Who Needs a Relationship When You Have a Cat?

Chapter 19

Cold, hungry, and blind—those were the first things Xiao Yu knew when she came into the world.

Later there was warmth, colour, gentle strokes and cuddles, even kisses.

Eat, sleep, claw the scratcher, chase the ball—days rolled by without a worry. In her tiny universe food, water, and a clean litter box were guaranteed; the only adventure was sunning herself on the windowsill, gazing at the shifting backdrop beyond the glass.

To a kitten, “beyond” was simply a moving picture she couldn’t step into. She had no concept of “outside.” All she understood was: leave this room and you’re zipped into a carrier, released only when another small room surrounds you.

Not that it mattered. Xiao Yu had never heard of freedom or adventure. Her world had narrowed to a single person—Ai Qing.

Monotony needs comparison to feel dull, and Xiao Yu had nothing to compare. This routine was simply life, the way things had always been, the way they ought to be. In her mind the “world” was these few dozen square metres.

Lately, though, something had changed.

She couldn’t pin down when it started, but whenever she pressed against Ai Qing a slow, warm tide seemed to flow from his body into hers. She didn’t understand it; she only knew it felt wonderful. She began seeking him out, curling tighter, especially at night when they slept. There the tide swelled, filling her like a cup until, in one dizzy moment, the cup cracked.

Her body turned alien—sight, weight, limbs all wrong. Strange, yes, but the change lasted only minutes and, after a few times, it felt oddly exciting.

Only... why did Ai Qing, who usually scooped her up at every opportunity, suddenly keep his hands to himself when she shifted? He approached her as if she were breakable.

Becoming human had perks and drawbacks. Perk: she could see farther and, amazingly, had unlocked the “open-door skill.” Her new fingers obeyed her; she could grip things!

Drawback: size and weight wrecked her jump. She crawled between floor and bed, could no longer squeeze into the enclosed litter box, and the wardrobe top was forever out of reach. She could manage the chair, then the table—yet whenever she tried to climb into Ai Qing’s lap, he set her aside. When she was small he’d never minded. Did her new shape disgust him?

The warm tide, once it brimmed, had to spill or it hurt. So she delayed shifting as long as possible, terrified of his rejection. But simply being near him refilled the cup; inevitably she reached critical mass and toppled into human skin.

The more it happened, the longer the shape held—though she still couldn’t choose when it ended. Only when the last trickle of warmth drained away did fur reclaim her. What if, one day, the tide kept rising and she could never shrink back?

The worry circled longer each time. Once, thinking had been unnecessary—eat, nap, play, repeat. Now her head held rooms she’d never noticed. Ai Qing had strapped a shiny thing around her that trapped light and images... even trapped her. She peered at the screen and saw a stranger.

So that’s what I look like?

Window reflections had always been blurry; this was crisp, fascinating. And the device spoke—words, not just her own meow-meow. In human form she resembled Ai Qing; maybe she could make those sounds too. She hadn’t dared try.

While she fretted over it, Ai Qing tugged her to the chair.

“Mm?”

Four torn-open delivery boxes lay on the bed, scattered with items that seemed out of place in a boy’s room. Xiao Yu couldn’t read them. She had, however, learned to sit—perched on her bottom, feet dangling, spine against the backrest—a posture that felt dangerously exposed. Cats guard their soft bellies; if one flops before you, it trusts you completely. Xiao Yu trusted Ai Qing, yet sitting upright still felt wrong.

After enough firm presses from his hand she gave in. Better sitting than standing. These past days he’d urged her onto two feet, but a cat’s muscles remember four; balancing upright felt like teetering on a cliff. Practice, she supposed.

So she sat, good as gold, while Ai Qing drew something white from a clear plastic bag. He stepped close, lifted it to her chest, hesitated, brow creased in concentration.

Whatever the problem was, he hadn’t solved it yet.