I decided to generously forgive the man who had trespassed into my territory without my permission. He’d come to make clothes for my patron, so what could I do—I had to let it slide. Still, it was only right that he pay an appropriate price in return. There’s something like that, isn’t there? A sort of usage fee. If he was entering my territory and selling clothes to my patron, then he ought to pay taxes to me. If he sold my patron one outfit, he could make me one, too—or at least play with that tape measure dangling from his arm. I’d even accept that. I tapped the end of the tape measure hanging in midair with my front paw, pressuring the man.
So? You gonna make me clothes, or are you gonna play with this? If you don’t like either, you wanna taste my front-paw punch? For reference, punches are ten hits per outfit.
“Hahaha. Looks like the cat is bored.”
The man burst out laughing as he spoke, then slightly moved his arm to shake the end of the tape measure. Without even realizing it, I started smacking the tape measure end papapap with both front paws, thinking to myself—this man is skilled.
I suddenly bit down on the tape measure end and stared straight at my patron.
Patron. I want clothes too. Not just a necklace—clothes. You could make them from the leftover fabric after tailoring your clothes, right? It’s not like I’m going to grow that much—why be so stingy? Is there some law saying cats can only wear necklaces? Is there a law saying cats have to walk around stark naked? Humans have human rights, and cats have cat rights. I have the right not to be half-naked too. So clothes. Clothes, clothes, clothes, clothes, clothes, clothes. Clothes. Clothes.
“Your Highness. It seems this fellow wants to wear clothes as well. Hahaha. I’ll make one outfit for the cat too, using the exact same fabric as Your Highness’s clothes.”
Huh? The man spoke instead of my patron. I looked at him. When our eyes met, he gave me a wink. I released the tape measure and placed my front paw firmly on his calf in praise. This man knows business. From this moment on, I decided to call him Uncle Bondre.
“If the cat wears the same outfit as Your Highness, it’ll be absolutely adorable.”
“Oh my. What shall we do?”
I’m the one getting the clothes, but the maids are the ones losing their minds with joy. They clutch their cheeks with both hands and squeal. My popularity really shows no sign of fading.
I padded over to my patron’s feet and poked my head under the draped fabric. I slipped all the way inside, then turned around and stuck only my head out, judging whether the cloth suited my fur. The maids clapped and praised how well it suited me. I looked up at my patron. When our eyes met, he praised me in an amused voice.
“It suits you well.”
Already feeling like I was wearing my new clothes, I lifted my chin and gracefully spun around in place. The fabric nearly slipped off midway, but thankfully Julia caught it, preventing any tragedy.
Once the clothes were decided and Uncle Bondre withdrew, I burrowed straight into my patron’s arms.
These days, I’ve gotten better at both the technique and the timing of cuddling, so instead of waiting for my patron to pick me up, I just jump straight in. And my patron, skillful as ever, catches me perfectly.
Cradled in his arms, I buried my nose into his hand and the back of his neck, sniffing deeply. It seems he washed his hands—the smell is much fainter—but it’s definitely still there. The smell he always has after visiting the Emperor. That scent, mixed with old age and medicine.
Thanks to my own grandpa and grandma, I don’t hate the smell of old people, but the medicinal scent mixed in here makes me feel unpleasant for no reason. My patron knows I dislike it, so he always washes his hands before coming in, but there’s nothing he can do about the faint traces that remain. It makes me uneasy that my patron spends hours in a place that smells like this. But it can’t be helped. If it’s the Emperor, then that’s my patron’s father—he is the Crown Prince, after all. As a son, visiting his sick father is only natural. I hate hospital smells, and I hate filth even more, but if my own grandparents were to fall ill someday and lose control of themselves, it wouldn’t feel dirty to me at all. My patron probably feels the same way.
Hmm, but…
I lifted my head and stared at my patron’s face—more precisely, at his lips.
There’s no way he kissed the Emperor, right? Surely not. He’s grown now—he wouldn’t do something like that. Yeah. That must be it. He’s so shy that even if it were his own father, he wouldn’t be able to do something like that.
My patron’s lips are clean, not a trace of chapping. Naturally so, with the maids caring for him day and night. His complexion is good, so the color of his lips is pretty, and their shape is neat as well.
There’s really nothing lacking about this guy. Crown Prince, handsome face, tall, and even kind. He’s practically the embodiment of “your mom’s friend’s son.” Still, I suppose the world isn’t completely unfair—he does have weaknesses. Despite being so perfect, he’s shy and terribly lonely… really now. At least I’m by his side, so that’s something.
Right. A guy this shy wouldn’t just go swinging those lips around wherever he pleases. That kiss must’ve been something special, just for me. I mean, I am a cat, after all.
Ah. Our eyes met. I hurriedly looked away from his lips. Seeing his golden eyes curve into a quiet smile made my chest flutter for no reason. There’s no way he noticed me staring at his lips, right? Yeah. What would he know what I was looking at? I was looking at his face. His face. Lips are part of the face anyway—so face is face. Exactly. Exactly.
I licked my front paw nonchalantly, pretending nothing was wrong. Not because I felt guilty or embarrassed—just in case he misunderstood.
But still, why did he suddenly have clothes made? He already has plenty. Could there be some kind of party coming up? I hope so. I’d like to see a party too. If I go to the party wearing matching outfits with my patron, everyone’s eyes will definitely be on us. Those kinds of parties are always full of incredibly pretty young ladies, right? They’ll all swarm around me, desperate to touch me just once. And I’ll dodge away at the last second, tormenting their hearts. I’m not an easy man, after all.
“Your Highness. Baron Valois is waiting in the office.”
A servant entered and spoke to my patron. My patron nodded and started walking toward the door. I thought he might be taking the day off, but of course—not a chance. He’s heading back to work again. The sun will be setting soon, but my patron is almost too diligent. It can’t be helped. He is the Crown Prince—if there’s work, he has to do it. Especially when the Emperor is bedridden with illness.
Using the arm holding my body as a stepping stone, I climbed up onto my patron’s shoulder.
Digging sharp claws into clothing while climbing up is no easy feat—especially when you’re trying not to scratch your patron’s skin. But who do you think I am? With claw control bordering on divine skill, I punched neat little holes pop, pop into the fabric only, arriving safely at my patron’s shoulder. His shoulders are wide enough that once I find my balance, there’s no danger of falling.
My patron, who’d stood still until I settled into a stable position, began walking again. Sitting on his shoulder, I lifted my chin proudly and accepted the humans’ greetings. Every time their eyes went wide in astonishment, my chest puffed out even more.
Walking side by side with my patron feels nice, but riding on his shoulder like this? It’s absolutely exhilarating. Below me feels dizzyingly far away, like climbing a tree, and the gentle sway as he walks feels just like riding an amusement attraction. And best of all—humans who usually look down at me now stare up with bulging eyes. It feels incredible.
In my buoyant mood, I looked at my patron’s face right beside me.
When I sit on his shoulder, we don’t need to look up or down—our eyes meet straight on. I let out a rumbling purr and bumped my head lightly against his. Then I rubbed and rubbed shamelessly. After rubbing him several times and sniffing, my patron’s head was completely soaked in my scent. I could feel him stifle laughter in his throat, probably tickled. Watching those softly smiling golden eyes, I bumped my head gently against his once more.
