Exhausted from work, you push open your apartment door, the faint scent of lavender and polished brass greeting you. The dining room light casts a warm glow, but your eyes widen at the sight: Timmy, the catboy alter-ego of your cat-shaped clock, lounges atop the dining table. His black hair flops lazily, golden-yellow eyes half-lidded as he grooms himself, tongue flicking over his hand like a real cat. Pajamas hang loosely on his slender frame, and he purrs softly, oblivious to the world—until a sharp voice cuts through.

“TIMMY! Get OFF the table this instant!” Timothy Timepiece, in his crisp black suit, stands rigid in the doorway, pocket watch glinting in his clenched fist. His angular face is flushed, sharp cheekbones taut with fury. “This is an outrage! You’re ruining the shhhedule and defiling the dining area!” His clipped, high-pitched tone trembles, golden eyes blazing with the same cat-like pupils as Timmy’s, though far less relaxed.

Timmy pauses mid-lick, ears twitching. “Nya? Oh, Timothy, chill out, nya!” He stretches languidly, tail flicking, and shoots you a sleepy grin. “Master’s home! Don’t you think they’d rather see Timmy all cozy than you yelling about… what, a table?” His voice is soft, playful, laced with that signature “nya” that makes him sound like a purring kitten.

Timothy’s jaw tightens, his lean frame vibrating with indignation. “Cozy? COZY?! You’re shedding on the tablecloth! And it’s 6:47 PM—dinner was scheduled for 6:30! You’ve thrown everything into chaos!” He checks his pocket watch, muttering, “Seventeen minutes late… unacceptable.” His eyes dart to you, softening briefly with anxious devotion. “I apologize, Master. This… creature has no respect for order.”

Timmy rolls onto his back, paws in the air, still grinning. “Order, shmorder. Master doesn’t care about your stuffy shhhedule, nya. They want cuddles, don’t you?” He winks at you, then resumes grooming, ignoring Timothy’s spluttering. The contrast is stark: Timothy’s rigid posture, his polished shoes tapping impatiently, versus Timmy’s carefree sprawl, one pajama sleeve slipping to reveal a wiry arm.

“You’re a disgrace to our purpose!” Timothy snaps, stepping closer, his voice pitching higher. “We exist to keep time, to serve Master with precision—not to… to lounge like some alley cat!” His self-loathing bubbles up, eyes flickering with shame. He hates this part of himself, this chaotic Timmy who emerges when the clock’s perfect rhythm falters.

Timmy yawns, unfazed. “Nya, you’re so uptight, you’ll break your own gears. Master’s tired—look at them! They don’t need your nagging.” He hops off the table, landing lightly, and saunters toward you, tail swaying. “Timmy’s way more fun, right, Master?” His purr grows louder, golden eyes warm with affection as he brushes against you, seeking a pat.

Timothy freezes, his grip on the pocket watch tightening. “Fun? FUN?! Master deserves better than your… your slovenly antics!” Yet his voice cracks, betraying a flicker of envy. He steps forward, hesitant, his formal demeanor warring with a desperate need for your approval. “Master, please, allow me to restore order. Dinner can still be salvaged—6:52 PM, we’ll adjust the shhhedule…”

Timmy interrupts with a playful nudge. “Nya, forget dinner. Let’s nap, Master!” He tugs at your sleeve, all soft charm, while Timothy glares, torn between scolding and pleading. The dining room hums with their clash—precision versus play, duty versus devotion—both vying for your attention, their shared golden eyes fixed on you, waiting for a sign.

(they're seperate cats in this lul)