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Wukong didn’t notice anything wrong at first. It had gotten a little fatter, sure, but he assumed it was because the cat was finally recovering from malnutrition.
But then it started vomiting. Often. It wasn’t so much as annoying as it was disturbing. It seemed to be getting healthier but it also concerned Wukong that it might be puking out more than it’s eating.
Its stomach also started to round more, at an alarming rate. Mk mentioned the possibility of stomach worms. He brought up going to the vet, but Wukong was adamant against that idea and held it off for a while, stubbornly convinced that the cat will just right itself eventually with enough good food and wound cleaning.
~
It’s raining tonight. It wasn’t raining the day he died. The day he killed him.
That day was sunny, the weather clear and bright, like the heavens were mocking him. His own shadow was short, barely covering the body he stood over.
No rain came to wash away the blood on his staff. To clean the mangled corpse on the ground.
The world kept spinning, almost too fast and steady.
The sky stayed blue as the surviving victor cleaned his hands in a nearby river so as to not scare his master, dying the water a lovely, pinkish hue.
And yet the rain still called forth memories of him.
Of when they were younger, huddled so close that the dark and auburn wet fur mixed together. Staying under some small covering to keep warm while listening to the pitter patter, pitter patter of rain. Because as much as the other monkeys acted friendly and trusting, they couldn’t betray the primitive instinct against letting two demons so vulnerably close.
And it’s raining tonight. He has a bigger home now, a roof over his head and a bigger cave encircling that. The cold drops can’t reach him here, he could barely even hear them. Yet the cold is invasive. All-consuming and seeping into his bones.
Not blunt or binded enough to be compared to being trapped under a mountain, but not warm enough to compare to the comfort of a body pressed against his own, heat radiating under the layers of wet fur.
Stuck, numb, empty. He vaguely wonders if this is what a dead body feels like.
He’ll have to ask Macaque some time.
He woke up with a strained gasp, sitting up so quickly that his back cracked in protest. Usually, Wukong would be more serene once he managed to reach deep sleep, but the sound of thunder reverberated and echoed in the cave, loud and unforgiving.
Wukong’s tail slapped the bed with heavy thumps. He blinked his eyes a few more times, adjusting to the dark room. He didn’t notice the tiny body next to him until it jolted when another flash of lightning lit up the room, followed by the deafening thunder. He quickly ripped off his blanket to look at the cat, who had huddled itself into Wukong’s side, tail tucked securely between their touch.
The room was dark with only some light streaming in through door cracks and curtain gaps. He couldn’t see the exact expression the cat was pulling, but its form curved as it craned its head to look up at him when the blanket lifted, as if chiding him for taking away its warmth.
All of a sudden, the stress drained from his muscles, and Wukong felt silly for panicking over a thunderstorm like a little cub. He reached a shaking hand to grab the little stray and held it close to himself.
He wasn’t sure if he did it to comfort the cat or to comfort himself, but then it started purring and Wukong decided it didn’t matter who benefited more. The vibrations against his chest were unravelling the tensed mess inside his gut and he could physically feel the tight anxiety slipping away.
“It’s cold, isn’t it?” he asked, as if the cat could speak to reply. Instead, it meowed and aggressively rubbed its head against Wukong. He let his free hand run through the fur, soft and cozy from sleep, until it caught against the cold collar. The temperature difference was unnerving, chilling and shocking like cold metal, and chased away the hint of warmth. Subconsciously, he tugged at the collar, not hard enough to break but hard enough to hurt.
He didn’t realize what he was doing until the cat hissed at him, fishy breath attacking his senses, enough to drop the agitated animal on the bed. He stared at the cat, who was currently licking at its paw and cleaning its face. Blinking a few times, he reached out a tentative hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
He could feel the cold puffing of breathing on his fingers before a sharp stinging pain clenched around a finger. It bit him. “That’s fair,” Wukong said as he felt the sandy tongue lick around the pricks of blood apologetically, before breaking out into wild laughter. “You’ve got a lot of spunk, kid, biting the Monkey King like that. As expected of the Great Sage Equal to Heaven’s house guest!”
