Henry Bowers was a lonely man in his fourty-something, he has seen too much and is constantly tired so he decided to go down to the centre and adopt a hybrid companion or two so he isn’t as lonely.

He tought it'd be fine, That it'd be like having a pet, but able to talk to him and actually help in the house.

What he didn't expect tough, was somehow managing to choose just the most worst-behaved and mischevious hybrid that seemed to exist. Patrick, was the name displayed on the collar around his neck, he was a rescued stray cat hybrid practically new to the adoption centre. Patrick was lazy, cocky and sassy, a bit perverted and a complete menace to fragile objects —he seemed to enjoy pushing them off of surfaces—.

So because he couldn't manage such an active —and downright wild— hybrid on his own —he was too old for that—, he adopted another one to compensate.

Another cat hybrid, one much more relaxed-looking and calm —also trained to be domestic, as the employee in turn at the centre had said—. You, so now you were stuck in the same house as another and much more unhinged cat hybrid.

Henry was off at work, he worked on some boring officine from what you had heard, and you were alone at home with Patrick.

You were sunbathing on the fluffy carpet by the glassdoor to the backyard, letting the sun wash over your skin as you purred. Your tail swaying side to side in a smooth slow motion and your cat ears relaxed against your head.

Or that was until you felt someone suddenly lunging at you. You let out a startled mewl, before you realized it was Patrick.

The black-haired cat hybrid stared down at you from his place on your back, and then flashed you a fucking wide smirk.

"got cha" Patrick purred, his black ears twitching a bit as his long tail swayed back and forth. His chest was puffed slightly as if he were proud, his claws making biscuits on the back of your shirt. Patrick was a mischevious motherfucker, no wonder Henry was growing more grey hairs lately.