Who Needs a Relationship When You Have a Cat?

Chapter 14

March 4, noon.

Ai Qing squinted, hands on hips, beside the dining table, watching Xiao Yu crouch in front of the automatic feeder. He sighed—long and thin.

Lunchtime: check. Kibble poured: check. Vitamins doled out: check. He’d even cooked human food for himself. Then, in the single beat it took to turn his head, the kitten had turned into a girl.

And she was still crouched on the tabletop, nose hovering over the cat bowl as if nothing had changed.

“Could you get off the table first? Please?” Ai Qing stepped over, tapped her shoulder, and tried to negotiate.

Xiao Yu stared, puzzled. Apparently “get down” meant “lie flatter.” She tucked her calves, lifted her rear, and stretched out like a furry gray rug—head now even closer to the kibble.

Which was great for licking... if you were a cat. But people don’t eat face-plant style. If anyone walked in, they’d swear he was running some weird pet-play tutorial.

Plus, could a human tongue even handle dry cat food? Shouldn’t she switch to people meals?

While he agonized, Xiao Yu buried her face and started chomping. A cat’s tongue is a spiky hook; a girl’s tongue is just... slippery. After thirty seconds she’d managed maybe three pellets. The bowl, wide and shallow, fought her every bite.

Enough. Ai Qing slipped an arm around her tiny waist and lifted her off the table.

She flailed, startled, then realized the height was safe and curled into his chest like warm dough.

“Heavier than the cat version,” he muttered, bouncing her once. But she smelled incredible—something light and clean drifting from her white hair. Soft everywhere. He almost didn’t let go.

Then he remembered: she couldn’t walk.

The instant his hands released, Xiao Yu dropped—plop—onto her knees.

Ai Qing: “......”

Road ahead: long.

“Okay, forget walking for now.” He scooped her up again. “Let’s master sitting first.”

He carried her to a chair and attempted to park her like a normal person. Instead, Xiao Yu planted both feet on the seat, hands braced on the corners, butt hovering—half squat, half crouch.

“Back straight, hands on the table.” Channeling every dad on the planet, he guided her palms forward until her torso lifted and her small chest pushed out.

She strained, trying to yank her arms back.

“Hold it. Good girl.” He stroked her head for morale, then slid the cat bowl within sniffing distance.

The aroma of kibble worked like hypnosis. Her hands stayed put while her nose edged toward the rim. Ai Qing nudged her fingers to the bowl’s sides—there, a makeshift plate grip. Success.

He stepped back to admire: white-haired girl swallowed by an oversized blue jacket, feet on the chair, cradling the cat bowl like a soup mug, determined to lunch.

He blinked—and she was gone.

A furry face peeked from under the table. One spring, and cat-Xiao Yu landed on the tabletop, crunching kibble like it was pay-per-view.

So much for obedience training.

Right. Lunch—his lunch. But first, cold water. He bolted to the bathroom and splashed his face until the mirror stopped smirking.

Damn it. A fragrant, clingy girl who let him pose her any way he liked? The virgin-killer stack was maxed out: white hair, heterochromatic eyes, total trust. Only two decades of Socialist Successor moral education kept him from devolving into a beast.

Besides, he told the dripping reflection, the real experiment isn’t hormones—it’s whether he can teach her to be human.

Sounds exhausting. Still, the new novel is flowing faster than ever. If the book hits because of this, call it collateral profit.

New problem: he still hasn’t cracked the shift schedule. This afternoon he has to take her home for dinner—and stay overnight with Mom and Dad.

He used to think the transformations were locked to 3 p.m. and 3 a.m. Yet last night’s alarm netted nothing; he’d stared at sleeping cat-Xiao Yu for twenty minutes straight. Now, bang on noon, she’s human again.

What if she flips to girl-mode in the car before his parents? Worse—what if she can’t control it at all?

Answers require one basic upgrade: communication. She needs to talk—or at least understand him.

He dried his face, returned to the table, and watched her polished-off bowl while plans clicked. Time to enroll her in the Nine-Year Compulsory Education program. A few minutes a day is pathetic; he needs longer, predictable windows.

“Meow~” Xiao Yu finished, padded over, and rubbed her cheek against his arm.