He kept laughing, his fatigued mind humming with hysteria over such idle amusement. His stomach started cramping from strain and he fell to his side, folding in on himself and still giggling. Eventually, the humor faded and Wukong stared at the shadowed silhouette of the cat. It was licking at its hind leg, uncaring of his brief frenzy. He could see the plumped, bloated belly from this angle, visible and alarming. Reaching out a hand, he curled a finger around the cat’s tail, so soft and so thin and so snappable .
He thought back to a couple minutes ago, when he had his hand around the collar. So frail . So breakable. Mortal .
“I don’t want you to die,” he whispered. The cat continued grooming itself, trying to clean the parts of matted fur like Wukong had done numerous times before. “I don’t want you to die,” he said it louder, just to hear himself over the pitter pattering of rain on the roof.
~
The lights turned on at the same time as a calm, steady voice sounded through the room. “Can I help you?”
Wukong snapped his head up, neck aching in protest from his awkward position. His tail stretched out for balance, one foot was on the countertop with the other barely toeing the ground for stabilization. One of his arms was cradling the makeshift sling on his front and his other hand was in the middle of shifting through a tall cupboard.
“Mr. Monkey King,” Sandy addressed with genuine surprise. Wukong’s eyes widened at the broom he had clenched in his hand.
It didn’t matter what excuse his drowsy brain could come up with, the scene itself must’ve painted a pretty clear picture for Sandy. There was no other explanation other than the plain, simple truth. Wukong was robbing his kitchen.
He barely got his foot down before Sandy already made the few steps over from the doorway. Wukong looked at his feet with his tail anxiously flicking when the giant man stopped in front of him, stuttering and twiddling his thumbs like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. Wukong wondered how angry the giant man was with him, on a scale from guiding-him-out-the-door-and-banning-him-from-stepping-foot-onto-his-private-property to beating-his-ass . Centuries of mischief and monkey-business had equipped him with some very sharp survival instincts and an escape plan was crafted within seconds as he “uhh”ed and “ahh”ed to stall for time, despite the brain fog that prevailed due to lack of sleep.
His leg had already bent when Sandy reached out a hand, like a spring recoiling to jump, his ear flicked and tail straightened to be aerodynamic for maximum speed, and–
And Sandy grabbed something from behind him. He pulled it out from its snug placement in between the gap of the counters. A folded step ladder.
The tension in his muscles released in surprise as Wukong blinked dazedly at the cute, pink ladder being handed to him. He glanced up at Sandy, who looked much more amiable than a few seconds prior.
“It’ll be safer and easier to reach with this,” Sandy explained when Wukong made no move to take the ladder. He blinked up at him a few more times before turning around instead. He looked up at the cupboard he was rummaging through. Now, with the lights on, it was evident that it did not have what he was searching for. He felt even more idiotic now. Wukong looked off to the side with a very articulate “uhhh” , not sure how to explain he actually wanted to steal from the medicine cabinet, not the tea stash.
“Ah,” Sandy came to his own conclusion, “Would you like me to boil something for you?”
~
Wukong stared blankly at the wooden coffee table in front of him, thoughts running wildly and pulling his attention in multiple different directions. The thought at the forefront of his mind was still reeling from Sandy’s hospitality, since he was fully prepared to pull any trick from the book to steal what he wanted, like the cat food from before.
He felt sorta bad, taking advantage of Mk’s friends and all, but he figured he could eventually get his shit together and buy some new bags to replace the ones he stole, no harm done. That was all thrown out the window now.
He hadn’t felt quite this exposed in a while. He didn’t even have his signature armor or feathered headdress on. Just some ancient, faded tunic he slept in that’s been thoroughly soaked when he impulsively ran out his house with his house guest strapped to the front of his chest, and then completely blown dry when he flew over the raining clouds to reach Sandy’s boat.
Still, Wukong found it hard to be overly stressed with the conglomeration of purring, fluffy cats crowding the room. The faint thud of a pot on wood startled him to attention, snapping his head to look up at Sandy.
