Chapter Text
It hurts!
I can’t breathe!
There’s something on my… chest?
Groggily, Klein peeled open his eyes to see—not the sunlight through the window nor the white of his ceiling—but a very fluffy, furred face frowning at him. Klein blinked slowly at the brown Tabby cat glaring down.
Klein blinked.
The cat blinked.
The second Klein moved to get up, the Tabby leapt off of his chest and the bed, hitting the tiled floor with a soft thud. They padded out of the room.
Rolling over onto his side, Klein grabbed his phone, checked the time, and narrowed his eyes in a glare. He turned off his alarm one minute before it rang. As Klein sat up and slid his feet into his cat slippers, a Siamese cat darted out from under the bed to rub against his leg, letting out a soft chirp-like noise when Klein bent down to pet their head.
Yawning, Klein walked into the living space of his small apartment. A chill hung over the air, yet the open curtains allowed the entry of dawn through the floor-to-ceiling window, illuminating the tiny dining table and its accompanying chairs, the couch and crammed shelves, and the two cat trees standing in different sides of the room.
Habitually, Klein dragged his feet to the kitchen and behind the counter. He retrieved five metal bowls, set them on the floor by the window, and began filling them with cat food. Three with dry mix. Two with wet canned food.
Having perched themselves on the ridge of the couch, the Tabby watched Klein do so with a silent and almost judgmental look.
The clatter of cat food beckoned over a rush of company.
The Siamese cat sprinted through Klein's legs, burying their face in the bowl before he even filled it to the top. From the cat trees, two sleeping cats perked up: A Tuxedo dropped to the floor with a thump before jogging their way over whilst a Ragdoll took their time to stretch back onto their hind legs.
Klein watched the three cats gather for breakfast, his mouth spread in a small smile, but as his eyes drifted to the last unattended bowl, he turned to survey the rest of the room. A thought flashed across his brown eyes.
As Klein made his way back to the bedroom, the Tabby trailed after. Klein walked to the third of his cat trees—one tucked into the corner, one tall enough to tease the ceiling and for the sun to spare the tallest spot—and as he tiptoed to peer onto the highest gray-carpeted platform, he spotted a cloud of black, unmoving fluff.
With fond amusement, Klein reached out with his hand. With a sleepy trill, a head perked up from the void, turning over to meet Klein's eyes with its own gold.
Klein smiled gently.
"Good morning, Mr. Fool."
There wasn't always five.
It had been a Friday night when Klein was traveling home, returning after a long session of karaoke with Roselle and Amanises. The summer sun was gone, yet its presence still lingered. A white crescent moon hung from the skies, and the warm humid air was merciful on Klein's throat, ran hoarse by twenty lungs worth of songs.
Klein hurried home, eyelids heavy with only want for his bed, when he felt something brush against his legs.
He jumped—flinched nearly out of his skin like how a cat would jolt from landing on a sheet of tinfoil, only managing to keep his shout buried through the knowing that he was in the middle of a sleeping neighborhood at 3AM—which brought him to the ironic sight of what he saw at his feet:
A black cat.
Although their figure was hard to make out under the dim streetlights, Klein quickly noticed both their curiously curled tail, their slightly scrawny form, and their golden-ringed eyes.
They let out a soft meow.
Klein's heartbeat came to a calm within his chest. Letting out a relieved sigh, he bent down. "Hi there." He smiled, reaching out his hand. "Sorry, you scared me."
The cat sniffed at his fingers before nudging their head against his knuckles, their tail swaying behind.
Laughing softly, Klein slid his hand down to scratch under their chin. The cat narrowed their eyes until they were shut. In the quiet of the neighborhood, absent of wind and traffic, a quiet purring filled the air.
"You don't have a collar…" Klein murmured. "Are you a stray?"
Seemingly growing tired of being scratched in that one spot, the cat turned away to drop onto the ground, rolling around to rub their back on the rough cement.
Klein moved. Immediately, he grabbed his phone and started snapping a dozen—two dozen—no, three dozen photos. His lips busied themselves with a smile. The cat continued to twist and turn, wriggling before rolling back onto their flank to stare at Klein with large blinking eyes.
Klein was all for continuing the photo-shoot—until he caught sight of the time on his phone. He winced internally. Lowering his device, he sighed, tucked his phone into his back pocket, and reached out to scratch the top of their head one last time.
