can make it work! It came to me as I was revisiting the old thought experiment of Schrodinger's cat. The intent of it was to prove the ludicrous nature of quantum mechanics by producing a paradox. By setting up a box, closed to observation from outside, with a flask of poison and a radiation-triggered mechanism within, and by providing a radioactive element that would trigger the breaking of the flask, Schrodinger proposed that the cat would exist in a state of flux, both living and dead at the same time, until a time at which the cat could be observed. This state of flux was the paradox in Schrodinger's system, but it was the theory over which I would now be building my attempts at creating the perfect halfway form.
The Jim that came into work that day could see that I was excited about something, so he quickly steered away from me as soon as he entered. I saw him, though, and called for his help. He was noticeably concerned by the metal coffin that was sitting on one of my workbenches, and became even more concerned as I described to him the materials that I would be needing for my experiment.
Still, for any Jim to be worth the trouble, they have to be ready to follow orders, and this one was no exception. The mechanism for breaking the flask would be assembled later, but the radioactive material was simply laid on the table near the coffin. I couldn't be bothered to worry with safety at that point; I set it in place with my bare hands. Jim raised an eyebrow at this, but that one eccentricity was nothing in the vast scheme of things.
He noticed I had already placed a flask of cat serum in the coffin, modified so that it would have effect through the air. That final strange thing finally got his attention.
"All right, sir, what are we doing?"
"We're revisiting a classic experiment," I responded simply. "Schrodinger would be proud."
Jim nodded slowly as he began to understand. "Schrodinger's cat," he mumbled. "I don't suppose it would help stop you to point out that Schrodinger never performed the experiment himself?"
"Nonsense. How else would he know the cat was either alive or dead in there?"
He wasn't intending for me to see it, but I quite distinctly read the words "Common sense" on his lips.
Undeterred, I continued with the set-up. The rig that would break the flask was finally in place; all that was missing was to put the flask in the holder, and the experiment would be ready. I motioned for Jim to follow, and pulled a fold-up chair from beside a white board and set it up with a clear view of the coffin.
"Now, I want you to sit in this chair," I told him. "You watch that coffin until it opens up and you see me."
"Won't that defeat the purpose of the paradox?" he asked.
I pointed to a familiar-looking device that was rigged near the chair. It was another rig, much like the one in the coffin, this one designed to smash a button into the floor, which would cause my custom-made coffin to fall open and push me out, allowing him to see me and removing me from the experiment at the same time.
I explained this to him, and he simply stared at me. "Exactly how does this help?" he asked.
"Don't you see? By the mechanics of the experiment, unless someone else observes you, then there will be no one around to observe whether you observed, so you will be able to observe me and not observe me at the same time!" He remained in that annoying, incredulous position for a few moments. "It's genius!" I cried triumphantly, pumping my arms.
"Whatever you say, see you on the other side," Jim muttered.
I grinned at him and walked towards the coffin. I pulled out an auto-syringe full of sedative and injected myself while I climbed in. After all, I couldn't observe myself, or the experiment would fail. I still had a few moments, though, so I set the flask of cat serum in position, and laid down inside the metal coffin for a nice little cat nap. Cat nap... I like that pun...
The next thing I knew, I woke up on the floor of my lab, staring up into the face of a very confused-looking Jim. A quick inspection proved that I was successful; I was now a human-sized tabby cat that walked on two legs and talked. The whole situation confused Jim so badly... He asked me why observing myself didn't break the paradox, and I dutifully reminded him that I was outside the bounds of the experiment now, and Schrodinger had made no comment on what might happen once the cat left the confines of its metal cage. I was, therefore, free to be a paradox for as long as the idea suited me.
I am currently writing my dissertation on the subject of my experiment. As I write, my tail is bobbing back and forth in anticipation, and my whiskers are arching up in a smile every time I remember a particularly noteworthy part of the experiment. More in-depth study into this form will be required later. For now, I will work on in hopes of becoming a mad scientist DOCTOR! Who will be able to resist accepting my clearly-researched dissertation, after all?
Especially if I bring some of my serum and a few Jims to help out? A dissertation by a talking cat who can threaten you with being a non-talking animal with a little muscle to help out seems like a winning formula to me.
OR I could just use them as subjects for further tests on the Box...
