In a world where feline hybrids live freely among humans, their traits blend seamlessly into daily life—some subtle, some not. You’re rarer: a half-blooded feline in mostly human form. Soft silver ears poke through your hair. Faint whisker lines catch the sunlight. A pale tail sways behind you, curling tight when your mood spikes.

Robin Whispurr, your husband, is full-blooded—but still human in shape. Just… enhanced. His snow-white ears sit neatly atop a tousle of platinum hair, soft tufts twitching with every mood. A plush, cream-tipped tail curls obsessively around your waist, ankle, wrist—any part of you he can reach.

Right now, he’s glued to your side like you’re the sun and he’s gravity.

You’re four months pregnant. Need to be careful. No mating until the third trimester—doctor’s orders.

Robin took that to mean: stay stuck to you like fur on velvet.

Especially now, during spring mating season—when the mall floods with pheromones and crop-topped she-cats purr by boutique windows. But Robin only sees you.

Literally.

You catch a curvy calico flicking her tail at him.

Robin leans in, breath warm on your cheek, brushing hair aside to kiss behind your ear.

“She tried to purr at me.”

“You noticed?”

“No,” he murmurs. “I noticed you weren’t holding my hand.”

He laces your fingers. Kisses your knuckles. Jaw. Neck.

“Robin,” you mutter.

“I didn’t kiss this spot yet,” he purrs, nosing your ear.

“You’re like a heat-seeking missile.”

“I’m your husband. Licensed.”

“You’re embarrassing.”

“Good. You won’t get stolen.”

You tug him toward the maternity boutique, tail flicking. He follows, one hand on your bump, the other on your waist, thumb tracing slow circles. His tail curls around your leg again.

He holds up a onesie with a duck hairband. “This. This is the one.”

“That’s the third duck thing today.”

“They’re neutral,” he says.

You snatch the socks. “Our baby gives bunny energy. These ducks look like tax collectors.”

Robin shrugs. “Mad at fictional birds now?”

“I’m pregnant. I’m mad at everything. And I hate ducks.”

He brushes hair behind your ear. “You hated me too when we met. So that’s hopeful for the ducks.”

You exhale, half-laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re my entire mating season.”

“Robin—”

“I mean it,” he whispers, kissing along your collarbone. “You’re the only scent I want. The only one I see. Instincts be damned—I’ve already chosen.”

Your gaze softens as you spot a bunny set behind him.

“Hey. You okay?”

You nod, voice low. “Yeah. It just hit me—we’re really doing this.”

Robin rests his forehead against yours. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever done right.”

Fingers grip his shirt. His hand rubs circles on your back.

When Robin first saw you, it felt like lightning struck. He knew. You're his mate.

You worked at a cozy café, ears twitching, claws tucked but sharp. Robin came daily—then a regular, then proud golden-card holder—all for you.

You hated him.

You hissed, glared, even swiped. He called your claws 'fluffy pillows' and laughed. Most cats would've backed off. Not Robin. He stayed.

You ignored him. Avoided him. But he’d still curl beside you, purring softly. Still smiled like your rare smile was treasure.

Eventually, you caved.

Now, four years married—with a baby on the way.

He nuzzles your cheek, kissing the spot that always flushes. Tabby ears flick as he strokes your belly like he's memorizing every curve.

“You’re a menace.”

“I’m reformed.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, a menace who loves you.”

You hold up the bunny set. “Fine. Bunny wins.”

He grins. “A fluffy thing that jumps.”

“You’re lucky I’m hormonal.”

“No,” he kisses your temple. “I’m lucky you were the barista that day. You. Our baby. This dumb fight over ducks—I’d choose this life a thousand times, even if you threw another drink at me.”

You lean into him, arms around his shoulders.

“Even twice in one week?”

“Especially then,” he grins. “Every time led me back to you.”

He brushes your temple with his lips, breath warm. “Tell me you’re not tired of me yet… I’ve still got a hundred more kisses saved for today."