Lu Nan had arrived in such a rush and so unexpectedly that there was no cat bed or nest anywhere in the house. Liang Zhecheng, naturally, was more than happy to have Lu Nan sleep with him—he'd been dying to cuddle a cat to sleep—but the cat flatly refused. With one haughty lift of his paw, he shut down Liang Zhecheng's enthusiastic invitation to share a bed.
Humans had their need to cuddle; cats had their principles to uphold. After who-knew-how-many failed attempts, Liang Zhecheng—covered in cat-scratch marks—finally sighed and gave in.
"A wise man retreats today to win tomorrow. I refuse to believe I'll never get to sleep with you." Liang Zhecheng crossed his arms and gave a cold snort in Lu Nan's direction.
Lu Nan bared his little teeth at him and even rolled his eyes in disdain. "Pfft. Scumbag. How does everything that comes out of your mouth come out sounding so wrong?"
Fortunately for him, the man had no idea what the cat was muttering. He was getting snarled at, and took it as the cat acting cute for him.
Liang Zhecheng dug out a small blanket and spread it out for Lu Nan, right beside his own bed, where he could see it with just a turn of his head at night.
Outside, the sky had long gone pitch black. The thick curtains sealed the room off from the world, as if the whole place had been cut away into a world of its own—a tiny world that belonged only to the two of them.
Lu Nan yawned twice, shifted around, curled into a ball, and lay down. He had no desire to share a room with this man either, but he genuinely was sleepy. After days of upheaval, he'd finally found a place to land.
Liang Zhecheng normally slept like a rock—dead to the world, straight through till morning. Tonight, however, he found himself, for once, unable to sleep.
Because he'd had a dream.
In the dream, Liang Zhecheng was in a tailored suit, vacationing at a beach resort. Sun umbrella, sunglasses, coconut drinks and little waves—utter bliss. The sea breeze drifted in and the sound of the surf never stopped. Liang Zhecheng spread his arms, deeply content, and murmured to himself, "If only a cat would fall into my arms right now."
Bam! A cat practically fell out of the sky, landing square on Liang Zhecheng's face, all fluffy. It was a dream, so there was no pain; he just heh-heh'd, plucked the little cat off, and marveled that his dream had actually come true. A cat throwing itself into his embrace—unbelievable.
The cat had a black tail, glossy and sleek fur, and a pink bow tied around its neck. It gave a soft meow beside Liang Zhecheng's ear.
"Good kitty. Come home with me. Come home and I'll be your daddy." Liang Zhecheng pushed his glasses up his nose, looking every bit the rich playboy.
The cat wiggled—and then truly did transform into a human. Except it was a big bearded brute of a man, tail still attached, ears still on his head, dark-skinned. He blinked, wriggled his hips, rubbed his face against Liang Zhecheng's cheek, and in a rough, gravelly voice called out, Daddy.
"FUCK!" Liang Zhecheng's legs kicked out and he jolted awake, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.
His breathing was still rapid. It took a few seconds of forcing himself to calm down before he heard the soft little snoring in the room. Quiet. It was Lu Nan. At some point the little cat had wormed his way over next to Liang Zhecheng, belly-up, sleeping soundly, little paws unconsciously hooked on Liang Zhecheng's hand. His sleep quality was spectacular—not the slightest bit disturbed by Liang Zhecheng's spasmodic kick.
Liang Zhecheng smiled helplessly, gently withdrew his hand, and leaned in close. He reached up and, feather-light, stroked Lu Nan's little whiskers twice. Lu Nan seemed to find it ticklish, curled himself into an even tighter ball, little paws wrapped around his head—the universal posture of do-not-disturb.
"Little guy, you wouldn't be holding a grudge because I called myself your daddy today, and planted a nightmare like that in my head to scare me... would you?" Liang Zhecheng murmured, tenderness written all over his face.
By the light of a very, very dim little yellow night lamp on the nightstand, Liang Zhecheng looked at this little cat for a long, long time.
As a child, Liang Zhecheng had always wanted a cat. His family spoiled him rotten in most things, but on this one his mother had been unwavering: no.
He'd had a dog when he was small—a little white mongrel he'd rescued from beside a garbage bin. Liang Zhecheng treasured it beyond words; he all but slept in the same bed with it. Then one day the dog slipped out, followed the car that took Liang Zhecheng to school... and never came back.
He came home, found the dog gone, and threw a monumental fit, skipping school for days. By the time they found it, the dog was already gone—hit by a car, blood long dried, body stiff, dumped in the grass, the first annoying flies beginning to gather.
