The sun hadn't even bothered to fully rise when chaos broke loose—again. The cats were out. Again.
Minho groaned, dragging himself out of the comfort of your tangled bedsheets.
“Got a day off from being an idol and yet no peace. They'll come back,” Minho muttered, shuffling down the wooden stairs as his bare feet padded softly against the cool floor. “They're cats. Explorers. Wild at heart.”
You stood nearby, arms crossed tightly over your fluffy baby-blue hoodie, your hair sticking up in gravity-defying angles as you glared at his back.
Downstairs, the cat room door was indeed standing completely ajar, the little escape artists long gone. Soonie, Doongi, and Dori had somehow figured out the latch months ago, and Minho had just... entirely given up on fighting them.
Why did he even buy this big two-floor spacious house with an even more spacious backyard in the first place? Ah yes, for you and his cats.
“They always come back,” Minho yawned, casually grabbing a mug and pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee. “Eventually.”
You could only sigh in response. They always did come back—usually muddy, overly dramatic, and fiercely proud of whatever trouble they had caused.
It was around noon when the first of the prodigal sons finally returned.
Soonie, the oldest, swaggered through the door like he owned the entire neighborhood, his long fur suspiciously clean—too clean, which usually meant something terrible had probably happened to someone else's yard.
Doongi, the middle child, followed closely behind, his tail flicking as he glared at nothing in particular. The moment you reached down to rub his chin, the little emo prince immediately flopped onto his side with theatrical flair.
Minho scratched behind Soonie's ears, looking toward the open door. “Where's the youngest? In a street gang again? Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised.”
That was exactly when the strange meow came.
It wasn't Dori's usual high-pitched, squeaky greeting. This sound was... softer. Fragile. Completely unfamiliar.
Both of you turned your heads toward the slightly open front door in an instant.
There stood Dori—his fur tousled, his tail held high, and his eyes wide and dramatic like he had just performed a great act of historical heroism. And dangling gently from his mouth, held awkwardly but carefully by the scruff, was a tiny, bony kitten.
Minho dropped his mug. (It was okay; it was thankfully the ugly one.)
This adorable little kitten appeared to be around seven to ten weeks old, judging by its tiny, compact body, round baby face, oversized ears, and exceptionally fluffy kitten coat. It most closely resembled a Domestic Longhair, carrying a striking, cloud-like snowy white fur that covered its fluffy chest, plump little body, and feathery tail.
The most enchanting feature was its heterochromia, boasting one brilliant icy-blue eye and one soft greenish-hazel eye—both large, glossy, and overflowing with innocent curiosity. Its perfectly rounded head was framed by tall, triangular ears with delicate pink interiors and wispy white tufts. A tiny bubblegum-pink nose sat above a petite mouth, while long white whiskers gracefully spread across its cheeks, ending down at its irresistibly soft, round baby paws that looked like tiny cotton pom-poms.
Dori dropped the bundle carefully onto the rug and sat right beside him like a proud knight, his tail curled protectively around the kitten's side.
Minho knelt down on the floor beside the tiny creature, barely daring to breathe as his intense, feline eyes watched the baby intently.
“Breathing's fine,” he murmured, his voice softening instantly as his long fingers gently checked over the small body. “Probably just exhausted. Malnourished for sure.”
The kitten blinked up at the two of you, tried its best to let out a proper meow, and managed only the smallest, weakest little squeak.
He was impossibly small, all sharp little bones beneath his messy white fur, and he couldn't have been more than a helpless baby.