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He met up with Sandy at his boat early that morning. That was his third visit now, including the first time when he caught him shuffling around his tea cupboards.
Sandy had brought them to a pet studio to shave off the cat’s matted fur. Wukong was iffy about it at first. He thought she was fine. He was doing a fine job taking care of her and she did a fine job grooming herself, but Sandy pointed out that despite it all, they need professional care to help out sometimes.
‘It’s alright to reach out for help if you need it’ , or something. He had a feeling Sandy wasn’t only talking about the pet studio when he said that. It wasn’t like he was being subtle about it, dropping the same type of bullshit inspirational quotes that Wukong would use on Mk sometimes, except, y’know, more real . He was always jealous of people who could pull quotes filled with genuine wisdom out of their ass like it was nothing, like his master or Sandy . He had to find his quotes from famous quotes dot com.
Either way, he listened. Sandy had more experience with cats after all. They both helped with holding her down while the groomer did their job. She wasn’t sedated but seemed impressively calm. The groomer gave her a treat for being a good girl and complimented Wukong, saying that he must’ve been a great owner for her to trust him that much.
Then, they brought her back to Sandy’s boat. The Monkey King was the only one holding her down this time while Sandy worked away at the damned collar. He wasn’t sure which tools he used, just heard a bunch of threatening metallic sounds and grinding against rubber, he was preoccupied with the cat.
She twisted her head to blink up at Wukong the entire time while he firmly clutched her rib and butt, hyper aware of absolutely everything, down to the twitching muscles and jumping nerves in his fingertips. He didn’t want to grip too hard in case he hurt her, but he couldn’t afford to be lax.
She was struggling. Sandy couldn’t tell but the Monkey King could feel her heavy breathing against his wrist and her rapid heartbeat under his shaking fingers. Looking back, he probably lost focus at some point and accidentally hurt her, but she didn’t do anything about it. Just laid there, breathing heavily and heartbeat hammering. Childishly, Wukong cursed at her in his mind for not fighting back since it only made him feel more like an ass, even though they were just helping her.
Maybe she knew on some level that they were getting that thing off her. Wukong hated the alternative theory, that she gave up and let them hurt her.
They got the collar off.
That was six hours ago. He managed to trap a very distressed cat back into the sling, and they went home.
She had been hiding under the couch for five hours. Wukong tried to feed her when they got home but she didn’t seem interested in food. He gave her some space and came back to the hut with the cat nowhere to be seen. He eventually found her under the couch. Sure, he could’ve reached under and grabbed her and he probably would’ve done that without a second thought, but he wasn’t feeling well and she had a long day. He didn’t want to bother her any further. He was more concerned about her being able to squeeze under there with her big belly than anything. And also the fact she apparently didn’t need to eat or poop anymore. She would come out eventually, he was sure, either from hunger or boredom.
Wukong gave up on trying to lure her out with treats or crinkly plastic noises four hours ago. Mk brought over some store-bought high quality cat toys once, but she always preferred random plastic bags or anything in the vague shape of a ball except for an actual ball.
He’d been waiting in front of the couch for three hours. A lot of monkeys came to investigate and poked their head under the couch, playfully chirping at the cat, then leaving after getting bored. Wukong appreciated the sentiment and he also understood the need to keep moving. For some reason, he didn’t have the energy then and was content with waiting.
He laid down on his side two hours ago. There was a lot more dust on the ground than he expected, but it was surprisingly comfortable. The hard surface made him feel more stable and was somewhat calming with its cool surface. He could see the slight silhouette of the cat in the shadows. “I’m sorry, are you angry with me? I was only holding you down to help you.” She only blinked back slowly, probably not registering the words at all. Wukong decided he’ll clean under there sometime, in case she starts to hate him and wants to hide more, at least she won’t get her pretty fur dirty. It was patchy in some areas from being shaved, but he still thought she was lovely.
He started crying an hour ago, ugly sounds tearing uncontrollably from his throat and tail wrapped around himself in the facade of a hug. He felt stupid. It was stupid to cry over it. She wasn’t even crying, not that he was sure she could even if she wanted to. It didn’t even happen to him. Or, well, it did, but it was a long time ago and the circumstances were different .
She was different. She didn’t deserve it. She probably didn’t even fully understand what happened, and that thought only made him cry harder. He didn’t even know he had this much sympathy left to spare or this much water in him left to cry. His eyes were puffy and his sight was even blurrier than usual. His ribs hurt because he was stupidly coughing and gagging from crying too hard, and he still felt like he couldn’t catch his breath even though he'd been gasping for an hour.
Slowly, his erratic breathless gasps became sluggish and his crying quieted down. Slowly, she crawled out from under the couch. Maybe she wanted to investigate the reason the noise finally died. She sniffed his face and the small pool of water on the floor adjacent to his eyes.
The hut was a little dimmer now, the room bathed in gold and orange and fiery reds from the setting sunlight peeking in through the open door. The cat seemed less upset, revitalized, like she was able to rekindle something when she stayed under the safety of the couch for so long. Wukong guessed it was a bit similar to meditation.