Liang Zhecheng had been only a few years old. He knelt at the front door digging a little grave for it, digging and crying; he cried through dinner, cried at bedtime, cried until his throat was inflamed, ran a high fever that night, and spent days on an IV drip in the hospital. For a long while afterward he was withdrawn and glum. That was the wound of his childhood—the first time he had ever touched death, helpless and at a loss, knowing his beloved playmate was never coming back and there was nothing he could do.
Later he still wanted a cat. When he was older, he figured he could take better care of one now—but his mother still refused.
People say a fortune with fur on it never counts, and life is fragile by nature. Small creatures that can't speak, that can't express their needs or their condition, are fragilest of all. In a mother's eyes her child is always a child, and back then Liang Zhecheng was, at the end of the day, still small. So she shook her head. "If you want a pet, wait until you're grown and able, and get one yourself. This is a little life. It doesn't exist to please anyone, and it can't be taken in on a whim. If you're going to raise one, you're responsible for it for its whole life."
Liang Zhecheng had been unhappy, but he knew his mother was right.
But by the time he really had grown up, had money, and lived on his own, he had no time. Fresh out of school, brash and full of fire, charging at everything, rushing everywhere—the last thing he had was the stability to raise a pet. Only now, at thirty-two, no longer rushing around, everything settled, with a real career of his own and time to spare, did he finally have everything needed to welcome a new life into his world.
Perhaps heaven favored him after all. Just when he truly wanted a cat for company, this cat had come to him as if fated.
They say a young heart is the one thing that can't be regenerated—but in this moment, Liang Zhecheng seemed to become that teenager again, gazing at the small fluffy creature before him, overjoyed, with a sense of responsibility settling onto his shoulders.
He thought back to that dream just now and laughed at himself. He gave Lu Nan's little paw two gentle pokes and said, "Mimi, tell me—if you turned into a person, you wouldn't actually have one of those faces only a mother could love, would you?"
He shivered at his own words, then cracked himself up, murmuring, Whatever you turn into one day—I'd still know you anywhere.
The dream had blown the last of his sleepiness clean away.
He rolled onto his side, propped his head on one hand, and lazily fiddled with the soundly sleeping Lu Nan with the other.
"What are you dreaming about, little kitty?" Liang Zhecheng's fingers traced little circles on Lu Nan's whiskers. It tickled, and Lu Nan, annoyed, batted at him twice with a little paw, seeming to frown, but didn't wake.
But Liang Zhecheng just couldn't keep his hands to himself. From the whiskers he drifted down to the little chin, and from the chin he couldn't resist—and planted a big smacking kiss on the little guy.
That kiss woke the cat right up.
Lu Nan's bleary eyes opened to a giant mouth bearing down on him.
Faster than words can tell, pure instinct took over: Lu Nan shrieked, squeezed his eyes shut, and slapped out with everything he had.
"Meow~" cried Lu Nan.
"OW~" howled Liang Zhecheng, clutching his face.
He looked exactly like some poor wretch slapped by his own scumbag lover. In reality, Lu Nan was fully prepared to prosecute this despicable human on charges of molestation. If kissing a cat were a crime, Liang Zhecheng would already be dining on state-provided meals behind bars.
To be fair, the cat hadn't extended his claws—he had principles. The slap had landed, yes, but there was no real damage.
Liang Zhecheng snorted. "Look at that temper of yours. Just slaps a guy, no questions asked."
Hearing this only made Lu Nan angrier. He wanted nothing more than to stand up, plant his paws on his hips, and berate the man, his meowing taking on a distinctly offended edge. "And YOU'VE got the nerve to talk?! You were asking for it! Who gave you the audacity to disturb My rest?!"
It was deep into the small hours, dead silence outside, without so much as a breath of wind. Liang Zhecheng turned the night lamp up brighter. Man and cat locked eyes. Lu Nan sat up straight, little paws itching for a fight—he'd already demonstrated his kung-fu-cat credentials and was just waiting for Liang Zhecheng to drop his guard so he could pounce and take a bite. And Liang Zhecheng, fully awake now, dropped into a tai chi stance, ready for battle.
In the dead of night, one man, one cat, three hundred rounds of all-out war. The result: entirely predictable.
The human's arms ended up dotted with tiny bite marks—small ones, almost cute. Lu Nan hadn't actually bitten down hard.
And the cat? Exhausted, sprawled on the bed, too lazy to move another muscle. By the time the sky began to gray toward dawn, Liang Zhecheng reached out one arm, gathered Lu Nan in, and fell asleep holding him. Lu Nan squirmed a little, then couldn't be bothered to struggle.
Fine. Whatever.