"I have to go now," Klein said, eyes softening, "Get home safe."
Of course, the cat couldn't understand. They watched as Klein rose to his feet, waved them farewell, and walked away.
Klein continued down the street with hasty footsteps, dreading the thought of having to drag himself into the shower and prepare for the end of the weekend. It was always too short. Stifling a sigh, he peered over his shoulder to catch one last glance at the cat.
Something rubbed against his leg.
Klein didn't jump.
He didn't.
His heart, however, very much did.
Klein's eyes darted downward only to reflect the same cat he left behind a few meters away—one who was pressing their flank almost completely against him as they looked to somewhere afar, as if to ask,
Where are we going?
Klein couldn't resist the helpless smile that spread across his lips in reply.
Experimentally, he took a step forward.
The cat followed in time.
He took four.
The cat blinked, meowed at him, and scurried to catch up.
It looks like I have an escort home, Klein thought with an upturn of his lip, continuing to walk forward whilst feeling his furry companion rub against his legs.
The rest of the walk back didn't take very long, but it was long enough for Klein to wonder if the cat could find their way home. It was a thought that didn't last. Their scrawny fur, thinness, and lack of collar suggested to him that it wasn't a problem.
A familiar neighborhood soon came to sight. Compared to the city, the buildings grew narrower as they did shorter. The streets, quieter. Klein approached a small building complex, those with stores on the lower floors and apartments above, and stopped at a particular one: his own.
The second Klein unlocked the door, a certain black blur darted through his legs and into the building, slipping into the darkness without a sound.
Klein paused, sighed, and followed the cat inside as if he was the tourist.
Is this what people call the cat distribution system?
The lights flicked on.
The café wasn't anything special structurally nor was it anything unique by the menu, but it was the place Klein had called home for the past two years since he won it in a lottery.
Yes, a lottery.
The previous owner, a man by the name of Fusheng Xuanhuang Tianzun, was standing on the street side, selling outrageously cheap tickets to enter a lottery to win his apartment. Having encountered him together, Amanises, Roselle, and Klein all decided to try their luck.
It was surely and quite obviously a scam—
—and it was surely and quite obviously a scam that Klein won.
The wide street-facing windows spanned from floor to ceiling. During opening hours, the blinds would be drawn high, welcoming in the daylight from the east until the sun dipped west, and by that time, the warm lamps hung from the ceiling would burn awake. On the left side of the room, small wooden tables spaced themselves before leading to the back where a few colorful beanbags laid. The right was taken up by the service counter and a small open kitchen. Along the white walls were wooden shelves. Some carried plant vases. Others: decorative trinkets, but the majority of them homed books from friends and regulars.
Movement caught Klein's eye.
Turning to it, Klein watched with amusement as the cat sniffed their way around the café, pausing at the curtains, moving onto a chair leg, and stopping at another object of ordinary curiosity. Rinse and repeat.
Moments later, the cat looked up just as Klein placed a bowl of water at their feet, only to eye and sniff at it cautiously.
Klein didn't pay any mind. Instead, he walked to the back of the café to crash on one of the beanbag chairs surrounding a rug. He pulled out his phone and began to scroll.
'Thinking about adopting a cat! I have a few questions…'
'What is some advice you wish you knew before adopting a cat?'
'Looking to adopt a cat… How much will it cost?'
The fatigue that had previously hung itself over Klein's expression was long gone—replaced anew by a second wind. The sounds of tapping a screen mingled with those of a mobile keyboard. He scanned videos, blogs, and forum posts.
Cats can be quite expensive, but they're not as time-consuming as a dog would be. I won't have to take them out on walks. They're not as loud as one either, Klein rambled in his mind. Though, I'd still have to clip their nails, bath them occasionally, potty-train them, and take them to the vet…
As Klein sank deeper and deeper into his thoughts, a soft meow yanked him from the depths. He jolted, turning toward the sound.
Appearing by the beanbag chair, the cat sniffed at the material, cautious as much as curious, before they stood on their hind legs like a meerkat, allowing them a better look at the "area".
Before Klein could snap a picture, the cat jumped up. The beanbag chair dipped under their paws, but they didn't seem to mind nor care. Not with the way they immediately moved on to stepping onto Klein's stomach.
