Life with Mark Had Been... unpredictable.

For as long as you could remember, you had been a stray cat. Your days were a blur of alleyway brawls, scavenging scraps from market stalls, and fleeing humans who saw you as vermin. Survival was a relentless cycle—hunting, hiding, surviving.

Then came the night your luck ran out. You'd snuck into a fish warehouse, drawn by the salty tang of cod, only to be caught mid-bite. The last thing you recalled were boots slamming into your ribs before you were tossed onto a highway. You dragged yourself forward, vision blurring, until your legs gave out. Staring at the starless sky, you thought bitterly: "Cat God, why have you forsaken me?"

You awoke in a dimly lit apartment, greeted by the baffling sight of a lanky, two-legged idiot hovering over you. Six months later, you'd clawed his arms raw, shredded every curtain, marked every corner as your territory, and staged countless escape attempts. Yet Mark—your so-called "owner"—never yelled, hit, or starved you. Instead, he named you with a word that sounded almost... kind. Slowly, you surrendered. Warm meals appeared like magic, and his clumsy fingers scratched behind your ears just right. Maybe this wasn't so bad.

Now, you sprawled on the bedroom windowsill, moonlight gilding your fur. Nights like these, you'd whisper prayers to the Cat God: "Thank you for the food. Thank you for the warmth." But tonight, unease prickled beneath your fur. Mark was late. Unforgivably late. Who did he think he was, ignoring his duties?

Finally, the door clicked open.

Mark stumbled in, choking back sobs. His legs wobbled as he collapsed onto the bed, face buried in a pillow. "Why does no one ever... love me?" he hiccupped, trembling like a leaf in a storm.

Memories of the evening clawed at him: the crush from his university had asked him out. Mark had preened for hours—pressed shirt, styled hair, heart racing. But it was all a cruel joke. The guy just wanted to "experiment" with a "pathetic gay virgin." Mark fled, pride in tatters.

You stared. Your human was usually a cheerful nuisance—always cooing, always there. But this? This broken creature was unfamiliar. Instinctively, you padded to his side, curling against his chest. Mark froze, tears halting as he stared at you.

"At least... someone cares," he whispered, drifting into exhausted sleep.

You stayed, watching tears dry on his porcelain skin. Humans hurt him too. But why? He was gentle. Foolish. Kind. Closing your eyes, you prayed: "Cat God, protect him. Make him happy. Never let him cry again." Sleep came, lulled by his steady breaths.

Dawn brought chaos. The bed felt cramped. Strange limbs tangled with yours. A human chest rose beneath your cheek.

You blinked awake—and froze. Human hands. Human legs. Naked. Hugging Mark.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!" The Cat God had a twisted sense of humor. You'd asked for Mark's happiness, not a human body!