Those cute little sneakers, yes definitely those, plus that pink top, the one with the big heart and the text 'pwetty' in glitters across the chest. Now also she needs is the perfect little skirt to go underneath it and... The slides change, interrupting her train of thought. Oh god it's starting. It takes some effort not to role her eyes. If the fact that this was philosophy wasn't enough to bore her to tears, it's the fact that they are now discussing something about an ancient Greek guy and heaps... or stacks... or... something. Teach tries to make it interesting, failing, but trying. The one big advantage the panther has is the fact that he isn't hard on the eyes. Mr Austin D., elected hottest teacher for two consecutive years, gives the group one of his generous smiles. "I know you all read the text, so I'll start with a brief summary." The class snickers. Without hesitation he launches into a quick outline of the whole paradox and the various solutions proposed by people, whom all long since have croaked. The fact that no-one has read the homework doesn't seem to dampen his spirit, making him one of the few teachers who did not seem to harbour the illusion that his subject was the most interesting subject in the universe and his students should, therefore, spend every waking our caring about it.

	His expression switches from amused to serious, signalling that fun time is over and he expects their attention, or at least their silence. Cat's eyes drift again to Clay, the young lion sitting halfway down the rows, almost near the front of the group. A small sigh escapes her lips. His eyes are aimed in the general direction of their teacher, focussed, or at least pretending to be, on the lecture. Although he is not looking up, she is sure he knows she's watching him. Clay, or Clayton as she preferred to call him, making him sound much more mature and refined, had one arm slung casually over the back of his seat. The table in front of him was conspicuously devoid of any books, paper or pens. The way he just sat there radiated a simple ease, a confidence that told her that he would ace this course... as he always would.

	What she had first noticed about him was his fierce green eyes that always seemed to hide the fact that he knew more than he would let on. Despite his soft spoken nature he always managed to be at the centre of every social group, earning him attention from... well basically everyone. He was more mature than most of his classmates, or than her friends. More importantly though he was the perfect match, someone bound to be successful, dad would love him. They had met, once, during a party at her house. It had been a magnificent little part of social planning, if she would say so herself, and she would so there. She had introduced them, a brief encounter laying the ground work. Afterwards father had remarked: "He's a good kid that Clay." 'Clayton', she had corrected him. He had smiled. 

	Cat straightens her dress, meticulously smoothing out a crinkle while casting a critical eye on her teacher. She lets out a small huff, seeing that Mr D--- is, again, not in proper shirt and tie, but rather in T-shirt and sneakers. She cannot help but give a small disapproving shake of her head. Appearance that was what was important. Take her for example, Catherine Spellmen, student body president, head of the prom committee and honour roll student. She always dressed properly, as girls should, made sure her fur was well kept and that she chose the subject that counted. Now, of course she did not like philosophy, but she knew that it would look good on her grade list to have done something that could be considered 'self-reflective' or make her look less a dumb blonde, and more of a quiet intellect/trophy wife material. She was not dumb of course, but not to seem dumb was important as well. It had been father's first, and perhaps most important, lesson for his little girl. It was undoubtedly one of the reasons why he approved of Clayton; handsome, athletic, smart, the prefect package. 

	Clayton had taken her on a date, one single date, but that had been enough for them to be dubbed 'the golden couple'. Any official proposal to 'go steady' had not yet emerged, yet... but he would do so soon enough. It would probably be something romantic in front of the whole school, or perhaps during a romantic dinner, something she could make her friends jealous with. Not that they weren't jealous right now, of course. Her eyes drift to the side at the row of girls that all clung to her skirts as she wandered through the hallways. She lets out a sigh of pity. Ships lost in the darkness, that's what they were, and she, their beacon, something to strive for. 