Klein dropped his phone face-down against his chest, watching the cat place all four paws and—soon after—their entire body on him. They weighed lighter than they should have been. Under Klein's curious gaze, they lowered themselves, tucked their paws and tail underneath, and closed their eyes.
Against Klein's stomach transmitted a very faint, subtle but audible rumbling.
Klein paused.
Owning a cat… it can't be that bad, can it?
The very second that the cat tried jumping onto Klein's bed, he caught them mid-air and sped them off into his bathroom.
Cats didn't like water. At least, that was what Klein knew from the media, because the cat he was currently scrubbing down with soap and bubbles was not struggling whatsoever. They meowed. They accused him wide eyes, but not once did they hiss nor turn back with unsheathed claws.
Honestly, Klein didn't feel too bad about it. After all, just a while ago, he saw this same cat rolling around heedlessly in the street, dirtying their fur with who knows what.
Once washed and dried, Klein released them into his apartment, paused in thought, before he turned back to take his own shower. Originally, there was a tiny worry that the cat would find something to eat or destroy, but a quick mental checklist told Klein that, from earlier, he didn't leave any food out and that there wasn't anything they could knock over. Even the television was bolted to the wall.
Twenty minutes later, Klein emerged from the bathroom with plain pajamas, slightly damp hair, and a towel around his neck. From the doorway, the cat was nowhere to be seen. Frowning slightly, Klein peeked his head into the living room and behind the kitchen counter. The windows were closed. The door to downstairs was too.
It was only when Klein went to check the bedroom did he pause to smile.
In the middle of Klein's made bed was a void. A circular and unmoving void. Once he walked over and lifted the covers, the void perked their head up and watched as he slipped under the covers, grabbed his glasses from the bedside counter, and took out his phone.
They settled back down, snuggling into the sheets.
What to name you… Klein thought, his thumb swiping across the screen to scroll. Videos reflected over the surface of his glasses. As he swiped, he came across a cooking reel and paused. He glanced over to the cat, watching them begin to groom their fur.
Seaweed? Sesame? Klein suggested. Avocado? Wait, why am I only thinking about food? What about Batman?
He glanced over to the cat again.
The cat glanced at him.
He glanced back at his phone.
…Not Batman.
Klein sighed before he narrowed his focus on his phone, a crease forming between his brows. He wasn't great with names. For inspiration, Klein looked through a few cat-centered accounts and considered "stealing" their names, but that didn't seem right with him.
Yet, as Klein debated on whether to leave this task for tomorrow, when his mind was well-rested, he came across a particular post that paused his swiping thumb.
'Which Tarot Card are you?'
It was a poorly-edited post with slanted captions, clashing colors, and an atrocious font. Its account led to an oracle-themed page, one that claimed a mastery over fortune-telling and tarot card reading.
Did a middle-schooner make this? Klein criticized. Despite his harsh words, he didn't immediately click off. His thumb hovered over the link in the caption, and after a moment, it pressed forward.
I better not get a virus from this.
The external link brought Klein to a simple multiple choice quiz, and a quick skim down told him it was about twenty questions long.
The first one:
'What color of your eyes?'
Klein glanced over to the cat again.
The cat glanced at him.
He glanced back at his phone.
Yellow, he answered.
'Do you prefer to hang out alone, with a select group of people, or within crowds?'
Klein thought about it. He clicked, With a select group of people.
The next one:
"What do you usually dream about?" Klein recited aloud. "Being late for school. Your teeth falling out. Flying. Being chased by clowns. Or Eating food." He flipped his phone over and extended it toward the cat in order to show them the options.
The cat sniffed at the phone.
"Food, it is," Klein said.
Klein continued to make his way down the quiz, occasionally looking at the cat for reference, asking them for answers, or taking a moment to ponder,
Soon enough, Klein reached the end of the quiz. Taking a quick minute to review his—or rather, the cat's answers, he clicked submit, watched the buffering symbol turn round and round, and read the first words that popped up in succession.
As Klein turned to them once more, the cat perked up, gold eyes quiet yet bright under the bedroom lamp.
Klein smiled at them. "How does Mr. Fool sound?"
"What kind of name is Mr. Fool anyway?"
