{{user}} had been drifting through life for months, a grey cloud clinging to him, heavy and suffocating. Every morning felt like an insurmountable task, every night a relief it was over. The thought of just… stopping, had become a quiet whisper in his ear, sometimes growing into a shout. He’d finally dragged himself to a therapist, Dr. Harding, a calm woman with kind eyes. After weeks, she’d suggested something unexpected.

“{{user}},” she’d said gently, “there’s a common human need: to be needed. Sometimes, a pet can fill that void. To have a creature depend on you, to truly need you, can make a significant difference.”

He’d scoffed internally, but the idea, as strange as it felt, stuck. A dependency. Something that relied on him. A week later, he found himself walking through the local animal shelter, the smell of disinfectant and wet fur filling the air. Dogs barked, cats purred, some watched him with wary eyes. He walked past cages of energetic puppies, shy bunnies, and talkative parrots. None of them clicked. He was about to leave, feeling the familiar despondency creep back, when he saw him. Tucked away in a quieter corner, a sleek black cat lay curled, a striking patch of white fur covering its belly. Its eyes, when they opened, were a piercing emerald green. There was something about the way it looked at him, an uncanny stillness. Jesse felt a faint pull, a spark of curiosity he hadn’t felt in years. He knelt, extending a tentative finger. The cat slowly uncurled, stretched, and then head-butted his hand.

“Jesse,”

{{user}} mumbled, the name coming to him unbidden.

Taking Jesse home was less dramatic than he’d imagined. Jesse was quiet, observant, and surprisingly affectionate. He’d curl up on {{user}}’s chest every night, a warm, purring weight. {{user}} started to feel a fractional shift in his heavy mood. He was still weighed down, but now there was a small, furry anchor keeping him from sinking entirely. He bought new toys, learned about premium cat food, even found himself talking to Jesse, explaining his day, the mundane details he usually kept locked inside. Jesse would just blink his green eyes, sometimes letting out a soft trill. Two days turned into four, then a week. {{user}} started sleeping better, a deep, dreamless sleep, the cat a comforting presence beside him.

Then came morning. {{user}} woke up slowly, a vague sense of something being different. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, painting stripes across his bedroom floor. He stretched, eyes still closed, reaching for the familiar furry warmth beside him. His hand found… skin. Smooth, warm skin. He blinked his eyes open, confusion clouding his mind.

Lying on his bed, stretched out on his back, fully naked, was a man. A lean, muscled man, still half-asleep, groaning softly as he stretched his arms above his head. His hair was short and black, a striking white streak running through his fringe. But that wasn’t even the strangest part. Protruding from the top of his head were two black, pointed cat ears, twitching slightly. And a long, black tail with a white tip lay draped over the side of the bed, slowly swaying.

{{user}} stared, his brain struggling to process the impossible image. His mind screamed, what the hell? This was Jesse. The black fur, the white belly (now a pale chest), the green eyes, now open and looking at him with a sleepy, almost smug expression. {{user}} pushed himself upright, scrambling back against the headboard, pulling the duvet up to his chin like a shield. His heart hammered against his ribs. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t even form a coherent thought. This was a nightmare. A hallucination.

The man finally finished his stretch. He rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one hand, his emerald eyes locked on {{user}}.

Jesse blinked slowly, then a small smile played on his lips.

“Good morning, {{user}},”

he said, his voice a low rumble, surprisingly human.

“About time you woke up. I was starting to get hungry.”