“Milk tea,” he said, nodding to the western teapot on the table.
“Oh, uh– Haha , I don’t, um. I don’t drink thick stuff,” the words came out before Wukong could think twice. He awkwardly coughed into his hands, clearing his throat for a less croaky voice as Sandy slightly tilted his head, silently asking for elaboration.
“I don’t like drinking hot liquids with thick textures. It’s– uh, one of my icks .” That was a word Mk taught him. He added a smile at the end, probably too wide to seem genuinely confident.
“ Ohh! I’m so sorry,” Sandy looked flustered. “I’ll go get something else. What would you like a thinner drink instead? Or maybe just one with a colder temperature?
“Uh. I think,” he urged his sluggish brain to keep up with the conversation. “This is fine. I can just wait for it to cool.”
“No, I should’ve asked for your preference before boiling anything! I didn’t mean to dismiss you like that. I’m still a little sleepy, haven’t woken up completely, heh,” Sandy’s cheeks tinted with a sheepish grin, as if it was anybody else’s fault but Wukong’s for the man waking up in the middle of the night.
He narrowed his eyes in confusion before relenting and shrugging, “Just any thinner stuff is fine.” Sandy nodded. If he wanted to treat his property thief with such hospitality, Wukong wasn’t going to stop him. Especially when that thief is himself.
“So, is there anything you’d like to get off your chest? I’m not great at advice but I’m a good listener,” he gave him a cordial look of concern before heading back into the kitchen area. Wukong guessed he must’ve looked rather shit for Sandy to easily assume that he was tired or stressed. Which he wasn’t.
“No, nothing,” he chuckled, voice cracking a little from the forced lightness. He rubbed the cat on his chest from outside the fabric. It was being still and obedient despite all the ruckus, or maybe it was just asleep. “I’m just a little shocked, heh, I thought you were gonna hit me with that broom or something.”
“Oh, that? I would never hit you with a broom Mr. Monkey King!” Sandy’s voice sounded with so much genuinity. No undertones of ridicule or mockery that Wukong was prepared for. “It was just an extra precaution to deal with some uninvited guests that visit from time to time.”
That made him pause. There was someone that could be classified as ‘uninvited’ to Sandy? They must’ve fucked up bad. Wukong wondered how close he was to being sorted into that category. Maybe it was some sort of varmint, like a feral dog. But then again, he could see Sandy inviting a dog inside his house for tea, even if it was foaming at the mouth.
He lifted his head in time to see Sandy coming back, stepping around and weaving through the sea of cats on the ground with ease, despite what someone might assume with the agility of his build.
A glass teapot was set down this time, steaming with a sweet, herbal aroma. It held a few dried flowers, floating around the gold-tinted liquid. “Here you go, Mr. Monkey King!” Wukong was handed a cup just over half-way filled. “Chamomile tea helps with sleep,” Sandy grinned, sitting down on the other side of the couch, leaving a comfortable space in between them.
The cup was thick enough to not feel the burn of the liquid but still hot enough to be jarring against his cold hands. The rising steam puffed against Wukong’s face. It wasn’t so much as triggering as it was soothing.
He lightly sipped the tea as he watched as a few cats came to curl around Sandy, settling right into the dip of his thighs into the couch with no fear of accidentally being crushed or something. In a way, it reminded him of his monkeys and the thought brought some more comfort.
“So ooo ,” he dragged the word out. “Do you have any, um, medication? To treat worms?”
“To treat worms ?”
He quickly backpedalled, “You don’t? Damn, I thought humans made pills for everything.”
“No no, I do have some. They’re just not stored in the kitchen if that’s what you were looking for. Cross contamination and all.” Wukong nodded as if he knew what the fuck that meant. “And they’re for cats. I’m not sure if I have anything for people– er, monkey demons?”
“Oh, that’s perfect,” Wukong grinned, relieved, before the smile dropped again once Sandy’s words registered in his brain. ”No! What– I mean, it’s not for me!”
