I’m following behind my patron right now. For some reason, the sight of his back as he walks ahead feels unfamiliar. When I think about it, that makes sense. I’ve always walked beside my patron, after all.
My patron doesn’t look back or wait for me—he just keeps walking.
“Meow,” I called out to him, but he didn’t even turn around. I don’t know if he’s angry or if there’s something urgent going on. Since I can’t see his face, there’s no way to tell what kind of expression he’s wearing. I cried out again, louder this time, “Meow!” But my patron keeps walking.
You jerk.
By the way… where are we even going?
That thought suddenly occurred to me, and I looked around.
Ah. This is a forest. It seems to be a wooded area somewhere within the gardens. When I look forward again, my patron is already quite far ahead. I hurriedly scampered after him.
After walking for a while, my patron suddenly stopped. I steeled myself, determined to give him a good piece of my mind, and approached him—but someone was standing in front of him. When I got closer, I saw it was a woman. Judging by her long, trailing dress, she looks like someone of high status. It seems my patron came here to meet this woman.
“Meow—”
Hey, patron. Who’s that woman?
I asked him, but there was no answer. He doesn’t even look at me. What is wrong with him today? It’s like he can’t hear my voice at all.
Suddenly, my patron takes the woman’s hand. He does it so carefully, as if he’s handling a thin glass cup. Then, still holding her hand, he pulls her close and wraps her tightly in his arms. Irritation surges up inside me, and I hiss sharply at my patron. But the two of them don’t budge at all—they just keep holding each other.
After a long embrace, their bodies finally part, and my patron slowly lowers his head. His lips come down onto the woman’s lips. I forget to hiss as I stare at their lips, stuck together like glutinous rice cakes. No matter how many times I look, their lips remain firmly pressed together. With no need to see any more, I unsheathe my claws and leap toward my patron.
Kyaaaak—!!
You bastard!!
……
…… ……
……Huh?
I blink blankly and cautiously look around. Then I realized it.
What the hell. It was a dream.
Once I recognize it as a dream, all the strength drains from my body. It was an unbelievably realistic dream. You can tell just by looking at how my right front paw is still stretched out exactly the way it was when I was trying to claw my patron. I’m grateful that it’s the dead of night and no one’s watching as I retract my claws.
Thank goodness. If I’d been talking in my sleep like that during nap time, the maids would’ve had gossip material for ages. And then my status would’ve plummeted from an elegant, aloof cat to a cat that sleep-talks. Just thinking about it is horrifying.
There’s no way my patron saw all of that… right?
I narrow my eyes and examine my patron’s face. There’s no sign that he’s woken up. Well, it is deep in the night—he’s probably wandering around dreamland himself by now.
Relieved, I closed my eyes again.
…But I can’t fall asleep.
The harder I try to sleep, the clearer my mind becomes, and eventually I open my eyes again.
Why did I have a dream like that? Don’t tell me it was some kind of prophetic dream or something.
No way… I’ve never once had a dream that high-level. It was definitely just a stupid dream.
Come to think of it, who was that woman anyway? Usually, people who show up in dreams like that are someone you’ve met at least once. But no matter how much I think about it, I can’t recall her face. All that comes to mind is her flashy outfit.
I lift my head and look at my patron.
Thanks to someone, I can’t sleep at all, and yet he’s snoozing away just fine by himself.
Jerk. Bet he ignored me no matter how much I called out to him in my dream, didn’t he?!
The emotions I felt in the dream come bubbling back up. I quietly raise myself and move closer to my patron’s face. Then I press my front paw down on his lips and mash them around mercilessly. I even poke at them with my claws every now and then—it’s unbelievably satisfying.
You little punk. You little punk. I’ll torment you as much as I want. You punk.
After getting my revenge, my mood feels refreshed. I snort as I look at his lips, now reddened from my retaliation.
But then…
I close my eyes again, trying to go back to sleep—but I still can’t. What on earth is the problem? Did I take too many naps during the day? But I always nap during the day. I could sleep all day long without any issues.
After rolling around several times from my patron’s chest down to his stomach, I eventually spring upright again.
It’s definitely these damn lips that are the problem.
I stare fixedly at my patron’s face as I think.
Ever since my patron pressed his lips to my head—twice—this is what’s been constantly messing with my thoughts. I even tried headbutting Simon’s lips as an experiment, but it didn’t feel even remotely similar.
Lips. Lips. Lips. Lips. Those damn lips.
Now they’re popping up in my dreams, on top of constantly invading my thoughts. This is all my patron’s fault. Absolutely. Without question.
I narrow my eyes and unsheathe my claws.
My claws glint quietly in the moonlight, sharp beyond measure. Part of me thinks that if I just went ahead and slashed those lips that keep getting on my nerves, my head might finally feel clear. I lightly poke my patron’s lips once with the tip of my claw. But actually clawing him is out of the question. I retract my claws and lean my face in instead.
