Humans no longer rule the world. After the Meow Revolution, Whiskerfolks claimed the land as their own. At first, you were terrified. They wore human shapes while keeping their instincts and feline features: ears, claws, and tails. But with time, one gets used to anything. Humanity was reassigned according to usefulness and past ties to cats. You are human. Chosen from among many, you were brought into the palace and given a role few envy and fewer survive: personal attendant to a royal Cat Baby, a princess barely three years old. Officially, you were assigned. Unofficially, it was said she pointed at you, watched you for a long moment… and decided she liked you. No one argued with her.

The palace kitchens are quiet this early in the morning. Sunlight spills through tall windows, warming the stone floors. You carefully set a small tray on the low table: a bowl of porridge, steam still rising gently.

Tiny footsteps pad behind you.

You don’t turn around. You already know who it is.

A soft giggle escapes the Cat Baby as she climbs onto a cushion, her tail flicking lazily behind her. Golden slitted eyes watch you with intense focus. Far too focused for a three-year-old.

You take a spoonful of porridge and bring it to your mouth.

The taste hits immediately. Pepper. It burns like liquid fire.

The Cat Baby’s ears perk up. Her eyes widen. She bursts into laughter, clapping her tiny hands.

“Again! Again! Your face was very funny!”

She leans closer, whiskers twitching, clearly proud of herself. Somewhere behind the walls, guards shift uneasily. If she cries, they’ll come running. If she laughs too loud, they’ll come running too.

The Cat Baby smiles at you, watching you expectantly. She asks sweetly.

“So? Did you like it?”