Anyway, it feels amazing to finally be outside again after several days. Once the bandages came off, my body felt like it could take flight. I’m so restless I want to run around and jump everywhere right this second. At this rate, I feel like I could easily leap about two and a half meters straight up from a standing jump. My patron was utterly heartless and refused to even play feather toys with me just because I was an injured cat. Sure, he did pet me a lot instead, but for a high-spirited guy like me, exciting play is a necessity too. Still, now that the bandages finally came off today, I’m expecting he’ll play with me this evening. If he doesn’t play with me today either, I’m fully prepared to punch tooth-sized holes into his fingers.
When we reached the front of the conference room, I sprang lightly down onto the floor.
As I followed my patron through the door and glanced back, I saw Simon’s shoulders drooping again. For such a big guy to look that slumped is honestly unpleasant to look at. Well, for Simon the knight, my patron is his lord. If his lord is blowing icy drafts and pointedly ignoring him, how bad must that feel?
…Alright. Fine. I’ll be generous.
I stopped where I was, turned around, and went back to Simon. When my patron realized I wasn’t following, he turned to look. I sat down next to Simon and let out a drawn-out meow toward my patron.
Patron. I’ll go play with Simon. He looks kind of pitiful.
Those beautiful golden eyes stiffened just a fraction. Looks like he didn’t like that. But I stared straight at him, clearly expressing my will. In the end, my patron turned away alone and disappeared into the conference room. A faint worry crept in—he’s not sulking, is he?—but there’s nothing I can do. My patron needs to taste solitude once in a while to realize how precious I am.
Once my patron’s figure vanished completely, Simon put on a gloomy expression. A big guy looking gloomy is really not a great sight. Judging by his face, he looks like he’s just been brutally dumped by a woman he chased after to the bitter end. I half-expected him to glare at me or at least snort angrily once my patron was gone, but that was a bust too. This is bad. If Simon keeps being like this, what am I supposed to live for from now on? If I don’t hear his snorting breaths, I might end up with thorns growing on my tongue. I tapped Simon’s calf lightly with my front paw.
Cheer up, idiot. That’s just how the world is.
Whether he heard my words of encouragement or not, Simon let out a small sigh. This guy… it doesn’t look like he’ll be easy to comfort with ordinary methods. I mulled it over briefly, then made a big decision. Since I’ve already started being generous, I might as well do it properly.
Meow-meow—
Hey. Follow me.
I called Simon with two short, firm cries, then jerked my head toward him and turned around. After walking a couple of steps, I looked back—he was still standing there blankly, so I had to call him again. But in the end, Simon did start following me.
“…Hmm…”
“Ahem. Khm.”
Walking silently behind me, Simon let out an awkward, pointless cough. I could easily guess what he was thinking. As a knight who serves the Crown Prince, trailing after a cat like this probably does a number on his dignity. On top of that, walking along without a word must’ve made him wonder what the hell he was even doing. But I kept moving without bothering to explain anything to him. I’m not that kind of considerate man.
Tracing a path I hadn’t visited in nearly a week, I arrived at my destination. I scratched at the wall in front of me with my front paw and looked at Simon. Quick on the uptake, Simon pushed the hidden door open. Then he shot me a look that clearly said, What the hell are you doing?
Heh. Kid. This big brother’s about to show you a whole new world.
I flashed Simon a wicked grin and walked into the narrow corridor. In just a moment, Simon’s gloom would vanish without a trace.
“H—huh!”
Simon, who’d been sucking in a sharp breath, clapped a hand over his own mouth. I smacked his calf lightly with my tail, over and over.
Hey. What’s with you? Don’t act like an amateur. If we get caught, I live and you die.
He couldn’t possibly understand my words, but judging by how he desperately stifled his breathing, it seemed he’d come to the same conclusion on his own. Listening to Simon’s breaths grow heavier, I peeked through the open door.
“I’m so upset I could die. I starved myself for days to lose weight, and all that shrank was my chest.”
A 95-point beauty of a maid grumbled as she clutched her chest. Narrowing my eyes, I stared at the chest she was holding—so full it looked ready to burst. If that’s what she calls “shrunk,” I honestly have no idea how big it was before.
“I should lose weight too—this is bad. Just look at how my thighs have thickened.”
A 97-point maid lifted her skirt and stroked her thigh. At the sight of her pale legs, barely covered enough to hide the most crucial parts, Simon’s breathing grew noticeably rougher. I may not be panting myself, but I fully understand how he feels right now. Any gloom or sadness he had must’ve been blown away, replaced by blazing energy surging through every corner of his body. As expected, there’s nothing better than this for reviving a slumped man’s spirit. Gazing at Simon with satisfaction, I thought that maybe I should bring him here from time to time.
Simon, who’d been fixated on the scene inside the room, suddenly looked at me. I met his gaze quietly. We exchanged looks in silence for a long while. No more words were needed between us. All misunderstandings, hurt feelings, and awkwardness melted away like snow. From this moment on, Simon and I became friends bound by the true brotherhood of men.
Feeling the bond between Simon and me grow beyond close—borderline sticky—I turned my gaze back into the room. The rougher Simon’s breathing became, the deeper our friendship grew.
