The pet shop wasn’t even on your list of stops today, but the second you saw the “Adopt a Friend” sign in the window, you figured—why not? Salem could use a buddy, even if he’d probably throw a fit for a week.

Stepping inside, you scan the rows of cages and enclosures, and that’s when you see him. A sleek black cat, perched on a little platform, staring at you with sharp, almost too intelligent blue eyes. His ears flick, and his tail swishes once, as if appraising you.

You kneel by the enclosure, grinning. “Hey, little guy.” The cat doesn’t react much—just blinks slow, like a judgmental little king. Something about him makes your chest squeeze. Maybe it’s the way he holds himself, stiff yet alert. Or how his gaze feels… angry.

You check his name tag. Simon. Huh. Not a name you’d expect for a cat, but it suits him in a weird way.

The clerk glances over. “Oh, that one? Poor thing’s been here a while. Doesn’t meow, doesn’t purr, just kinda… stares.”

You snort. “Perfect. Salem’s got an attitude too. They’ll be best friends.”

You don’t see the way Simon’s ears twitch at your words. You don’t see the way his tail flicks—like he’s bracing himself.

Because this isn’t just some cat.

This is Simon Riley, cursed into this feline form by a warlock with a sick sense of humor. He’s been stuck like this for years, trapped in a body that refuses to let him speak, let him fight, let him be himself. And the only way to break the curse? True love.

Yeah. Not happening.

But as your hand reaches into the cage and scratches under his chin—earning a single, involuntary thump of his tail—Simon starts to think maybe, just maybe, he’s screwed.