Side Story 4) That Crown Prince. Suspicious.
Scratch— scratch—
The sound of writing with a quill pen drifts through the room. I purr softly, enjoying the hand stroking my side.
The patron I glance at through half-lidded eyes is, as always, multitasking with both hands. With his right hand, he flips through documents and signs them; with his left, he strokes my side. Making both hands do completely different things at the same time isn’t as easy as one might think. Slip up even a little, and the rhythm gets messed up. But our diligent, clever patron never makes a single mistake and handles both tasks flawlessly. Truly a skill befitting my patron.
When I lift my body, the patron looks over. I blink slowly at him, then turn and flop back down again, facing him.
Now it’s the left side’s turn.
The patron’s hand settles precisely beneath my left flank. I close my eyes and start purring again.
No matter how bad a man is, once he meets his real woman, he inevitably turns into a lamb—soft as down and obedient as can be. And no matter how much of a cold city cat one might be, in front of one’s patron and one’s thing, one inevitably becomes gentle.
Lately, in front of my patron, I’ve become an extremely gentle cat. No—gentle isn’t enough. I’m considerate to an almost excessive degree.
To ease the burden of my patron as he immerses himself in work, I’ve been providing a house-call service. Even without his hand moving from its spot, I move my entire body on my own so he can stroke all of me.
Once my right side has been stroked to satisfaction, I turn over and present my left side neatly beneath his hand. Thanks to that, my patron doesn’t need to move his hand back and forth and can freely enjoy touching my glossy fur. He doesn’t express his gratitude for my thoughtfulness directly, but deep down, he’s surely very grateful.
Of course, this gentleness is strictly limited to my patron. Toward anyone else besides him and maids who score 95 points or higher, I’m a completely merciless cat.
As I purr with my eyes gently closed, I hear a tap. It’s the sound of my patron setting down the quill pen. Thinking that the moment has finally come, I flick my tail.
“K.”
My patron calls me in a low, coaxing voice. His large hands lift me up with ease. Holding me in both arms, his golden eyes curve softly as he presses his face close to mine—
Chomp—
He bites down on one of my front paws.
With his lips covering his teeth, he chews on someone else’s front paw like that, looking extremely happy. I gave up on arguing about this a long time ago, so I just let it be. Whatever the case, isn’t he my thing? I can spare him a front paw or two. Instead, I trap one of his fingers between my paws and crunch down on it in return.
Munch munch.
Crunch crunch.
We lock eyes while chewing on each other’s fingers and paws.
After chewing for a while, when I bite down harder out of sheer playfulness, he also tightens his jaw around my paw. We uselessly show off our competitive streaks, seeing who can endure the pain longer.
I clamp down hard enough to pierce his finger with my sharp canines. In response, the bastard plays dirty and presses his teeth into the soft, squishy jelly of my paw pads, poking at it insistently. There’s no way my patron would actually do such a thing, but I still worry my perfect paw jelly might burst. He’s always been eyeing my jelly with greedy intent, after all. Watching him lift my front paw and knead the jelly between his fingers, there’s no way not to think like that.
Today, I lost.
I raise all four paws in surrender before my patron’s excessive love for jelly. When I spit out his finger, he makes a deeply regretful face. Good thing I gave up quickly. If I hadn’t, today might’ve been the day my jelly got stolen.
I hop down onto the desk and lick the bitten front paw clean.
That patron bastard. If you’re going to bite and suck on it, at least put it back the way it was. He always has to ruffle my fur like this. A cat’s life is its fur. It always has to be kept neat.
After deliberately sitting on top of the documents and grooming my paw, I sneak a glance toward one corner of the desk.
There sits the ink bottle, bold as day. I flick my eyes at my patron, then stroll over toward the ink bottle with a swish.
Circling around it languidly, I tap it lightly with my paw. Then I look at my patron and go, nyaaang—. I tap it again with my paw and cry toward him, nyaaang—.
Patron. Paw-print game.
At my request, my patron hesitates for a moment.
He always indulges every game I like, but for some reason, he particularly hates the ink paw-print game. Of course, I know why. Not long ago, after pestering him into playing it with me, I ended up completely ruining a stack of important documents. But that’s that, and this is this. Right now, I really want to play the paw-print game. As my patron—and as my thing—he has an obligation to grant my wish.
I know exactly the motions he makes when he can’t bring himself to refuse my request. I sit in front of him, neatly gathering my front paws together, tilt my head, and look up at him with innocent eyes.
“Heh.”
My patron laughs.
I tilt my head to the other side once more. And sure enough—he lays a fresh sheet of paper next to the ink bottle. Then, very stingily, he opens the ink bottle lid that had been blocked so my paw wouldn’t fit inside. My head-tilt really never fails.
I grin to myself.
You little shit. You messed with my delicate asshole last night—and the night before that too. Now it’s your turn to suffer today.
Completely unaware of my thoughts, my patron props his chin on his hand and watches me. I dip my front paw into the ink bottle and soak it thoroughly. Then, pulling out my paw dripping with ink, I charge straight at the bastard like a bullet.
Splat—
“……”
Splat— splat—
“……”
Splat— splat— splat—
“…K.”
He calls softly. Instead of answering, I press my ink-soaked paw firmly against his forehead—splat. Then I tilt my head at him and cry sweetly, nyaaang?
Taking a few steps back to admire it, it’s a true masterpiece.
My paw prints are stamped all over my patron’s pale face. One on his right cheek, two on his left cheek, one on his chin, one on his nose, and one on his forehead. I carefully distributed them with balance in mind. And finally, I pressed my paw firmly onto the signature line of the document he’d been looking at just moments ago.
“Haah— K.”
My patron sighs lightly as he calls me. I lift my head proudly and snort.
What! What’re you gonna do about it! You’re the one who messed with my asshole first, you dick-monster piece of trash!
What feels good feels good, and a grudge over my asshole is still a grudge. I’m the kind of man who never forgets a grudge.
I glare at him with a come-at-me-if-you-dare look when suddenly there’s a knock—knock knock.
When I turn around, the office door is slowly opening. I cry out nyaong— sweetly toward my patron, then bolt full speed toward the open door.
Go ahead, embarrass yourself. You dick-brained shortstack!
As I dash through the doorway, I hear a horrified shout from behind me. “Y-Your Highness!”
I snicker to myself, imagining him struggling to wipe off the ink.
After bursting out of the office, the very first place I head for is the fountain in the garden. I need to wash my precious front paw. Of course, I could go to Julia and cry nyaong at her until she washes it for me. But I don’t want to be branded as a prankster cat in her eyes. I’m cool, chic—after all, I’m a cold city cat.
