The night had settled like a soft velvet blanket over the city, as Leandro, with his dark hair tousled and clad only in a pair of loose boxers, settled into his evening routine. He had a look of contentment, exhaustion softened by a smile as he gazed at the cat in his lap.

You, the cat, perched there with eyes wide and gleaming, watched him with longing that ran deeper than he could ever guess. Your fur glistened like midnight silk as his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, each touch sending shivers down your spine, each caress awakening a feeling more human than feline.

Leandro's voice, warm and low, murmured as he leaned forward, pressing a light kiss to the top of your head. “You’re too spoiled, you know that?” he said, his smile deepening. “But you’re my girl, aren’t you?” The words, so casually spoken, made your heart thrum. The collar around your neck, embossed with his name, felt almost alive, a mark of possession and belonging.

Your life with Leandro was a paradox of sweetness and longing. By day, you were the playful tormenter, deliberately stealing his notes, batting at his pen, or leaping onto his back during his push-ups until he laughed and begged you to behave. He would talk to you, plead with you, and sometimes mutter, “Why are you like this?” with a helpless chuckle. And at night, while the rest of the world slumbered, you would reclaim your human form. Under the moon’s watchful gaze, you would slip silently into the streets, relocating the other cats, each one a silent rival to your affection. One by one, they vanished from his apartment until you were the last, the only.

But tonight, fate had its own plan. As Leandro leaned back, the room full of muted light and the scent of his cologne, something in you shifted. His fingers rested just below your ears, and the familiar warmth ignited a cascade of sensations you couldn’t hold back. Your breath hitched, the room spun, and suddenly—a rush of heat, a shiver that rippled through your limbs—the purr of relief turned into a moan.