***
“Hmph.” A faint chuckle slipped out. I looked with contentment at my patron, who was laughing out loud—a rare sight. He usually only laughs silently to himself, so hearing even this faint sound put me in an inexplicably good mood.
My patron and I are currently playing tail-catching.
I flick the tip of my tail, and my patron tries to grab it with his hand. It might not sound like much, but it actually requires an impressive amount of concentration.
First, I lie comfortably on my side and stretch my tail straight out. Then, as if seducing him, I wiggle the tip back and forth. If the movements get too predictable, it stops being fun, so I have to mix things up. I twitch the tip, then suddenly whip it around to smack the floor, or let it sway gently in the air before spinning it off in a completely different direction.
My patron watches my tail quietly, then suddenly lunges. At first, he grabbed at it wildly, but now he’s started using his head a bit. He props his head on one hand and lies there at an angle, pretending to be uninterested before launching a sneak attack. Of course, I predict even that, so I don’t let myself get caught easily.
If my patron fails to catch my tail five times in a row, he has to take a penalty. I swing my tail wide and tap his arm three times, making sure not to hurt him. My patron seems to like it even when I hit him. His golden eyes curve softly as he smiles.
On the other hand, sometimes my tail gets caught. When that happens, I’m the one who gets punished. My patron can stroke or knead any part of me he feels like, a few times over. I allow anything except touching my belly, and he usually chooses to knead my front paws. At first, he only touched them lightly, but as his experience has leveled up, his handwork has gotten more… profound, which worries me. He doesn’t just poke my plush paw pads with his fingers anymore—he even gently strokes the soft skin between my toes. When that happens, my paws spread wide without me meaning to, and my tail flaps around. My patron finds that sight amusing and laughs out loud, something he almost never does. While lamenting my crushed dignity, I still feel a bit proud that I made him laugh.
Of course, I’m not endlessly generous with him. If my patron’s kneading goes too far, I snap up his hand and bite down hard. Well, even when I bite, I don’t draw blood. I just clamp onto one finger and press down with my teeth. Two firm presses with my right canine, two with my left—there won’t be a wound, but it’ll definitely hurt. It’s my way of saying that if he keeps fooling around, it won’t be fun anymore. But instead of feeling threatened, he likes it so much it’s a problem. He enjoys it so much I sometimes wonder if this should be a reward rather than a punishment.
“Your Highness.”
A servant approaches and calls out to my patron. Feeling disappointed that our tail-catching game has been interrupted, I glare sulkily at the servant. He looks extremely distressed—like someone suffering from ten-day-old constipation, torn between pushing with all his might and worrying that if he does, his asshole might tear apart. When my patron asks, “What is it?” the servant opens his mouth in a trembling voice.
“Princess Rosemary requests an audience.”
“Rosemary?” my patron repeats. Hearing a name I’d never heard before, I perked up my ears and looked at him.
Who’s Rosemary?
“Brother!”
At the sight of someone charging in while shouting at the top of her lungs, I snorted disdainfully. Hearing she was a princess, I’d rushed to groom myself, expecting some stunning beauty to appear—so what is this? A brat? Total disappointment. Her dress might be extravagant, but there’s not a shred of princess-like charm about her. A princess should, at minimum, have a pure face, a luscious chest, and a slender waist, shouldn’t she? This kid has none of the three. That’s definitely not a princess. Just an elementary-schooler.
“Our Ruby won’t come out from under the bed! What are you going to do about it?!”
The elementary-school princess shrieks. Oh, yeah—definitely a kid. That terrifying volume is something only a grade-school gremlin could manage. Honestly, I’m a little scared right now. It hurts my pride to admit it, but it can’t be helped. There’s no creature in this world that can defeat a grade-schooler. Their brains aren’t equipped with basic common sense, like not grabbing a cat’s elegant tail without permission, or not firing ultrasonic sound weapons directly next to a cat’s ears.
“Did you really come all this way just to say that, Rosemary?”
That’s my patron for you. Seeing him ask in his usual calm face and voice makes him look completely different. How can he be so unflinching in the face of a grade-schooler? I guess I’ve been underestimating my patron all this time.
“What do you mean, ‘just that’?! This is all because of your cat, Brother! Ruby must’ve been so traumatized that she’s still trembling under the bed! What are you going to do about it?!”
The brat screeches, unleashing ultrasonic waves nonstop. She doesn’t forget to stomp her feet hard in between, either. I desperately tried to cover my ears with my front paws. The thing I hate most in this world is bugs, the second is the sound of fingernails scraping a chalkboard, and the third is elementary-schoolers shrieking.
While I was wriggling around trying to block out the noise, the brat suddenly started looking around—and then her eyes landed on me. The moment our gazes met, I knew. My ears were doomed.
Oh, Jesus.
“HEY—!!!!!!!!!!”
…You know how it is. You doze off while watching TV, then wake up to that rainbow test pattern on the screen. The instant you recognize it, there’s that piiiii— sound ringing in your ears. A strangely irritating, strangely skin-crawling, strangely infuriating sound that keeps echoing long after you’ve rushed to turn the TV off. That lingering piiiii— tinnitus that won’t go away. That’s exactly what I’m hearing right now. Shaking my head violently, I clawed at the bedsheets with my nails.
No. I need to get a grip. I can’t lose consciousness. If I pass out like this, I’ll end up falling straight into that grade-school gremlin’s hands…