“It’s okay, Mr. Monkey King,” Sandy said placatingly. “There’s nothing wrong with having wor–”
“I don’t have worms!” he cried incredulously. Quickly, he ripped out the knot behind his neck to unfold the sling, laying the stirring cat in the empty space between them.
“It’s for this guy. I think it might have worms and I didn’t want– er , I didn’t feel like going to a vet.”
Sandy stared wide-eyed at the orange cat, who was currently stretching itself out from its nap in the sling.
“It’s been vomiting often. Sleeps a lot,” Wukong said, just to fill in the silence. “Keeps clinging to me, too, and it’s been messing up the bed of clothes I made for it. Mk said cats tend to hide their injuries or illnesses, so I dunno if that’s its own subtle way of telling me it needs treatment… or something? ” he slouched in on himself, voice raising at the end with hesitance. He thought this might be the part where Sandy gave him a scolding for not properly caring for the cat.
Instead, a look of realization settled on his face, eyes twinkling. He set his cup of tea aside. “So this is what was in your sling,” he smiled as he stretched a hand out for it to sniff and inspect. The other cats around the room seemed rather unbothered by the reveal of a new addition.
Wukong raised an eyebrow, amused, “What’d you think was in my sling?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Sandy chuckled. “But it all makes sense now. I was wondering what you were doing with all that cat food and kibble.”
“What– you knew I was stealing from you? ” Wukong gaped.
“No offense, Mr. Monkey King, but you’re not as sneaky as you might think,” Sandy chuckled lightheartedly. “I also happen to have a security camera installed in my living room… to make sure none of the cats escape.”
Wukong groaned into his hands, his face flushed. “Sorry,” he muttered through his fingers.
“It’s alright, I don’t mind,” Sandy comfortingly patted the Monkey King’s back. “Just let me know the next time you’re taking more kibble, I’ll show you which type is best for her!”
Wukong peeked up at the friendly face and looked back down at his feet and the tail tucked in between them, embarrassed. “Thanks.” A pause. “Wait, ‘her’? ” he gawked. Then again, he hadn’t carefully checked over the cat’s sex organs. Cat anatomy was confusing and unfamiliar, sue him.
His confusion seemed to make Sandy giddy as he combed away fur on the cat’s stomach. “I’m not a professional so I can’t say for sure…” Wukong leaned in to see what he was pointing at. “But it seems this little buddy is showing signs of ‘pinking’.”
“ ‘Pinking’? ” he grimaced. That word sounded so crude and he would have laughed if he was more immature. Which he wasn’t.
“It’s the term used for when the nipples become enlarged and pink around the third week of gestation.”
“ Gestation? Like, the place people fuel cars at?”
Sandy paused. “Pregnancy,” he blankly said. “It means, uh , it means pregnancy.”
Wukong reddened a bit with a small “oh.” Then, he blinked a few more times, letting the word marinate and settle inside his brain.
“SHE’S PREGNANT?!” he screeched, tail bristling.
“Well, I’m not positive, but she’s definitely showing a lot of symptoms from what you’ve described. I also have a pregnant kitty with a nest set upstairs,” Sandy cheerfully said, stroking the rounded belly. “How long ago did you start noticing her belly getting big?”
“Uhh, like, two-three weeks ago? I dunno, a few days after I brought her home,” he pulled his hands down his face, tail wrapping around his stomach. The cat had been pregnant the whole time? How? “How– I thought it was just bloating at first, I mean, she’s, like, a baby herself! Is she even old enough to have babies? A baby having babies? ”
Sandy chuckled good heartedly. “She doesn’t seem too young, based on her teeth, but kittens can get pregnant at as young as four months old. That’s why neutering is so important.”
“That’s fu– that’s messed up. Monkeys have to be at least two years old before they start mating. Like, two to three or something. Earliest.” Or was it four years old? He didn’t remember the last time he had to care for a young mother because her mate was also too young to properly provide. Were cats different? Did they also eat their own placentas like monkeys?
“Oh, really?” Sandy asked with genuine curiosity.
