Especially when Julia brushes me right in front of me, I narrow my eyes and properly savor the visual pleasure. The dresses around here are cut so deeply that even the slightest bend at the waist reveals the entire cleavage valley. Thanks to that, I can keep my back straight and my chin lifted in a dignified posture while still seeing everything there is to see. Truly heartwarming stuff.
At times, an overwhelming urge rises to knead that full, bouncy chest with my front paws, doing a proper kkuk-kkuk. If I did, Julia’s chest would undoubtedly be conquered beneath my paws like a lump of sticky rice cake. But I maintain a gentlemanly attitude to the end. That’s because I’m a cat who knows what should and shouldn’t be done.
While I’m deeply appreciating Julia’s chest, a thought suddenly flashes through my mind. I immediately turn my head in alarm and look at my patron. Our patron, the Crown Prince, is seated surrounded by maids. I carefully monitor him, watching to see whether his eyes might wander toward the maids’ chests or napes. Fortunately, our exceedingly shy patron never sneaks a look at the maids’ chests. Instead, he keeps his gaze fixed straight ahead. When he’s not looking at me, his face always wears a stiff, expressionless look. Poor guy—his shyness must have frozen his facial muscles.
It’s truly regrettable for a grown man to be that shy. But for me, it’s not such a bad thing. He doesn’t let his eyes wander toward women, and he saves all his gentle smiles just for me. Since he’s my patron and my… my… m—my thing, I absolutely cannot tolerate him looking elsewhere. So a shy guy who sticks closely to me alone is honestly quite welcome. If, by any chance, he ever does let his eyes wander, then as his thing, it’ll be my duty to punish him. I’m fully prepared to leave pretty claw marks on the face of a wandering bastard, and he probably knows that too.
Once everything is ready, we meet again and exchange our greetings.
My patron strokes my neatly brushed fur with a gentle smile, and I rub my cheeks against his hand, silently shouting so happy, so happy. I’m well aware that this scene could easily be mistaken for a clingy pet cat. But I need to shower my thing with plenty of affection. Some level of misunderstanding is simply unavoidable.
When the bedroom door opens, we walk side by side down the corridor.
Every human we pass bows and greets us. As a Crown Prince’s cat, I lift my chin high and walk with proud, dignified steps. Even though it’s a sight they see every day, the humans always look at my patron and me with admiration in their eyes. Whenever that happens, I raise my chin even higher and give them a smug look.
We look good together, don’t we? This guy right here is my thing.
Our intimate breakfast is fairly simple.
My patron always cuts my meat into appropriately sized pieces. I judge whether the meat is cooked just right by the juices seeping from the cut surface. Thanks to a chef who puts particular care into my meals, the meat is always perfectly done. That’s the effect of having sent a few plates flying in the early days.
When I start munching on a piece of the cut meat, only then does my patron begin eating his own food. Unlike me, a carnivorous beast who eats meat from the morning, my patron prefers bread, soup, and fresh vegetables for breakfast.
As we sit side by side eating, there are moments when our eyes meet at the same time. He smiles with his eyes, and I flick my tail once to the right and once to the left in response. I’d like to gently meow at him, but that’s absolutely forbidden behavior. Opening one’s mouth during a meal is undignified, after all.
After finishing my meal, I wipe around my mouth with my front paws and lick them clean with my tongue. I’m a cat who gets brushed by maids, so I don’t groom myself by licking my fur. But this is an exception. Letting someone else wipe my mouth is an affront my pride simply won’t allow. So I clean my mouth myself with my paws and finish by licking them thoroughly.
My patron really likes this about me. When our eyes meet while I’m licking my front paws, he sometimes bursts out laughing. At times like that, I feel like sticking my paw straight into his mouth to let him know how unpleasant it is to get fur in there. But I hold back. After all, he’d probably just happily chew on my paw if I did.
Once breakfast is over, we attend the morning meeting.
My diligent patron never misses a single day. He’s truly a solid, upstanding guy. Sometimes I’m tempted to coax him into skipping the meeting and sneaking off to the garden to play, but I don’t act on it. I worry the noble geezers might look down on or bully my patron if he did. As his thing, it’s my duty to ensure he’s never disrespected by others.
My patron’s seat is the seat of honor.
