I struggled desperately to pull my fading consciousness back together when, all of a sudden, I felt something warm. When I lifted my gaze, my patron was already close, gently stroking my back. He wasn’t covering my ears, but just his touch alone made my frayed nerves slowly melt away.
Thinking this was my only way to survive, I shoved myself straight into my patron’s arms without hesitation. Once I was held against his chest, the warmth and solidity finally let me relax.
“Bring Ruby back! You thieving cat!”
The brat shrieked as she glared at me in my patron’s arms. Using my patron as a sturdy shield, I narrowed my eyes at her and flashed a vicious grin.
Yeah. Come at me now.
The brat stamped her feet in frustration. Still, she didn’t hurl random insults or come any closer. Even while screaming however she pleased, she looked a little scared too. Since he’s an older brother with a huge age gap, he must be pretty intimidating to her.
My patron’s chest, holding and stroking me, swelled once… then sank. Looks like he sighed. Well, having a much-younger sister barge in and raise hell like this would put anyone in an awkward spot. There’s nothing he can really do. If I had an elementary-school-aged sibling who pulled this kind of stunt, I’d start by flicking their forehead about twenty times. But my patron’s too kind to do that. I’d love to scold the brat on his behalf, but… I have a personal policy of not engaging with grade-school gremlins, so I’ll pass.
“I’ll send an escort, so return to your palace now, Rosemary.”
At my patron’s words, the brat froze completely. She stood there like time itself had stopped, then tilted her head with a prim expression and asked,
“…Really?”
“Yes. So go back now.”
At his confirmation, the brat grabbed the hem of her dress and bent her knees slightly.
“Then I’ll take my leave.”
Watching her trot away after that polite farewell, I thought to myself,
What the hell?
Once the brat left, the room fell quiet again. With the ultrasonic barrage finally gone, the silence felt almost oppressive. It made me wonder what on earth had just swept through here. I mean… the brat stormed in, jumped around screaming, screamed again, screamed again, screamed again, screamed again, kept screaming and screaming… and then, the moment she was told she’d get an escort, she politely bowed and zoomed off like nothing had happened.
…What was that kid?
Definitely a grade-school gremlin. She screeched like she was about to commit ultrasonic murder, then the second she got what she wanted, she left cheerfully as if nothing had happened. The one who should’ve been exhausted was her, but somehow I’m the one completely worn out just from listening. Exactly how terrifying a creature is a grade-schooler, anyway?
It seems my patron feels much the same. When he drops down onto the bed with a thud, there’s a faint look of fatigue on his face. I felt a deep sense of camaraderie with him—and guilt, too. All this happened just because I beat the hell out of that cat…. If I’d known the orc cat’s owner was an elementary-schooler, I never would’ve hit it. I’d have just avoided it entirely.
Meow—
Sorry, patron.
I lifted my head, met my patron’s eyes, and offered a sincere apology.
I curled up into a tight ball on my patron’s chest and closed my eyes.
Normally, it wouldn’t be time to sleep yet, but both my patron and I were utterly exhausted thanks to the brat. We desperately needed rest. If we slept well, surely we’d forget all the unpleasantness. We had to—for the sake of my mental health.
My patron’s chest slowly rose, paused, then gently fell. I savored the sensation with my eyes closed.
Lying on someone’s chest, you can feel so many things.
My patron’s body heat. The thudding of his heart. The sound of blood flowing through his veins. The rhythm of his breathing—all of it is transmitted through the bodies pressed together. Lying there with my eyes closed, listening to those sounds in the quiet room, I almost feel like I’ve slipped inside my patron’s body. Or like we might stick together completely and become one. It’s a strangely, deeply happy feeling.
Sometimes, while sleeping, my patron shifts slightly. When that happens, I occasionally wake up. I lift my head, check his sleeping face, then rest my head back on his chest. Hearing his heart pounding away when I’m half-awake makes me unbelievably comfortable.
Now and then, my patron will absentmindedly stroke my body in his sleep. When he does, I snatch his hand, hug it tightly with my front paws, and lick it with my tongue—lap, lap, lap. Of course, he’s not fully conscious when this happens; it’s all done half-asleep. While I’m drowsily licking his fingers, my patron stirs awake a little. He opens his eyes halfway, checks that it’s me, then lets out a small snort of laughter and closes his eyes again. When that soft laugh reaches me through his chest, I smack his stomach lightly with my tail—slap, slap. We both smile faintly and fall back asleep.
But tonight, for some reason, sleep won’t come.