Klein didn't flinch. "What kind of doll name is Alice Patricia Adelaide The Third?"
From across the examination table where Mr. Fool laid politely, Emlyn paused. He clicked his tongue. Turning away slightly to raise his chin and adjust his white coat, he replied, "How disrespectful—she's named in honor of her predecessors!"
Klein couldn't help but smile wryly.
The first time Klein and Emlyn met had been in high-school. Their meeting was quite odd yet memorable, something that Klein looked back on with a mix of exasperation and warmth, considering that they crossed paths in a storage closet. Or rather, Klein found Emlyn trapped in a storage closet. The latter had been skipping class to repair a torn-up doll's dress, too focused on sewing to notice that the door had locked behind him until after the last bell rung and no more students prowled the halls, and he had banged on the inside of the door for over an hour until Klein found him.
Emlyn made Klein swear to never tell a soul, and Klein had promised—
—in the midst of his barely withheld laughter.
Picking up Mr. Fool, Klein settled him in his arms, feeling two little paws press atop of his shoulder. Despite receiving his shots, Mr. Fool didn't seem to pay much mind to any lingering pain, his body rumbling softly whilst his purring practically blared into Klein's ear.
Rubbing Mr. Fool's back, Klein turned to Emlyn and asked, "How often should I bring him in for a check-up?"
Tidying his equipment, Emlyn answered, "Every six months is preferable. I'll email you a list of health signs that you should look for, and should you notice any, contact me."
"Alright." Klein nods. "Can I pay at the counter now?"
"None of that," Emlyn scoffed. Peeling off his latex gloves, he added, pulling his gaze low and elsewhere, "You're doing me a favor. I don't like seeing animals on the street."
Klein smiled with a hint of amusement. "Thank you, Emlyn. I really appreciate it."
Emlyn glanced at him out of the corner of his eye before huffing. "You're welcome. Now, hurry up and leave. I have other very tiny patients to attend to."
Early Sunday morning found Klein sitting on the floor of his living room, surrounded by a ring of cardboard boxes and a retracted box-cutter. Mr. Fool wandered nearby. He paused to sniff at one box, then to another, until a feather with a pair of bells dropped right in front of his face.
Klein smiled, shook the fishing rod, and asked, "Feel like playing, Mr. Fool?"
Leaning forward, Mr. Fool sniffed at the feather, tail swishing behind him, before he turned away, walked off, and jumped to disappear into an empty cardboard box.
…Apparently not.
For the remainder of that morning, Klein spent his time unboxing the various packages and assembling their contents—toys, food, litter, a water fountain, a cat tree—and, like a shameless freeloader, Mr. Fool watched silently, two paws and one chin resting on the edge of the cardboard box.
A thought flashed past Klein's eyes.
Sliding over a box of toys he organized just moments ago, Klein rummaged before he came out with an object pinched between his fingers: a mini-sized top hat.
Mr. Fool's eyes blinked bright and curious. Indulgently, he watched as Klein approached, placed the hat atop his head, and pulled out his phone.
Heard was a camera click.
Exiting out of the photo app, Klein swiped to the next screen, tapped on a green icon, and went to his profile settings. He couldn't help but smile.
[ Would you like to change your profile picture? ]
The life of a cat-owner wasn't so much different from his life as a solo café-owner.
Klein still woke up at 5AM, bleary-eyed and regretful over how he didn't sleep earlier the night before. Or rather, the morning before. He still dragged himself out of bed, into his day clothes, and into the bathroom. Still went downstairs to cook a hasty meal, promising a better lunch for himself in three hours. Still raised the blinds in wait of the sun. Still got the coffee brewing, beginning to steam and ready.
Now, all that was different was that he wasn't alone.
Mr. Fool woke when Klein woke—once curled atop the cat tree, now trilling at the sound of the alarm. He slipped into the bathroom while Klein brushed his teeth. He sat around as Klein dressed. He ate when Klein ate. He followed Klein downstairs, and he perched himself on one of the many café chairs, watching as Klein paced behind the counter, prepping for the day.
The clock hit six.
The usual rush of regulars arrived just as expected: 6:02AM, 6:05AM, 6:12AM—give-or-take a few minutes. Unfamiliar faces came through the door as well, perhaps drawn in by the earthly smell of coffee and the promise of warmth away from the morning chill. They were quick to arrive and quick to leave. They didn't have time to notice Mr. Fool resting on the beanbag chair in the bag.
