My name is K. I am a cat.
An alphabet letter—are you asking if that’s really my name? No. I do, in fact, have a proper name. However, I ask that you refrain from being curious about it. K alone is more than sufficient.
As I said before, I am a cat.
From the tips of my ears to the end of my tail, I am wrapped in luxuriant black fur. Unlike ordinary mixed-breed cats, there is not a single fleck of any other color mixed into my coat. That pure hue of fur is proof of my noble birth.
My superiority does not end with the color of my fur.
My perked ears, forming perfect symmetry on either side, and my tail that moves in elegant, flowing curves—both are flawless beyond reproach. So too are my thick, soft, marshmallow-like paw pads, which allow me to land without a sound even after falling from great heights.
And what of the gracefully arched whiskers extending from my snout? Their excellence, satisfying both function and beauty at once, is unparalleled! Of course, my large, round eyes and my beautiful yet powerful claws are equally indispensable features.
Perfect no matter how you look at me, I am a cold city cat with a lonely soul. But only to my woman would I be warm. Hmph.
At this moment, I am seated gracefully atop a wooden shelf, gazing down below.
I can see a human woman humming to herself. Judging by how even her hips are swaying, she seems to be in quite a good mood.
The woman is vigorously stirring a cauldron with a spatula. From a pot large enough for a human to bathe in, an unpleasant vapor billows upward. Just moments ago, the human woman tossed a great many strange ingredients into that cauldron. Ah, but do not misunderstand. Not all creatures known as humans are like her. That woman is a witch—one shunned even by other humans.
The woman stirring the cauldron suddenly jerks her head up. My tail fur bristles at the sight of the old witch darting her gaze around. After sweeping her eyes through the room, the witch finally discovers me. Upon seeing me, her purple lips part.
“Blackie.”
It seems the witch has finally gone senile.
“You little black bastard!”
The old witch keeps spouting nonsense at me. I simply pretended not to hear and flicked my tail once. At that, the old witch’s face twists viciously.
“Get down here this instant! You lazy little cat shit! Get down right now before I boil you alive in the cauldron!”
The senile old witch explodes in anger. Her shouting makes my sensitive ears feel like they’re about to burst. If it were up to me, I’d stitch that filthy mouth shut, but I restrain myself. I am, after all, a cold city cat.
Nyaaah—
I leap down to the floor and let out a long cry. The witch’s vicious expression softens slightly. She likes it when I cry, apparently. Crazy old hag.
The witch resumes stirring the cauldron. I sit at her feet and peer up at the massive pot. The witch is brewing an extremely powerful magical potion. Without a doubt, it’s a sleep-inducing brew. The man who visited last night placed an order for “a potion that induces a sleep as deep as death.” I don’t know whom she intends to use it on, but whoever drinks that potion will quite literally fall into a deathlike slumber. From personal experience, I can say that the witch’s potions work frighteningly well.
In truth, I was not a cat from the very beginning.
Originally, I was a human—born and raised in a country called the Republic of Korea. Hard to believe, perhaps, but it’s the truth.
I was born as the sole son of the noble Park clan, a family of royal bloodline. One day, while I was being pampered and raised preciously in a fairly wealthy household, I was diligently studying for an important exam called the “CSAT,” which was just around the corner. Then, all of a sudden, I woke up deep in the mountains. Unable to understand what on earth had happened, I wandered the forest like a madman— only to run into that accursed old witch. Truly a miserable turn of events.
Feigning kindness, the witch dragged me to her cabin and fed me a magical potion when I asked where this place was. When I lost consciousness and later came to, I had already been turned into a cat.
Ah. The witch lets out a creepy snicker. It seems she’s finally finished brewing the potion. I sit quietly right beside her and examine her face. Seeing her stop stirring and narrow her eyes, it’s clear she’s done.
“Want some too, Blackie? Heh heh.”
The witch babbles while looking down at me. She brings a ladle brimming with purple liquid up to my mouth. I let out a meow toward her. No thanks. You crazy bitch.
Whether she understood or not, the witch bursts into gleeful laughter. Watching her, I steel my resolve once more. Today is the day. Today, I will eliminate this creepy old hag and escape.
The witch retrieves a glass bottle from the shelf. Carefully, she scoops up a ladleful of the potion and slowly pours it into the bottle. Her attention is completely focused on filling the small vial.
I mobilize all the knowledge I possess to calculate my move. Mathematics, physics, statistics—along with probability and kinematics—all are brought into play. Don’t be surprised that a mere cat knows such advanced disciplines. As I said earlier, I was once a noble human born of royal blood.
In any case, considering all variables, now is undeniably the perfect moment. Without any further hesitation, I rise to my feet. Then I sink my teeth with full force into the witch’s scrawny ankle right in front of me.
Bingo. The witch lets out a shriek and leaps into the air. Confirming her hopping on one foot, I immediately launch myself upward. My body lifts lightly into the air, and I execute a 180-degree midair spin, delivering a kick straight to the back of the witch’s head.
The witch slams her head into the cauldron and flails about. I finish by jumping on her back a few times, then land gracefully on the ground. A perfect landing—100 points out of 100.
“Y-you… you damn black cat bastard…”
The witch barely manages to pull her head out of the cauldron, staggering as she mutters incoherently. A broom has somehow appeared in her hand, radiating menace. Getting hit by that thing would probably leave me bedridden for a day or two, but I stand tall, dignified and elegant, staring straight at her. I feel no fear. I do not retreat or flinch. Because I am a cold city cat.
“D-damn y—”
The staggering witch makes a half-hearted motion to swing the broom, then crashes to the floor with a thud. I approach the collapsed witch and firmly press my paws down on her face. Attacking a fallen opponent is unsightly, so I refrain from extending my claws.
I take one final glance around the cabin, then turn away without regret.
Somewhere beyond the depths of this forest, there must surely be a village where humans live. I need to go there—to find a way to lift the witch’s curse and a way to return home. It will not be an easy journey, but I am not worried. Because I will absolutely succeed.
The forest, now cloaked in darkness, opens its pitch-black maw and welcomes me. With a light heart, I step forward into it.
I am K the cat.
Born and raised in the Republic of Korea, a precious scion of the noble Park clan, heir to royal blood. Cast into an unknown world and cursed by a witch, transformed into a cat— a tragic protagonist of misfortune.
But forget all those sorrowful tales.
Who I am now is neither the cherished jewel of the Park clan, nor the old witch’s “Blackie.” I am simply K the cat—a lonely soul. Nothing more, and nothing less.