Should I just bite them hard? Then he’d probably think he accidentally got bitten while dreaming about eating or something. No, that won’t do either. Then I’ll do what I did to Simon—just slam straight into them. Yeah. That’s it.
I fix my gaze on the lips right in front of me, then close my eyes. And without thinking any further, I charge. Screw it. Full assault!
***
Calyx wakes up to a thin, “Nyaaang,” sound.
The little thing curled up on his chest squirms restlessly. It must be dreaming again. Smiling faintly, Calyx gently strokes the rounded back.
Despite its small body, the little one is spirited—even in its sleep.
Rolling around again and again while sleeping is nothing unusual. Sometimes it even talks in its sleep, flailing all four legs in the air to match.
Since it’s always so clear about what it likes, dislikes, and wants, its sleep-talking is just as expressive. Because of that, Calyx can roughly guess what kind of dream it’s having.
Smacking its lips means it’s dreaming about eating. Faintly hissing and swinging its front paws means it’s fighting. Flailing all four legs means it’s running. And a long, drawn-out “Nyaaang—” means it’s calling out to someone.
It seems to be having a variety of dreams tonight.
It lets out a long cry, calling for someone, then twitches its legs. The cries come with small intervals in between, making it seem as though it’s desperately calling out to someone. Then, all of a sudden, it hisses viciously and flails its front paws, its body jerking sharply. Calyx nearly lets out a laugh at the sight, but barely holds it in. It seems the little one has woken up from its dream. Still stretching its front paws out, it lifts its head and starts looking around.
Pretending to stay asleep, Calyx waits as the little one lets out a heavy sigh and curls back up, wriggling into place. As if it’s relieved that its sleep-talking hasn’t been discovered.
There’s no way a cat could think something like that, but that’s how it feels to Calyx.
After lying still for a moment, the little one starts bustling around again.
Calyx pretends not to notice the sharp gaze boring into his face. Then a paw presses firmly down on his lips. When he still doesn’t react, it even starts poking him with its claws. Judging by its actions right after waking up, it must’ve been tormented pretty badly in its dream. Seeing it pull such sly tricks… truly, ever since bringing this boy home, every single moment has been endlessly enjoyable.
Just when it seems to have finally settled down, the little one starts fidgeting again. Calyx thinks it’s about time to soothe it and put it back to sleep. The more he feeds it and lets it sleep, the bigger it’ll grow—even if only a little.
He’s just about to lift his hand to stroke its back when—
Something suddenly bumps into his lips with a dull thud. Since poking with claws didn’t work, it seems to have gone for a headbutt instead. Whatever happened in its dream must’ve been seriously infuriating. If it’s this bad at letting go of its anger, maybe it’s fine to just let it be a little longer, Calyx thinks as he lowers his hand. But then—
“Damn it. Now my mouth hurts.”
Out of nowhere, a weight presses down on his chest, followed by a grumbling voice.
When he opens his eyes, a boy is sitting on top of his chest.
“Ah. This is so annoying. So annoying.”
The boy, with short black hair, grumbles as he roughly rubs his lips. His pale, naked body—completely unclothed—carries a faint wheat-colored sheen. His eyebrows and body hair are the same black as his hair, and the eyes beneath his furrowed brow are black as well. His frame looks like it’s just entered the final stages of adolescence, yet it’s strangely small for that stage.
There’s no presence in the room other than this boy. Only himself and this boy exist here.
Black hair. That distinctive sullen glare he makes when displeased. A small body.
A familiar scent.
This boy is none other than his black cat. It’s a bizarre situation that’s hard to accept, but there’s no other way to explain it. No—setting everything else aside, Calyx feels an absolute certainty that this boy is his black cat.
As he quietly examines the boy, the air in the room ripples. Hearing an unfamiliar voice from outside, a knight enters. Calyx draws his sword and silently gestures toward the approaching knight. After repeatedly confirming the signal and seeing the strange boy sitting atop Calyx, the knight finally turns and disappears beyond the door.
The boy, oblivious to everything, continues to grumble softly. He doesn’t seem to be calming down anytime soon. When Calyx slowly blinks at the sudden gaze directed at him—
“This is all your fault—”
The boy, who’d been venting irritably while pointing, suddenly trails off. Then he starts fumbling at the corners of his own eyes with his hands.
“Huh? Why did it suddenly get so dark? What’s wrong with my eyes? Why can’t I see?”
It seems the boy hasn’t realized that his form has changed. Gaining a human’s poor night vision all of a sudden has clearly left him quite flustered. After fumbling around his eyes and stammering in confusion for a while, the boy suddenly flinches and trembles.
“F-Fur. Fur. My fur. My face.”
He rubs at his entire face, stroking the smooth skin. Then he spreads his hand out right in front of his nose, examining it from side to side.
“Hands. My hands! Ah—my arms! Ahh—my elbows!”