He grimaced when he sat up, the word spun as he held the couch and stuck out his tail for balance. He shifted himself till he slouched against the foot of the couch. The cat climbed onto his lap, easily leaning onto his chest with her two paws and her nose twitched as she sniffed the salty water on his face. They haven’t dried up yet, but Wukong’s eyes felt uncomfortably swollen and itchy. He let her lick a tentative tongue against his cheek before she was satisfied with her investigation and curled up on his lap.
“Did you come out just to comfort me?” Wukong chuckled incredulously, voice hoarse and throat aching.
The cat didn’t answer, obviously, but she started purring, the little engine revving up for a steady, soothing vibration. Wukong couldn’t help but smile as he stroked her back, wrapping his tail loosely around her form.
She lifted her head when he scratched her chin, eyes closed in contentment.
“I don’t understand why anyone would do something like this,” Wukong whispered, his eyes starting to sting again as he gingerly stroked a finger down the grotesque and mangled fur-less skin on her throat.
The obvious scar aside, there were still other signs of the collar, from the discolored flesh to the slightly grooved fur it was gripped around. He wondered if it would eventually grow out, fade in with the rest of her hair and leave no traces, like a bad dream.
Then again, something like that wouldn’t fade so easily. Even if it was gone physically, Wukong knew there would always be reminders.
~
“A shock collar made for dogs,” Sandy had plainly said, six hours ago, when he first peeled away the broken collar and Wukong saw the distorted flesh of a disfigured scar.
“Don’t worry. The scar’s old. Someone must’ve just put the collar back on after lettin’ it heal. Could still ache though, so be careful with that area.” His voice was gruff and curt but calm, as if he had known about it already. He didn’t meet Wukong’s eyes.
“What’s a,” he swallowed the lump in his throat. “What’s a shock collar?”
Sandy turned to look at him, finally , he was looking at him again. But Wukong didn’t like the sad hint in his eyes.
“It’s a, um,” Sandy bounced around the words, sounding more emotional and alive again. “A sort of training device. It can send a shock on varying levels of voltage power on the owner’s command. Some people like to use it to train dogs, zap them if they misbehave and all that. That’s why it’s so big on her. Wasn’t made for her size. The shocks were probably too high, too. Even a normal dog wouldn’t have stood fine against that.”
“You knew about it,” his tone wasn’t accusing. Just stated a fact. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to upset you,” Sandy replied truthfully.
He thought back to Mk. Did he not know, either? Or was he also holding the truth from him? Did they really think of him as that sensitive? Did their image of him weaken from his displays of vulnerability?
The Monkey King stood up without a word. He caught the pregnant cat, who seemed pretty upset with him, and left without sparing any pleasantries. He didn’t have the energy for it.
~
Out of all the creations humans replicated from ancient times, he didn’t think they were cruel enough to remake that damned circlet.
“You didn’t deserve this,” he said, choking on his breath. She still didn’t reply, nor did she understand.
It was meant to be a tool to wield a weapon, to reign in a wild monster. The circlet was meant to be like a cage for a monster. Like the chains of a criminal. Restraint.
Wukong could still justify it being used on him , but he couldn’t figure out any good reason for it to be brandished against actual, normal animals. They were simpler, lacked the same level of thinking and complexity that humans and many demons did. There was plain innocence in their naivety, especially the ones who were domesticated and even more so the ones who’ve never known human contact.
Like the collar of a dog.
In some ways, Wukong guessed, they held similarities.
He was never meant to be some hero . He was only a sinner and a repenter, the reformed who was made an example of, for future generations. He was the legacy of a religion and an olden culture that has long since faded from prominence.
It was rather selfish, he thought, that they would trim his nails and file down his fangs only to abandon him. Like a domesticated wild animal.
“Can’t you see how they’re treating you? That fucking circlet on your head, it’s like the collar of a dog!”
But ultimately, it was different . She was different from him and he couldn’t logically explain his own distress, so he convinced himself that he was crying solely for the cat, who didn’t even ask him to. And if anyone asked, the tears had nothing to do with himself.
‘You don’t need to find a reason or excuse to feel things,’ a voice that sounded suspiciously like Sandy spoke in his head.
He continued to cry as he hugged the cat. This time, Wukong didn’t need to consciously control his strength. He knew he could be gentle with her.
He let the glamour around his body crumble. The cat barely moved on his lap despite his shrinking form, slowly shifting until his framework resembled something more similar to the size of a normal, adult monkey. He was shorter, a few different misshapen details and discoloration here and there that he preferred to stay hidden, but most importantly, he had his most memorable scar on full display.
It sat glaringly on his forehead, wrinkled and hideous and veiny, filling the empty space his most popular motif had left behind. Wukong blew a light breath on her face to catch her attention and the cat’s ear flicked as she looked up at him. They blinked at each other. Big, ruddy-marigold eyes peering curiously at a more sinister shade of scarlet, although both of their eyes looked rather red in the waning sunlight.
He lifted her chin until her throat was on display again. She didn’t seem all that bothered about the sudden transformations of his body and he could feel the vibrations of her purr through the scar, two deeper indents on either side from the prongs of the shock collar.
Wukong tapped his forehead. “Hey, would ya look at that, bud,” he said with a wet laugh. “We’re matching.”