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Johnny Cage had never expected to lose a competition to a kitten.
Yet somehow, that was exactly what had happened.
The kitten’s name was Rocket.
He was tiny, gray, and had ears that looked slightly too large for the rest of him.
And he adored Kenshi.
⸻
It started a few days after Johnny had rescued Rocket from an alley behind a movie studio.
The kitten had been cold, hungry, and loudly protesting his situation.
Johnny had brought him home without much thought.
“Look what I found.”
Kenshi, sitting at the kitchen table, tilted his head.
“A cat?”
“A very handsome cat.”
The kitten immediately meowed.
Loudly.
Demandingly.
Kenshi smiled.
“He’s certainly vocal.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
Rocket continued meowing until Johnny set him down.
Then the kitten trotted directly toward Kenshi.
Johnny frowned.
“Excuse me?”
Rocket ignored him.
⸻
The first few days were chaotic.
Rocket climbed everything.
The couch.
The curtains.
Johnny’s expensive jackets.
Kenshi’s shoulders.
Especially Kenshi’s shoulders.
That particular habit ended after Rocket unexpectedly launched himself at Kenshi while he was making tea.
Kenshi startled so badly he nearly dropped the kettle.
Rocket fled beneath the table.
Johnny laughed so hard he almost fell over.
“That was your fault.”
“It was his fault.”
Rocket peeked out from beneath a chair.
Looking guilty.
Very guilty.
⸻
Something changed after that.
Rocket seemed to realize something important.
Kenshi couldn’t see him.
The kitten didn’t understand blindness.
But he understood startling someone.
And Rocket didn’t want to startle Kenshi.
So he adapted.
⸻
The next morning Johnny noticed it.
Rocket sat beside the couch.
He stared at Kenshi.
Then—
“Mrrp.”
A tiny warning.
Only after making the sound did he jump into Kenshi’s lap.
Kenshi smiled.
“Hello, Rocket.”
The kitten immediately began purring.
⸻
The habit continued.
Every time.
Before climbing onto the sofa:
“Mrrp.”
Before jumping onto the bed:
“Mrrp.”
Before touching Kenshi at all:
“Mrrp.”
As if he were politely announcing himself.
Johnny found it ridiculous.
And adorable.
Mostly ridiculous.
⸻
One evening Kenshi sat reading Braille documents in the living room.
Rocket appeared from somewhere.
Johnny had no idea where.
The kitten seemed capable of teleportation.
Rocket approached carefully.
“Mrrp.”
Kenshi lowered a hand automatically.
Rocket pressed his forehead against his fingers.
Then began purring.
Loudly.
Kenshi laughed softly.
The sound surprised Johnny.
Kenshi didn’t laugh often.
Not like that.
Not small and warm and genuine.
Rocket looked extremely pleased with himself.
⸻
The kitten’s attachment only grew stronger.
Whenever Kenshi trained, Rocket sat nearby.
Whenever Kenshi meditated, Rocket curled beside him.
Whenever Kenshi cooked, Rocket supervised from the floor.
Johnny called it supervision.
Kenshi called it begging.
Rocket called it strategy.
⸻
The sleeping situation became a problem.
At least according to Johnny.
Every night Rocket ended up beside Kenshi.
Every.
Single.
Night.
Johnny tried moving him.
Rocket returned.
He tried bribing him with treats.
Rocket accepted the treats and returned to Kenshi.
He tried closing the bedroom door.
Rocket screamed dramatically until someone opened it.
Usually Kenshi.
Never Johnny.
Traitor.
⸻
One rainy afternoon Johnny discovered something else.
Rocket wasn’t just attached.
He was protective.
Kenshi had returned from a difficult mission.
Tired.
Quiet.
Withdrawn.
Johnny recognized the signs immediately.
Rocket did too.
The kitten climbed onto the couch.
“Mrrp.”
A gentle warning.
Then he settled against Kenshi’s side.
Purring.
Steadily.
Relentlessly.
Like a tiny engine.
Slowly the tension left Kenshi’s shoulders.
His breathing relaxed.
His hand drifted automatically into Rocket’s fur.
The kitten purred even louder.
Johnny watched silently.
The room felt calmer.
Softer.
Safer somehow.
⸻
“You spoil him.”
Kenshi continued petting Rocket.
“He spoils me.”
Johnny pointed dramatically.
“See? That’s favoritism.”
Rocket opened one eye.
Then deliberately pushed his head against Kenshi’s hand again.
Requesting more attention.
Receiving more attention.
Johnny gasped.
“I just witnessed emotional betrayal.”
Kenshi laughed.
Rocket purred.
Johnny narrowed his eyes.
“They’re teaming up against me.”
⸻
A few days later Johnny found them asleep on the couch.
Kenshi had apparently drifted off while listening to music.
Rocket was tucked against his chest.
One tiny paw resting on Kenshi’s arm.
Both looked completely peaceful.
Johnny stood there for a long moment.
Smiling despite himself.
Because the truth was simple.
Kenshi spent so much of his life fighting.
Training.
Protecting others.
Carrying responsibilities.
Yet somehow this tiny gray kitten had decided that Kenshi deserved comfort.
And Rocket offered it freely.
Without expectations.
Without questions.
Just affection.
⸻
Later that evening Rocket approached again.
“Mrrp.”
Kenshi immediately held out a hand.
The kitten rubbed his head against his palm.
Soft.
Trusting.
Happy.
A smile appeared on Kenshi’s face.
Small but unmistakable.
Johnny felt his chest tighten.
Not with jealousy this time.
With affection.
For both of them.
⸻
“Okay,” Johnny announced.
“I surrender.”
Kenshi tilted his head.
“To what?”
“The cat.”
Rocket meowed.
Victorious.
Johnny pointed accusingly.
“Don’t get cocky.”
Rocket ignored him completely.
Then climbed into Kenshi’s lap.
Exactly where he always wanted to be.
And judging by Kenshi’s smile…
Exactly where he belonged.