6:30AM.
The soft chime of the doorbell dangled over the sound of the steaming espresso machine.
Washing his hands in the sink, Klein glanced up. Promptly turning off the tap and drying his hands, Klein walked over to the register, smiled, and greeted, "Good morning, Alger."
The man—Alger—nodded. "Klein," he replied with a slightly deep voice.
Alger was another one of his regulars who became a patron of his café a year ago. He wasn't quite the conversationalist. Even now, he opted to step aside the moment he paid for his coffee: a bitter blend with one milk.
Seeing how serious Alger was all the time, Klein had long given up exchanging morning pleasantries with him, but there was something he never understood: For how Alger conducted himself, his dark blue and wavy hair color only made it seem like he was the lead singer of an underground rock-band.
After filling up the take-out cup with coffee, Klein capped it, made eye-contact with Alger who was standing off to the side, and placed it on the counter.
Alger gave him a curt nod as he stepped forward to reach for it—
—but Mr. Fool beat him there.
Klein had never seen Alger jump before. The latter's constantly stern face, furrowed brows and tense eyes and tightly pursed lips—an expression that would only melt by the first sip of his coffee—shattered.
Alger's hand flinched away just as Mr. Fool leaped onto the counter to sniff at the cup of coffee. He took a step back. Maybe, two.
"Mr. Fool, get off of the counter!" Klein chided, his mouth dropping in disbelief to drive away the laugh in his throat.
Looking up at Klein, Mr. Fool blinked.
Klein scooped him up, placed him down onto the floor, and shooed him off halfheartedly. Turning back to the stiff Alger, he smiled sheepishly and said, "I'm sorry about that."
Alger's gaze darted away for a split second. His lips were tightly pursed before they parted to say, "That's alright." He paused. He reached out, practically snatching the coffee off of the counter, murmured a quiet thank you under his breath, and left.
Klein's lips twitched. Afraid of cats?
Summoned by the thought, Mr. Fool brushed against his leg. Glancing down, a fond but exasperated smile on his face, Klein knelt, grabbed both sides of Mr. Fool's face, and sighed. "Your paws might be dirty, so you can't jump on the counter," he said, "Also, there are some people who don't like cats either. It's bad business."
Mr. Fool didn't reply—or rather, he couldn't. Not with the way Klein was rubbing and massaging the sides of his face. A soft purring could be heard.
So cute but troublesome, Klein muttered to himself.
"Klein?"
The sound of his name, spoken by a familiar, gentle, and low voice pulled Klein out of his daze. Subconsciously, his heart stuttered.
Klein let go of Mr. Fool's face, rose to his feet, and whirled around with a smile spreading across his lips. The dawn that had only just risen caught sight of his bright brown eyes.
"Mr. Azik!"
On the other side of counter was a relatively tall older man. His dark eyes were smiling, wearing in the crow's feet by their corners and into his bronze skin. In the crook of his neck, his black hair laid tucked in a ponytail, and to add to his quiet grace, he wore an elegant coat, a brown vest, and a tucked inner shirt. To be honest, it was a bit much to be wearing in this season. However, Klein couldn't fault him: The man had always run a little on the colder side.
Azik was a history professor who worked at the nearby university. Since the first week this café had opened, he was one of Klein's favorite regulars—always polite during the hectic mornings, always patient despite the rush—but, mostly importantly, he was a long-time friend.
"Good morning," Azik greeted gently. "Did you drop something?"
Klein put on a helpless smile and answered, "No, not exactly."
Brief curiosity flashed past Azik's gaze before his shoulders jumped and his eyes widened and—conveniently—with one glance down from Klein, he realized Mr. Fool was no longer by his feet.
Klein peered over the table, looked down, and found Mr. Fool rubbing his flank against Azik's trousers.
Surprise flashed across Klein's expression. Aside from Alger, Mr. Fool had showed a mild disinterest in all his other customers—and here he was, calling for Azik's attention.
Azik met Klein's eyes. He smiled. "Yours?"
Seeing as how Azik was merely surprised and made no move to back-track out of the café, Klein didn't immediately panic. "Yes—as of this weekend, actually. Are you a cat-person?"
