After the servant confirms that I’ve quietly disappeared under the table and secretly slides a basket in for me, a brief bit of labor becomes necessary once I’ve loaded it with the spoils. I have to push the full basket all the way to my patron’s feet. The geezers all know perfectly well that this basket is mine, so it’s unlikely anyone would steal it—but abandoning my spoils carelessly is something righteous thief K’s pride simply won’t allow. So I shove the basket forward with my head, pushing and pushing until it reaches my patron’s feet. When I get tired, I clamp my teeth onto the edge of the basket and drag it along with little grunts.
Very occasionally, there’s a geezer with real sense.
I only fleece exactly one person a day, but somehow there are geezers who know their turn is coming and arrive with their offerings already prepared in their pockets. When I sit beneath their feet and tap their calf with my paw, they quickly pull out a silk pouch from their pocket and place it in front of me. Using my front paws and mouth, I carefully open the pouch a little and check the contents. Most of the time, I’m extremely satisfied with what’s inside. As a reward for sparing me the trouble, I take one gold coin from the pouch and return it to him, then grab the pouch in my mouth and drag it away. Honestly, dragging a pouch is far easier than hauling a basket.
Unfortunately, not everything always goes that smoothly.
Once, something like this happened. I was heading under the table toward my target when some completely different geezer stuck his hand beneath the table and gently jingled a gold coin. I watched him in silence, wondering if the old man had lost his mind. Maybe he figured gold wasn’t enough, because this time he slipped off a large ring he was wearing and wiggled it enticingly. When I still didn’t move, he took off the big pendant hanging around his neck and slowly lowered it under the table, swaying it back and forth. The whole thing looked like he was begging me to please take it.
Curious about what kind of geezer would pull something like that, I approached and lifted my head to check his face. And lo and behold—it was none other than that Duke Licht geezer. The very same vile old man who had once humiliated Phantom Cat K beyond compare, and who had even extorted not just allowance money but an entire knight’s salary from our poor Simon.
I was furious.
Wasn’t he the geezer who wouldn’t give a single gold coin to Simon, who had no allowance and was growing old without even being able to confess to a woman or go on a date? That’s precisely why I’ve been playing the righteous thief, to keep Simon fed. And yet here he was, enchanted by my elegant, dignified figure, voluntarily offering up gold coins and jeweled ornaments. What a thoroughly wicked old bastard. No matter how charming I may be, basic human decency dictates that you feed your own kid first.
Unaware of my thoughts, Duke Licht beamed broadly as he dangled the pendant toward me beneath his feet. I stared straight at the geezer’s face, brimming with expectation, then hurled a furious front-paw punch at the pendant. Watching the pendant fly away from my merciless strike, Duke Licht’s face fell. I didn’t bother to look at him any longer and turned away with icy disdain.
I am a righteous thief who fleeces nobles. I am not a cat who accepts bribes or gifts. The geezer needed to understand that fact clearly. In any case, after that, he never tried anything like it again. As a form of revenge, I made an exception and never fleeced Duke Licht at all—but whenever I see him these days, he fidgets with his pocket like he’s been waiting eagerly for me to come.
Once the morning meeting ends, my patron and I have lunch together.
My patron, who worked hard through the meeting, and I, who worked hard as a righteous thief, both tear enthusiastically into our food.
On days when the spoils are especially plentiful, I’m in an exceptionally good mood. When our eyes meet during the meal, I lightly bump my head against his arm and rub against him, offering a bit of extra service. In return, he presses his lips firmly against my head.
After lunch, when we go to the office, I climb into the yarn basket placed on the desk and get ready for a nap. I hug my beloved ball of yarn—Big Guy—and roll this way and that, greeting it properly. Then, holding him tight, I let out a long, lazy yawn.
Once my patron sits down and prepares to work, he rubs my head with his fingers and gives me a “sleep well” greeting. I snatch his finger with my front paws, hold it tightly, and chew on the tip with determined little bites. Being chewed by my sharp teeth ought to be terrifying, but he just loves it. That’s why chewing on his fingers has lately become part of my service repertoire.
