Respond dinnertime

You turn round to the old man, bear your fanged teeth, and say in a low pitched voice, "dinner time."

You feel hairs beginning to grow on the back of your neck, and as you look down at your hands you see hairs sprouting between your claws. Turning them over your pads are nice and shiny.

Hold on. Pads. Claws. Oh no! You've mutated into a were-wolf.