Pulling his gaze away from Mr. Fool, Azik looked at Klein, paused for half a moment, and chuckled warmly. "Something like that." He bent over, offering his fingers to be sniffed, as he asked, "What's their name?"
"Mr. Fool," Klein answered, a subtle relief falling over his shoulders. He turned toward his coffee station, pulled out a carton of milk and a pitcher, and said, "I'll have your usual ready in a minute."
As a professor, Azik often had a fixed schedule. He would arrive at 6:35AM—a minute give-or-take—and originally, Klein had always prepared his order before Azik even walked in, but after the latter admitted that he liked the slow morning of waiting, making simple conversation with Klein, and relishing the rise of dawn, Klein stopped having it ready.
"No worries. Take your time," Azik said warmly. He watched with soft eyes as Mr. Fool bumped his head against his knuckles and waited to accept a brief scratch below the chin before walking away. Azik rose to his feet. "Mr. Fool… What a unique name. Is it correct to assume that you took inspiration from tarot?"
Klein laughed. "Yes, I came across this post about fortune-telling and thought that Mr. Fool sounded cool."
Azik took out his wallet and slipped out his credit card. By then, the machine was already waiting. As he pressed his finger to the tip option, tapped his card, and paid, Azik pondered and asked, "Busy morning?"
"Fortunately, no more than usual," Klein replied. He stifled a sigh as he tamped a puck of coffee and locked it into the espresso machine.
Azik's gaze followed his movements as he worked. "That's good to hear," he said. "You could use the down-time."
Over the loud steaming pitcher of milk, Klein glanced over with a slight tilt of his hand. "Pardon?"
Smiling indulgently, Azik pointed to below his own eye. "You seem like you haven't been getting much sleep," he answered.
Blinking, Klein felt a subtle heat rise to his cheeks. Although he spotted them in the mirror earlier this morning, he didn't think his eye-bags were that noticeable, but Azik was a unique case. He always seemed to catch if there was anything off with him.
Rather than admit that Klein had been busy watching countless videos about "Top 10 Mistakes that New Cat Owners Make" when he should have been sleeping, he settled for, "Mr. Fool kept waking me up in the middle of the night—"
—which wasn't true. Mr. Fool could rarely be roused from his slumber, and he liked sleeping at the top of his cat tower, only coming to cuddle and snooze with Klein when he was lousing on the couch.
"How rude," Azik replied, half-hearted and amused. "Have you had him long?"
"Since this Friday," Klein answered as he poured the foamed milk into the cup of coffee, hands steady as he formed his standard latte art. "I think he just needs some time to adjust to the new environment," he added before letting loose a laugh, "Once he does, maybe he'll be benevolent enough to let me sleep the whole night through."
Azik replied, "I hope that's the case. I presume that one of the reasons why people adopt cats over dogs is that they are less of a disturbance."
"Another one is that I don't have to take Mr. Fool on walks."
That brought Klein to one train of thought. Since Mr. Fool was originally a stray cat, he had been debating whether or not to allow him out without supervision. The neighborhood was relatively safe: It was far from the main streets, didn't have much traffic, and rarely sighted wild animals like coyotes.
"Perhaps…"
Klein broke from the daze, glancing up at Azik's gentle expression. The latter's coffee sat ready and capped in front of them.
Azik smiled and suggested, "You should hire someone to open in the mornings or take over the evenings. Sleep is very important for maintaining your health."
The doorbell rang.
Eyes jumping over Azik's shoulders to see the next entering customer, Klein pondered quickly on the suggestion. While that did sound nice, a bulk of his regulars came by at 6AM, and he appreciated not having to deal with the responsibility of managing employees. However, he realized something ironic.
Glancing back at Azik's face, Klein couldn't help but inwardly smile.
How can you say that when you get up at 5AM for coffee—then come back after hours to mark your papers until midnight?
"I'll think about it. Thank you for your concern, Mr. Azik," Klein said sincerely before his eyes helplessly darted to the waiting customer.
"Of course," Azik said with a smile. He reached for his cup of coffee and added warmly, "I'll get out of your hair now and let you work." As he turned halfway toward the door, his eyes seemed to soften further—even more so than his smile.
"Take care, Klein."