When I start nodding off in earnest, my patron bumps his lips against my head and whispers, “K.” Since he rarely speaks, that whispered “K” carries various meanings. This time, it means “sleep well.” I respond by gently swishing my tail while keeping my eyes closed.
When I wake from my sweet nap, nine times out of ten my patron is stroking me. I stretch languidly and yawn, blinking away the drowsiness. Strangely enough, the Big Guy I was hugging is flung far away. It seems my sleeping habits are rather terrible.
The time after my nap doesn’t have any fixed schedule.
Usually, I just lie there and watch my patron. Sometimes I let out a gentle “nyaaang—” toward those pretty golden eyes, or snatch the softly moving quill pen and dash off to a corner. Other times, I plop myself squarely on top of his documents and demand that he play with me. More often than not, he indulges me.
If I watch for a while and see that my patron truly looks busy, I magnanimously seek out other entertainment. I usually go play with Simon or hang around the maids’ waiting room. With Simon, I spend time sharing manly friendship, and he’s learning the true joys of being a man from me. At this rate, he might even get a girlfriend soon—after all, I’ve been coaching him diligently.
When I go to the maids’ waiting room, I instantly become a star. I’m a star in everyday life anyway, but there I’m especially special. I gladly move from lap to lap in their arms, meowing sweetly to my heart’s content. As they hold and stroke me, they let go of the fatigue and stress of daily life. I don’t really do anything in particular. But since they’re happy just serving me, my very existence becomes a form of service.
When I’m with the maids, I sometimes briefly think that it wouldn’t be so bad if the curse never broke at all. Being able to rub my face against such bouncy, nice chests is something only possible because I’m a cat. If I did that in human form, they’d tear my hair out on the spot.
Anyway, that’s how my days pass.
Life in the imperial palace isn’t bad.
Here, I have my thing—a wonderful Crown Prince who’s kind, gentle, diligent, handsome, great at smiling with his eyes, and utterly smitten with me. I have my friend Simon, with whom I share manly friendship. There are maids with bouncy chests, and a round, red, adorable Big Guy. Everything in life is abundant and enjoyable.
But no matter how happy a life may be, problems are inevitable. There are no exceptions. If there’s a human who says, “My life is nothing but rich and happy. There’s nothing I could possibly complain about. I’m completely satisfied,” that’s a massive delusion. That problem is lurking somewhere, waiting to suddenly jump out and trip up your happy life.
The same goes for me.
I live well as the cat of my patron and thing, a splendid Crown Prince—but as always, life has its problems for me too.
It is night.
By night, I mean the time when the sun has completely set and it’s pitch-dark.
Yes, there’s a time that’s still called evening even though it’s dark, but please don’t nitpick over such trivial details.
In any case, it’s night.
When all the day’s routines are finished and night falls, I become a little afraid.
Plenty of humans would surely be puzzled to hear that I’m afraid. What on earth could a brave, manly cat like me possibly fear? What I’m afraid of is none other than—
“K.”
That patron of mine, approaching with a gentle eye-smile.
During the day, my patron is kind, mild, gentle, and endlessly considerate. But when night falls, he transforms into a mouth monster.
He stalks opportunities to approach me and attempt a lip headbutt. If he manages a lip headbutt at night, I’ll instantly turn back into a human—so I do everything I can to avoid it. Of course, I can’t stand looking frightened, so I try to dodge him as naturally as possible. But he’s not so easily fooled.
Right now, I’m sitting elegantly atop a large display cabinet.
I look down at my approaching patron with relaxed eyes as he smiles up at me. That’s probably how it looks to him. But my brain is working at top speed. Can that guy really drag me down? Can his hand even reach the top of the cabinet? I’m calculating all of it. This cabinet is the tallest piece of furniture in the bedroom. If even this refuge fails, I’ll have nowhere left to run.
My patron reaches out his hand. I smack at it with my front paw, tapping it away to express my refusal.
Move your hand. You mouth monster bastard.
But the bastard laughs.
I swing my front paw faster, slapping his hand repeatedly—smack smack smack smack.
Get lost. I said get lost. Ever since I met you, my lips have never known peace.
Despite my fierce resistance, my patron captures me with absurd ease. Then, looking at me with utterly satisfied eyes, he walks toward the bed. It seems today’s escape ends here.