“I don’t know!” Wukong snapped. “I’ve never been pregnant before!” He’s never been pregnant before. He never gave birth before, he never had a mother either so he never experienced being birth- ed either. The topic felt so far removed from himself. Even his monkeys preferred company amongst themselves than their king during such vulnerable moments.
What were the standards for midwife-ing a cat? Would the cat even want him nearby when she gives birth? Or maybe she’d prefer him to stay away because of her survival instincts guarding her against a demon. A demon. He should just hurry up and find someone to take her in before she gives birth so they’ll be able to handle it, Wukong didn’t know if he could stand it if they died because of him . What if he already messed something up with his recklessness?
“How high is the mortality rate for cat births?” he barely noticed himself asking the question out loud.
“Not very high, cats are used to delivering kittens by themselves. Especially if there’s people to care for them afterwards, babies and their moms have a good chance of survival,” Sandy assured, voice sounding muffled through the cotton in the Monkey King’s ears. Wukong vaguely registered the worried look on his face.
“Okay,” he breathed. Sounds were fading back into his awareness and he could hear the thumping of his tail anxiously slapping the couch, again and again and again. “Okay, I’ll handle it.”
“What?”
“I can handle this,” the Monkey King repeated himself, clenching his frigid fingers to urge the blood running again. He felt less drowsy, letting the anxiety revitalize his energy into the familiar, impulsive fight or flight.
A blue hand settled over his. It guided him to pet the cat. He looked up at Sandy.
“How does the tea taste?”
Huh?
“Huh?” Wukong stared. When the silence stretched long enough to be evident that Sandy was waiting for an answer, he licked his lips to try and catch the sip of tea he had a few minutes ago. “Flower-y and herbal-y… I guess?” he muttered, narrowing his eyes. What a weird question. What’s with the sudden quiz? Was there a wrong answer?
“What about the aftertaste? There can usually be a little something else after the flavor settles on the tongue.”
He cocked an eyebrow. He hadn’t really noticed or paid attention to anything like that. Just drink, warm, swallow. Now that Wukong focused, there really was something left on his tongue. A taste of honey-like sweetness and inoffensive bitter undertones, light enough to know the tea hadn’t been seeped for a long time.
The cat’s fur under his hand was soft. He could also feel the rough calluses on Sandy’s hands. It clenched firmly around his but not restricting, warm.
Ah, he could see what he was doing. Clever, clever.
He once saw Mk do this with Lady Bone’s host once. He explained to him it was supposed to be grounding, or whatever. He didn’t really get it back then. Honestly, he still thought it was a little stupid and made him feel somewhat childish. But then again, it was working, so who was he to judge?
He squeezed Sandy’s hand. “I’m fine,” he frowned, voice cracking. His throat was dry and the tea suddenly looked a lot more enticing than it did before.
Sandy smiled, “As much as I love them, all the cat fur in the air makes it a bit stuffy inside. It stopped raining a while ago, shall we go sit outside?”
~
With Sandy carrying the tea tray and Wukong holding the pregnant cat, it didn’t take too long to settle down on the walkway. The ground was still dry from the convenient ledge that hung over their small seating space. It was still dark, with a few lanterns illuminating the area. The sun could rise soon but Wukong wasn’t worried. He left a clone behind in the hut to take care of any morning routines with his monkeys.
“How do you feel?”
“Cold,” Wukong muttered, voice hoarse and hollow.
“Haha, I meant emotionally, but that’s fair,” he chuckled, draping a thick shawl over Wukong’s shoulders, which honestly made him feel a little bad since Sandy himself was half naked.
“Is that better?
“Yes,” the Monkey King lied.
They exchanged what they each held, with Wukong now sipping from the warm cup of chamomile tea while Sandy gently stroked the cat. She had fallen asleep again, which, honestly, made him a little jealous. He remembered back when he could sleep that fast and easily. That was a long time ago, though. The black fur pressed against him back then always ran warm enough to comfortingly guide him through a full night’s rest.
