The werewolf had money now.
Now she had to figure out how to turn that into a thing to fight her werewolfism, her lycanthropy. The desire in her to be a feral, wild animal. To hunt. To stalk. To sniff out prey. To howl into the night.
To throw off everything human. To peel back the skin of civilization and pulse like a heart.
So she fought it.
"Ten hamsters please," she said.
"Weren't you in here last week getting hamsters?"
"No, that wasn't me," she said, laughing cutely to try and make the clerk think of something else. Laughter, probably, or jokes maybe.
"No runts," she said as he selected the rodents.
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