It’s probably not because we went to bed too early. I’m definitely exhausted enough. It feels more like there’s a sharp, prickling tension on one side of my head. What is it? What’s bothering me this much? I feel like I might get irrationally annoyed any second now.
Hmm…
Hmmmm…
Hmmmmmm…
Ah—!!!
A sudden realization struck me, and I smacked my patron’s stomach with my tail.
“Rosemary?”
“Did you really come all this way just to say that, Rosemary?”
“I’ll send an escort, so return to your palace now, Rosemary.”
Rosemary. Rosemary. Rosemary!!!
My patron said that brat’s name no fewer than three times today!
I sprang up and raked my front paws viciously across my patron’s chest. With my nerves this frayed, I didn’t have the presence of mind to control my strength. His pajamas tore under my sharp claws, but that was completely irrelevant to me right now. I screeched at my patron as he opened his eyes, my voice sharp and furious.
Kyaaak—kak—!
Hey! You bastard! Why have you never once called my name?!
***
My name is K.
Where I originally came from, I had the family name “Park.” The Old Witch called me “Blackie,” and the humans here mostly call me “Nabi.” Sometimes they just call me “cat.” I’ve even been called “pspsps.” They’re all equally rustic and lacking in dignity, but I don’t care. No matter what they call me, my name is K.
I don’t think a name is all that important.
Even if someone were to call me by the orc cat’s name, “Ruby,” that wouldn’t magically turn me into an orc cat. And even if someone called me “Simon,” that wouldn’t turn me into a hulking human with bulging muscles. So the name itself isn’t all that important.
That said, just because the name you’re called by isn’t important doesn’t mean names themselves are useless. As long as you live, you inevitably have moments where you call someone, or are called by someone. You could shout “Hey!” or “Oi!” or “Idiot!” to stop a friend walking ahead of you, but calling their name would be far better. And when thinking about someone, it’s much nicer to think, “*** was like that,” rather than, “That guy was like that.” Or maybe not.
“……”
“……”
So. Go on. Call me now.
My patron says nothing. I keep up the silent pressure, glaring into his golden eyes where a hint of confusion has surfaced.
Hurry up. Call me.
But no matter how much I pressure him, my patron’s mouth doesn’t open. Normally, he understands my intentions like a ghost haunting his brain, but this time he doesn’t get it at all. Irritation surging, I sharply turned my head away from him.
Bastard. Useless bastard. Unqualified patron.
I’ve misjudged him all this time. He’s not worthy of being the patron of a beautiful, superior cat like me. He doesn’t deserve to stroke my soft fur, and he doesn’t deserve to play tail-catching with me. He had no trouble calling that elementary-school brat “Rosemary, Rosemary,” over and over.
Hmph. Hmph. Eat shit.
“What is it that you don’t like?”
My patron asks quietly. Instead of answering with a meow, I smack away the hand reaching out to stroke my back. How dare someone so unqualified try to touch my fur? Not a chance.
I hiss—kyaaak—at my patron as he stiffens while looking at his rejected hand, then start pacing around him. My insides bubble and boil as I circle him again and again, and somehow, with every step, my irritation only grows worse. No matter how hard I try to calm myself, it just won’t work.
My patron watches me thoughtfully as I circle him. I pretend not to notice, but whenever our eyes meet, I lash out with another sharp kyaaak!
To be fair, this isn’t entirely my patron’s fault. I know that.
No matter how well he reads my mood, it’s unreasonable to expect him to understand something as specific as “My name is K, so hurry up and call it.” I know that—but I’m still hurt. Because I’m hurt, I’m irritated. And because I’m irritated, I’m angry.
I stop walking and glance over the necklaces scattered across the floor.
They’re things my patron had a merchant bring in and lay out because I’d been irritable all day. Normally, I’d have been thrilled and picked out something I liked, but there’s no way they’d catch my eye right now. They only annoyed me more. So I kicked the necklaces around at random. I sent them flying with sharp yowls until the merchant’s face turned deathly pale, then finally stopped.
When I shift my gaze a little, I see several feather pens lying there, utterly destroyed.
They’re the feather pens my patron took out and shook after the necklace strategy failed. Instead of chasing them excitedly, I snatched them away and used them as stress relief. After viciously tearing them apart while glaring at my patron, he finally realized how serious the situation was.
I hop up onto the sofa in the corner of the room and curl into a tight ball.
When I crack one eye open, I see my patron quietly watching me. His face is slightly stiff, which almost makes me feel sorry for him. But I harden my heart. If I sleep with him while feeling like this, whether half-asleep or fully awake, I’ll definitely shred his chest like a rag.
Kyak!