When he’s seated, the nobles’ gazes all converge on him. I sit on his lap and peek my head over the table, keeping a close watch on the geezers. If any of them dare to glare at him with disrespect or contempt, I’ll catch them instantly and turn their faces into filthy rags.
Whether it’s because they have some manners, or because they’re afraid of my sharp claws, I don’t know—but the geezers always behave themselves. While my patron, who barely speaks unless he’s playing with me, sits quietly, they conduct the meeting among themselves. At the end, they look to him and wait for his decision. No matter how the opinions have come together, if my patron says no, then it’s an immediate no. Watching the geezers nod in agreement at his brief words makes me puff up with pride again. I push my chest out as far as I can while staring at them.
See that? This guy right here is my thing.
But no matter how well-behaved the noble geezers act, I never trust them easily. Who knows when they might suddenly turn on us. And it’s obvious they’re stuffing their bellies by exploiting the people behind the scenes. That’s why I exploit them in my own way.
By the time the meeting is in full swing, I start to get bored.
Even my patron’s diligent hand stroking me beneath the table loses its effectiveness. When that happens, I hop down from his lap and stroll lazily toward my target. Under the table, I can see the nobles’ feet, but I never get confused—I always pick today’s target in advance.
When I reach my target, I settle myself beneath the noble geezer’s legs with elegant, confident poise. I gather my front paws neatly and wrap them with my tail, which makes me look even more refined. I thrust my chest forward and lift my chin. Once I’m ready, all that’s left is to lightly tap the geezer’s calf with my front paw.
The geezer, deep in the meeting, looks under the table at the sensation on his calf. I sit there in an elegant pose and stare straight at him. Startled by my appearance, he invariably looks back and forth between me and my patron. From below, I silently make my demand as I watch his flustered face.
Cash and jewelry.
Just to be clear—this is absolutely not begging. This is extortion, plain and simple. I’m extorting from the geezers what they extorted from the people. I could make an appearance as Phantom Cat K, but boldly demanding it like this suits my temperament better.
My neatly gathered front paws look elegant at first glance. But if you look closely, you’ll see the sharp, terrifying hook-shaped claws protruding between them. Faced with a dreadful weapon capable of turning their face into a rag within three seconds, the nobles panic and hand over everything they have. This is the very essence of righteous thief K. The only difference from Robin Hood is one thing: arrows are long-range weapons, while my claws excel in close combat.
Geezers experiencing this for the first time are completely flustered. Many of them sneak a smile at me at first, then turn their heads to look at my patron—only for their faces to drain of all color. Since I’m under the table, I can’t see my patron’s expression. I only know that the moment they confirm it’s me and then look at him, they either turn pale or start trembling violently. I don’t know why, but they probably get scared by my sharp claws.
Either way, if I quietly stare at the pale-faced geezer, he’ll hand over his belongings on his own. Most of them have already given gold coins to Phantom Cat K in the past, so they start by taking out gold coins. Honestly, I prefer jewels over gold coins. Still, I happily take the coins too. Everyone knows that in emergencies, cash beats jewels. And I’ve got dependents to feed with those gold coins. If I’m going to give pocket money to our Simon, gold coins are essential.
After gently taking the gold coins passed to me under the table in my mouth and setting them down on the floor, I tap the geezer’s calf again. He might think it ends with just one gold coin, but not a chance. Once you’re marked by K, you have to hand over everything except the clothes you’re wearing. That’s the rule of a righteous thief.
In the end, the geezer empties his pockets completely. After all the gold coins are gone, he hands over the jewelry he’s wearing as well. Of course, I’m a man who knows generosity when it’s due. So I let rings or ornaments bearing family crests slide. Instead, I mainly take the large gemstone rings they wear as decoration.
Once I’ve collected everything, a pile of spoils builds up beneath my paws. It’s an impressive haul for a single target. Since I’m not a man who lives off handouts, I don’t skimp on the effort required to move all of this.
At first, in a pinch, I stuffed the spoils into my yarn basket that a servant carried along. I’d carry each piece in my mouth and deliver it to a servant waiting in a corner. It took quite a bit of effort, and once it was all over, I’d have to crawl into my patron’s chest-bed and nap for hours.
But now, there’s a dedicated loot box. After seeing my yarn basket filled with gold coins and jewels, Julia started sending a loot box along with a servant every morning. I was so moved by her attentiveness that I raised Julia’s score from 95 out of 100 to a solid 99 out of 100.
