𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

Pet Life

After a few blissful bites, my feast is cut short.

The stranger with the dark, piercing gaze reaches over and lifts me effortlessly with one hand. I let out a low growl of protest, my eyes darting mournfully toward the pitifully small hole I’ve managed to make in the roast duck. It’s hardly the damage I’d hoped for. My gaze flicks back to his face, and I do what any desperate kitten would—I deploy the big guns.

Wide eyes, ears slightly drooped, my most pitiful expression yet. If this doesn’t melt his icy demeanor, I’m doomed.

But it’s a complete flop. His expression doesn’t waver in the slightest.

With a calmness that feels both irritating and unsettling, he holds me up by the scruff of my neck, bringing me level with his sharp eyes.

“You’ll get sick if you eat too much,” he says softly.

The voice doesn’t match his face. It’s smooth and gentle, warm enough to belong to some kind-hearted saint. But I know better. There’s nothing innocent about this man.

‘Who are you to decide if I’ll get sick or not?’ I want to snap back, but all that comes out is an indignant meow. The sound is so pitiful, so absurdly cat-like, that I feel a wave of secondhand embarrassment for myself.

He chuckles. It’s a low, rich sound, not cruel but definitely amused at my expense. Without saying another word, he glances at the bodyguard—or, more accurately, his attendant—who immediately moves behind the wheelchair.

And just like that, I’m plopped onto his lap, small and unceremonious, as the two of us are wheeled out of the restaurant.

The moment we reach the waiting vehicle, it’s clear this man doesn’t do anything halfway. The car is sleek, all black and gleaming like it just rolled off the production line. A custom ramp extends seamlessly, allowing his wheelchair to roll inside without a hitch.

Inside, the luxury is overwhelming. The seats are plush, upholstered in buttery leather that smells expensive. The soft hum of air conditioning fills the cabin, and every surface gleams with polished chrome and dark wood accents. There’s even a mini bar tucked discreetly into the side panel.

I glance around, feeling wildly out of place. There are no scratches, no stains—nothing to suggest that this space has ever known chaos. And here I am, a scrappy kitten with duck grease on my whiskers, shedding fur all over the perfection.

His hand rests lightly on my back, steadying me as the car begins to move. I glance up at him warily, half expecting him to toss me out the window at the next red light.

But his gaze is no longer as sharp. There’s something softer there, something almost... curious? It unnerves me more than his earlier intensity.

I settle reluctantly into his lap, the smooth leather beneath me strangely comforting. I don’t know where we’re going, or what this man plans to do with me, but one thing’s certain: my life just took a very unexpected turn.

I’m not entirely opposed to this treatment, if I’m being honest. If this strange man decides to keep me as his pet, I won’t have to scavenge for food every day. Survival would be a lot simpler. Yet, there’s something puzzling about how easily he picked me up, completely unfazed by my state.

For someone who seems to thrive in spotless luxury, he didn’t even flinch. Meanwhile, I’m extra unclean even by stray-cat standards. My orange fur is matted in all the wrong places, and grooming myself feels like the last thing I want to do. Licking dirt off my coat like other cats? Hard pass.

Still, practicality wins out over pride. I settle into his lap with a reluctant sigh. A steady warmth radiates from his hand resting on my back, and the hum of the car lulls me into a strange calm. Despite the whirlwind of questions racing through my mind—Why is he doing this? What’s his endgame?—exhaustion from the day eventually takes over, and I drift into a deep, dreamless sleep.

---

I’m jolted awake when the surface beneath me shifts unexpectedly.

Earthquake?

My eyes snap open, wide with panic, only to realize it’s not the ground moving—it’s the man’s lap. He’s adjusting his position as the car slows to a stop.

Oh. Right. Him.

I lift my head groggily and take in my surroundings. We’re entering a building, its pristine white walls practically gleaming under fluorescent lights. The faint smell of antiseptic and fur hits my nose, and I tense.

A waiting room comes into view, crowded with pets and their humans. There are cats lounging in carriers, dogs wagging tails or barking nervously, and even the occasional snake curled in its owner’s arms. A hamster wheels furiously in its cage on a nearby lap.

My heart sinks as realization dawns.

A vet.

We bypass the line entirely, the man’s attendant effortlessly wheeling us past the rows of anxious animals and their owners. A few disgruntled murmurs follow in our wake, but no one dares protest. The man’s presence is enough to keep them quiet—like he’s someone important, someone powerful.

We glide through another door, entering a quieter, more sterile room. The faint hum of medical equipment fills the air, and my fur bristles.

Is he planning to spay me? My stomach twists at the thought.

What if they find something wrong with me? Will the vet notice I don’t act like a normal cat? Because let’s be real—I’m as far from "normal" as it gets.

My claws knead into the soft blanket beneath me, anxiety bubbling up. If this mission wasn’t already bizarre, it’s about to get a whole lot weirder.

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