There are many kinds of kisses. I’ve experienced plenty myself.
I got kissed every time our grandpa and grandma made eye contact with me. Cheeks, forehead—those two slobbered all over me so much it honestly felt like my face was going to wear down. Mom wasn’t all that different either, but once I entered middle school, it tapered off a bit.
I’ve been kissed by a girl, too. Back in kindergarten, she ambushed me out of nowhere. So I took revenge by yanking her skirt clean off. I got scolded for going too far over “just one kiss,” but I never apologized. I hate it when anyone touches my body without permission—so a kiss? Not a chance in hell.
Anyway, I’ve experienced a few kisses like that, sure…
But why did my patron do that? Why did he press his lips to my head?
It wasn’t even a quick peck. He pressed his lips flat against my head and held them there, like he meant to stick himself on me. For a long time. And he did it twice!
Why did he do that? Why—seriously, why?
Why was it that with those damn lips stuck to my head, every hair from the tip of my head to the tip of my tail stood on end, crackling? Why did my claws keep sliding out and retracting on their own? Why did my breath hitch—hup—and stop like that? Why am I scratching my head all day, doing nothing but thinking about it?
Why! Why! Why! Why?!
“Hey. You okay?”
I looked at Simon with exhausted eyes. I’d thought too much—now I was dizzy and even nauseous. I think I might have a fever, too.
Hey, Simon. Did my patron kiss you too, or something?
Staring at Simon’s broad forehead, I tried to imagine it. My patron pressing his lips firmly to Simon’s forehead. But I just couldn’t picture it. No—before that, it made my skin crawl.
I shook my head hard, trying to switch gears.
Okay. Then how about Simon kissing my patron’s forehead—
Ack! Ack! Ack! Ack! No!
Nope, not that either. Again. Let’s think again.
Right. If Simon pressed his lips firmly to my head… how would that feel?
Would my head get all tingly like it did with my patron? Would every hair from head to tail stand on end, my whole body wriggling helplessly, overwhelmed by that crackling sensation? The fastest way is to try it myself.
I steeled myself and locked onto Simon’s lips.
I dipped my head slightly, wiggled my butt, and calculated the target point, shortest route, approach speed, and estimated collision force. Then I squeezed my eyes shut and hurled myself forward without hesitation. Charge.
Thud!!
“Ghk!”
I cracked one eye open. Simon was clutching his mouth. I rubbed my head with my front paw, scrubbing at it. It hurt—I’d smacked right into his teeth. Damn it. What the hell. No tingling. No wriggling. No crackling thrill at all.
“What the hell was that?!”
Simon roared, snorting angrily. I endured the dull ache in my head and sharply turned my face toward the window. Yeah—Simon’s lips don’t do anything like that. It only felt that way because it was my patron.
After grumbling beside me for a while, Simon crouched down and cautiously leaned his face closer. I smacked his snorting face with my tail. But he didn’t back off. Persistent men aren’t attractive—but he doesn’t know that.
“C–cough. Uh… did you, maybe… bring it?”
After dragging it out forever, Simon whispered under his breath. I shot him a narrow-eyed look. His big face was flushed red. Looking closer, even his eyes were slightly unfocused.
Clicking my tongue internally, I stood up. Well, we’d built some manly camaraderie today—it’d be awkward to refuse his request now. When times are tough, you help each other out. What can you do?
I hopped down from the windowsill and padded over to the display cabinet, flattening my body against the floor. I slipped my front paw into the narrow gap underneath and swished it around—then my claws snagged the target. I hooked it and yanked it out in one go.
“Ooooh!”
Simon rushed over and dropped to his knees in front of me, folding himself into a reverent posture. I set the item down before him, sat, and lifted my chin proudly.
“Is this really Elena’s handkerchief?”
With trembling hands, Simon picked up the white lace cloth. I nodded, confirming it.
He couldn’t even bring himself to grip it tightly, just cradling it in his hands as he let out one awed gasp after another. He’ll probably keep worshipping it like that for a while. But I know better. Before long, that handkerchief’s purpose will gradually change. First, after much agonizing, he’ll press it to his nose and sniff deeply. Then he’ll start rubbing it all over his cheeks. Of course, there’s a next step, and another after that—but there’s no need to spell those out.
Still, in some ways, this guy really is innocent.
I offered to help since he said he’d fallen for a maid, but after days of groaning and agonizing, all he dared ask for was a handkerchief. I was fully prepared to steal Elena’s underwear for him if needed. If he’s this happy over just a handkerchief, he should just run off and confess already. With his manly looks and being a duke’s son, isn’t he ridiculously rich? If Simon confessed, Elena would say yes on the spot.
“Thank you,”
Simon looked at me with warm eyes. I scratched my curling toes against the carpet. If he’s this happy, maybe I really should steal Elena’s underwear tomorrow.
Turning away, he slyly buried his nose into the handkerchief. He inhaled sharply, snnff, and his broad shoulders shuddered. Ah—youth is a beautiful thing.
Shaking my head at Simon lost in bliss, I hopped back up onto the windowsill. The sun-warmed ledge was nice and toasty. When I lay down on it, my belly warmed up, and a rumbling purr spilled out on its own.
What’s my patron doing right now, I wonder?
Is he sitting blankly beside the sick Emperor? Or getting lectured about something? I don’t know what illness the Emperor has, but he’d better not pass it on to my patron.
…Wait. He’s not kissing the Emperor on the forehead or something, is he? He did it to me twice. For four full seconds each time. He’s not doing it three times to the Emperor, holding it for over five seconds, right?
I couldn’t contain the sudden spike of irritation and scratched violently at the windowsill with my claws. If that bastard patron even tries it, I won’t let it slide!
“You suit it extremely well, Your Highness.”
My ears perked at the voice drifting into my sleep. I’d definitely never heard this voice before. When I opened my eyes, I was buried deep between the bed’s cushions. I must’ve fallen asleep sunbathing on the windowsill and been moved here. If someone had touched me, I should’ve woken up—but sleeping straight through it is nothing short of disgraceful for a cat. I guess living too comfortably lately has dulled my instincts.
I yawned wide and stretched. Front legs extended—stretch—then back legs—stretch—arched my back into a curve and stretched all four together, and my whole body felt refreshed. I really don’t know how I can be this flexible.
“Oh! Nabi’s awake?”
As I finished stretching, Julia approached. I rubbed my cheek against the hem of her clothes, grinning, and greeted her with a nyaang. Julia stroked my head, wearing a look like I was just too cute to live. When I turned my gaze, I saw humans swarming everywhere. And among them, I spotted my patron. I hopped down from the bed at once.
Nyaang—
Patron. What’re you doing?
As I padded over, my patron gave me a faint, smiling squint of his eyes. I answered with a nyaang of my own.
The maids around him made space for me to pass, but—huh? There’s a human I don’t recognize. I stared straight at the middle-aged man who was watching me with curiosity, then shifted my gaze to what he was holding. In his hands was a lavish outfit. Judging by the cords wrapped around his arms, he seemed to be a designer—like Uncle Andre. Except this one isn’t bald.