	"I'm just saying classes are a lot more enjoyable when... when you have something to look at." Her girlfriends are wrapped in their own discussion about more... mundane things. "Yah and like he'd be interested in you." Yes, not 'yah', and 'As if he would be interested.' Not 'like he'd be interested' She mentally corrects them, rolling her eyes. They don't notice. 
"Oh, and why are you doing so poorly then, hoping he would 'tutor' you?" 
"Oh, yeah? Well at least I wear shirts that are actually my size!" 
"Girls, girls, girls" Cat interrupts, raising her paw ever so slightly, "composure!" 
Young Catharine is oblivious to the fact that, speaking like that, she might as well have passed age sixty, becoming one of those teachers that taught etiquette to girls and that never married and when you'd listen to them you'd immediately understand why.

	Both girls are staring at her while she acts so high and mighty. They do, however, shut up. One seems to be prepared to start an argument with her, but before she can their attention is pulled away by the subject of their earlier discussion. 
"Is there a problem ladies?" He asks, that famous smile once again curing his lips upward, just enough to show a bit of teeth. In unison the girls reply by obediently shaking their heads.
"Good." He turns away from them, six sets of eyes fixating on his rump almost immediately. "As I was saying the shortcomings of law is that it cannot deal with every eventuality. For example, one such problem arises when it is confronted with a situation that has been described by the 'sorites paradox'; sorites being the Greek word for 'heap'. It is attributed to Eubulides of Miletus who, supposedly proposed the following question: when does a heap of sand, cease to be a heap of sand?"

	Now let us say that you take a heap of sand, of which we have established that it is indeed a heap of sand, and we remove from the pile one grain at a time, when does it stop being a heap? To make it more precise, let us say that a certified heap of sand contains one million grains of sand, if we remove one, does it suddenly stop being a heap? Or does it remain a heap? And what if we remove two grains? Or three? But if we continue to assume that a heap minus one grain is still a heap we must also concede that one grain of sand is also a heap, for if one million grains of sand is a heap, and nine hundred thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine is still a heap, then if we whittle it down far enough we are left with only one grain of sand, nullifying the entire issue.

	Becoming more practical, and applying this problem to something common in the rule of law... let us say the legal drinking age, the same thing happens. One day before your birthday, at five minutes before midnight the police raid your house and catch you drinking, and then you are still a minor, so you get arrested... or fined... or whatever. Now let us say they get stuck in traffic and arrive six minutes late you are doing nothing wrong. The line is, when it comes to these situations, highly artificial and problematic."

	He continues his argument, but Cat loses interest. What nonsense, laws are laws; they are there to be upheld. That is normal proper conduct, or at least proper in the sense that it would not make a scandal. Her eyes narrow as she follows him around the class-room where he paces, gesturing wildly with his paws to enforce his point. What precisely is he getting at?

	"You have to draw the line somewhere."
"Of course you have, the only question is where?" Teach spins on his heels, he is enjoying this. "Ok thought experiment, let us imagine there are two furs. And these two furs are on different sides of the age barrier stated by law, by, let's say, six months. Is it paedophilia or love?"
Silence falls over the classroom. Students are eying each other. 
"Love." Someone states. 
"Is it? What if the older party manipulates the younger into believing it is?" 
"Then it's paedophilia." 
"What if they really love each other?"
"Can't it be both?" Heads turn, all eyes suddenly trained at the soft voice that emerges from the usually quiet feline slumped in his seat. For his part Clay ignores them completely.
The smile on Mr. D---'s face broadens. "Ah, yes!" He claps his paws. "Now there we have a solution. To protect the majority, we persecute the minority."
"Or we ignore those situations in which it can be proven that it is love." Clay counters.
"We condone it?" A bemused expression flickers across the panther's face.
"Right."

	Pens are scratching furiously across blank paper surfaces. What is he getting at? Cat wonders. 
"Are you defending paedophilia?" She asks. Everyone stops. 
"I defend freedom of choice," Teach replies, "and critical thinking." He adds light-heartedly.
 Her eyes narrow. "Even if it is against the law?" 
"Laws aren't perfect, nor holy."
"So, we should do what we want, without thought of consequence?" This was ridiculous. 