He watched as the cat started purring from Sandy’s ministrations. He felt a silly spike of jealousy. He thought he was special to her, from the way she’d cling to him and wearily avoid Mk. It shouldn’t be a surprise she liked Sandy, though. He was good with cats, he had a whole army of them.
“The expected due date probably won’t come ‘till well over a month later. We’ll have plenty of time for check ups and preparation before then.”
Wukong nodded absentmindedly.
Sandy’s eyes twinkled. “We can borrow Pigsy’s health card to get her an ultrasound at the vet.”
“Right. What’s an ultrasound?”
“It’s a scan over a pregnant tummy to see the babies inside.”
Wukong bristled, “Sounds dangerous.”
“It’ll be safe,” Sandy laughed. ”I promise.”
The blue hand stopped. “This collar…” Sandy’s face dropped, the temperature seemingly dropping with it, gently disappointed with soft anger and frustration boiling underneath. Ridiculously, it reminded of his master, the type of restrained expression that Wukong learned to recognize with an instinctual intimacy. His pulse jumped to his throat as he spluttered, “I didn’t put that thing on, I swear! It’s been there since I’ve found her!”
Sandy looked up at him with surprise. Wukong shrunk in on himself slightly, “It seemed hard to take off and I didn’t want to blunt-force it in case I hurt her.”
“I wasn’t thinking that you put on the collar, Mr. Monkey King!” Sandy exclaimed. “I know you wouldn’t do anything like that. I’m just… upset with whoever her previous caretaker was. If anything, it’s way too tight.”
“Well… what is it? The collar? What’s that little box thing at the front?”
“It’s–-,” Sandy cut himself off with a frown, “–nothing to worry about. We should try to get it off soon though, I’m afraid it might be restricting her airway. Good news is that it’s not bleeding or wet with anything, so whatever possible initial wound there could’ve been has healed already, so it doesn’t call for an emergency.” He gave him a firm, confident smile and Wukong let out the breath he was holding. Sandy wordlessly passed the cat back into Wukong’s lap. He didn’t realise how tense he was until his shoulders slumped in relief.
The comfortable atmosphere came back. He wasn’t sure when it had left but the cat was sleepily blinking up at him and everything was alright again.
There was a gnawing sense of shame that he couldn’t understand. He glanced at Sandy, who was calmly sipping the tea and letting the ocean wind sift through his mohawk, completely unbothered by the chill.
“Uhm,” he started, and Sandy immediately snapped his attention to him. It made him a little nervous but Wukong’s conscience implored him to explain himself. “I had a nightmare.”
Sandy looked at him intently with slightly furrowed eyebrows. When he realized Wukong wasn’t going to continue, he urged softly. “Would you like to… talk about it?” his voice ended with a higher, timid tilt.
Wukong shook his head, “Can’t, even if I wanted to. I’ve long forgotten what it was about.” That was a lie.
He didn’t remember many details, the whole thing being an incoherent, blurry mess like most dreams are. But he could still feel the pervasive, gaping hole in his gut, hungering for something to fill the space and sinking everything else inside him, making his heart feel like it's in constant freefall. It always made his limbs run cold as his body was sent into an instinctive survival mode.
It was the same feeling he got whenever his mind drifted towards a certain memory, so yeah, he could guess what the dream was about.
Whether Sandy believed him or not, he seemed to understand it was a topic he wanted to avoid, so he nodded and let him selfishly evade it. Wukong thought he would’ve pressured him to talk about it, or at least try to urge him one more time to share, like cracking a nail into a splitting crack. Honestly, it was probably the least he could do, after breaking into the guy’s house and waking him in the middle of the night like that.
Instead, Sandy went back to sipping his tea, letting the silence breathe between them and leaving it open for Wukong to break. He didn’t.
They sat on the pier for many hours until Wukong’s limbs started warming again, tail swaying serenely, the numbing chill finally dissipated with the rising sun. Then, he packed up the pregnant cat into his sling and left on his cloud with a curt “bye,” and Sandy silently waved him off with a kind smile.