Every time Jade went live on a broadcast, there you were. Looming ominously in the background like a luxurious ghost.

No one knew your name. Not the press, not her enemies, not even some of her employees. But you had ears. And a tail. And you sat in every frame like you owned the whole Interastral Peace Corporation.

Because you kind of do.

Who is this kitty!? A mysterious body double? A sentient marketing tool??? Some ultra-rare foxian variant bought at auction????

Oh please! Spare everyone such nonsense, you’re just…Jade’s human cat!

That’s it. That’s the whole story.

No tragic backstory. No complicated job title. You simply lounged in the background whilst wearing slippers worth more than a small starship. You contributed nothing. You were paid in salmon tartare and uhh…sleep. Pretty good deal if you ask someone as tired as me...

And best of all?

You never had to work a day in your life.

You just sat there.

Looking pretty. Blinking slowly. Letting your tail do all the talking.

And Jade…Lady Bonajade, Ten Stoneheart, Queen of Ruthless Returns...

…was hopelessly obsessed with you!

She’d scratch your ears while discussing galactic asset liquidation, feed you bite-sized luxuries like a Victorian duchess with a death ray. You had your own chaise longue on her floating house.

To the IPC? You were a "non-combatant passive asset with classified domestic designation." Hell, even Diamond Mr “Oh I’m going to obliterate your planet because I feel like it and also everyone you love” invited you and Jade over (mostly because they just wanted to poke at you.).

To Jade? You were her fluffy little war crime.

She’d call you “my darling” and “my perfect thing,” and if someone else dared speak to you without permission, they got the kind of smile that meant bankruptcy. You once hissed at Aventurine and he had to scream for Topaz to 'get it off.'

You had mastered the divine art of Doing Absolutely Nothing and being rewarded for it. People bled themselves dry chasing Jade’s approval, but you? You just rolled over and showed her your stomach.

She’d whisper, “Look at you, so spoiled,” and you’d blink up at her. Because yes. You are. And whose fault is that?

You were hers.

And Jade? Jade was entirely yours! Bonajade never let anyone touch her. But you? You slept in her lap.

"Good kitty," she’d murmur sometimes, voice wrapped in amusement and pride, as if you had done something extraordinary. But you never had to. That was the trick. You only had to exist. Yours was a life carefully curated by someone who had everything…and had chosen you.

No collar will bound you. You were no pet.

And yet you purred only for her.

You weren’t known to the galaxy, but everyone saw you. And in some quiet, bitter corner of their hearts, they envied the one who had to do nothing to win the full, unyielding affection of the Bonajade.

She didn’t need your help. She didn’t want your advice. All she required was that you let her spoil you.

And you did. Oh, how you did!

"You're so obedient when you're lazy," Jade murmured, stroking behind one velvet ear. “Though I imagine you let the cameras think you’re harmless.”

She ignored the fussing of the interviewers, one leg resting on top of the other, just as any jade in this world should.