	"Cat... why are you here?" The question throws her of balance. "Well?" She feels everyone is looking at her. His tone is not unkind, the question is just... unexpected. She hesitates.
"Anyone?" Teach starts looking around the hall, meeting the curious gazes of his students, everyone paying attention now. "Why are you guys here?"
"Because we have to, it is the law." The reply comes.
"Ah! But you are not supposed to drink either, but you still do." Touché. "Besides if the law says everyone at the age of eighty should jump of a bridge, is that a good law that we should follow to the letter?" 

	Now he's throwing everything out of proportion. "Well... no... but... yes... but... no..." She counters while he looks up at her, arms crossed, a joyful flicker of his tail the only thing that gives a hint of his enjoyment. To his credit he doesn't press his point. 
"Ok, enough with the complex law stuff. Let us keep it simple, mandatory presence in this class, good or bad?"
The opinions are mixed, muttering starts amongst the students. 
"Good." She proclaims. "Research has shown that the teenaged brain isn't fully developed and can't make such complex decisions with regard to their own future." She crosses her arms in triumph. A hush falls over the classroom. She stares down, eyes blazing as she bathes in her victory. She knows; they are teetering on the edge of a conflict. He could pull rank on her, making him the school's grade A asshole, or he can surrender the point, losing face in the process. 
"The teenaged brain is in development;" He starts, "thusly it must be challenged in order for it to develop. How can someone learn to make good decisions if they are not allowed to make bad ones?" Another small joyful flick of his tail.
She sputters, turns red, but bites the inside of her cheek. 
"How can I," He continues, "a teacher," his words dance on, the students share a look, he is on a role, "treat you as adults, and expect you to behave as adults, if I am unwilling to attribute you with the capabilities of making adult decisions?"

	Because we must learn what good decisions are, we must be led by example! Yes that is what she should say, it is the perfect comeback... unfortunately it arrives a good two hours late. Class has ended; everyone is either going home or studying in the library. Cat, however, abandons her usually three hours of studying in the library, and is stalking across campus towards Mr. D---'s classroom. She has a good comeback, a perfect comeback and she'd be damned if she was going to lose it. She will knock on the door, open it, say hello and right after that throw it, wham, in his face. Buyah! Her feet tap loudly on the tiled floor of the abandoned hallway. The entire thing seems longer now that is devoid of students, behind her, far of in the distance, she can still hear them, shouting, talking, laughing. 

	Most of the classrooms are empty. She hoists her bag further up her shoulder. Near the end of the hall, away from most of the noise, she can see a light coming from Mr D's classroom. Stopping in front of the door, she takes a deep breath, trying to clear her mind and making sure she formulates her killing remark even sharper, better, wittier... She grabs the handle of the door, jiggles it... it's locked. She tries it again, but the green painted slab of wood won't move. She tries to peer through the little frosted window at the side, trying to make out... something, but she can't. Trying the door again, pushing against it harder, but nothing happens. 

	Sound is coming from inside, although it is muffled enough that she cannot hear what it is. Perhaps she should leave, after all the door is probably locked for a reason. Her feet, however, will not budge. Something... is making her stay. She peers at the door, as if by some divine intervention is he is going to be able to peer through solid matter and see what is going on on the other side. Her teeth chew down on her lower lip, the second she realizes she does it she pulls it free. A childish habit, she chides herself. There is of course another door... The various classrooms are interconnected by way of big red doors, in case of a fire. No-one ever uses them though. Some of the older ones are even blocked by bookcases and what not. Hardly anyone notices they are there. 

	Before even realizing what she is doing she has entered the classroom next door. Tiptoeing she crosses the empty room, moving between the rows of abandoned seats. Her heart pounds erratically against her ribs. Her paw rests on the handle of the big red door that should lead to the locked room. For a moment she is caught, torn between the should and shouldn't. Curiously pushes her over the edge, her paw and pushes down. A light click betrays the lock opening. Inside the sounds continue, whoever is making them oblivious to her little intrusion. Carefully she pushes the door open to small crack. A thin sliver of light falls inside cutting across her face still hidden in the otherwise darkened classroom. 