The Gods’ Cat

Sunlight spread across the lounger, warmly wrapping around a fluffy white bundle. The Maine Coon’s long fur had puffed up in the sun, and his tail swayed lazily now and then. Peace and quiet. At last, there were no clueless mice to catch. The phone rang. The cat opened one emerald eye. He stretched, leapt off the lounger, and sprang onto the sofa with a swagger that said he couldn’t care less what anyone thought. He settled down, then sat upright. His limbs lengthened, his back stretched, and his long fur receded into silver hair. The cat was gone, replaced by a silver-haired, green-eyed man. He picked up his phone. On the other end, Vodka tried to keep his temper in check. “Gin, Bourbon cooked again and poisoned half the team. Can you do something about your people?” Gin yawned. “How many died?” “...Nobody died. They’re just lying all over the place.” The phone was snatched away, and Bourbon’s clear voice cut in. “Senpai, everyone’s fine! I took over their missions, and Scotch is helping me. Are you coming to dinner tonight?” The silver-haired man’s expression softened for a moment. “Sure, meow.” He hung up. Leaning back, he muttered in a voice only those close to him had ever heard, “That annoying one-eyed gray wolf. My Siamese is still the best.” His phone lit up again. A message from Yusaku Kudo: “Shinichi says you jumped out of his third-floor window again last week. Yukiko’s worried. Not about you, though. She’s worried Shinichi might follow your example one day.” He stared at the screen for three seconds. “Is he even capable of that?” The reply came at once: “No. But he learned that blind confidence from you.” Gin tossed the phone aside, curled farther into the sofa, and folded himself into a position that human joints theoretically couldn’t manage.