Who Needs a Relationship When You Have a Cat?

Chapter 3

At twelve on the dot, Ai Qing plated lunch, pinged Xiao Yu’s automatic feeder to top up the kibble, and the two of them—man and cat—sat down to eat.

Once the table and kitchen were tidy, he carried Xiao Yu back to the bedroom, lay on the bed, hoisted the cat above his head, then parked her on his chest.

Feeling the solid weight, he sighed and glanced to his right...

Last night, right there, a white-haired girl had supposedly been asleep on his quilt—calm, silent, impossible.

He wasn’t nursing any fantasy-life hopes; a committed materialist, he preferred the “mild mental illness” explanation. Maybe he’d just stared at his manuscript too long?

Looking at the silly furball sprawled on him, blinking her huge eyes, Ai Qing couldn’t connect her to the girl in his memory at all.

A cat turning human—some bedtime-story nonsense like that could never happen to him.

He inhaled, accepted his fate, fished out his phone, searched “psychologist,” and booked the first available slot. After Dad dropped off the fruit this afternoon, he’d sneak out for the appointment.

Please let it be nothing serious...

...

At 1 p.m. he napped—last night’s haunting had cost him sleep. When the doorbell and Xiao Yu’s meowing drilled through the door, he jolted awake.

Phone check: only two o’clock.

Rubbing his eyes, he shuffled to the front door and opened it.

Ai Zhongguo stood there in a gray casual suit, three small fruit crates at his feet. The moment the door opened, he studied his son, clicking his tongue. “See? I told you—you were still in bed when I rang this morning. Stay up every night and you’ll regret it when you’re old.”

Ai Qing said nothing.

His dad always assumed the worst about his habits. Too lazy to defend himself, Ai Qing bent, lifted one crate inside, and said, “Take the rest home for Mom and Grandpa and Grandma. I can’t finish all this.”

“Young people need fruit,” Ai Zhongguo declared, hauling in the other two. “You burn the midnight oil—vitamins will keep you alive. I’ll just skim a few from each box.”

“Fine.” Ai Qing stacked them beside the sofa. “They go here.”

“Not bad.” Dad scanned the living room and nodded approvingly. “Place looks tidy.”

“Where’s the cat?”

“Bedroom, I guess.” Ai Qing glanced around—no Xiao Yu in sight.

Odd; the moment the bedroom door opened she usually rocketed into the living room for parkour. Shyness wasn’t her style—back home she’d cuddled with Mom and Grandma plenty. The men in the family, however—Grandpa and Dad—were card-carrying ailurophobes.

Hearing the cat was behind closed doors, Ai Zhongguo relaxed—then remembered his orders. “Mom told me to inspect your bedroom hygiene.”

“Knock yourself out.”

Ai Qing wasn’t worried. He wasn’t the hard-core otaku type—no lewd body pillows, no wall scrolls of 2D beauties, no freshly washed fleshlight drying on the desk.

Still, Dad feared cats. He hesitated. “You go first—grab Xiao Yu.”

“Sure.” Ai Qing was used to the drill; when the cat had lived at home, she’d bunked in his room while Mom and Grandma handled the care.

While Dad poked around the bathroom and kitchen, Ai Qing pushed open the bedroom door.

A second later—BANG—the door slammed shut.

“What was that?” Dad yelped from the kitchen.

Several heartbeats later Ai Qing called, “N-nothing... wind caught it.”

...

How to describe what Ai Qing was seeing...

First time in his life a sight like this had filled his vision.

His lungs forgot how to breathe.

If Dad’s voice hadn’t cracked through the door, he might have stood there forever.

Picture it:

You walk into your bedroom, glance at the bed to locate your cat.

Instead you see a girl—snow-white from hair to skin, a lotus stepped out of a drift. Innocence carved on her face. Only the waist-length hair drapes over her, half-hiding the rest.

The effect—after years of lurking in every shady QQ group on the internet—still hit him like a physical blow.

The girl from last night!

And in broad daylight!

He tore his gaze away, checked the bright sky outside, then scoured the room—under the chair, behind the curtain—no Xiao Yu.

Back to the bed.

She blinked, head tilted, kneeling on the mattress, palms planted, snowy hair spilling everywhere—covering just enough, but the smooth curve of her back—and, because he was tall, the faint hollow at the base of her spine—

Wait.

Tail.

Snow-white cat tail.

And on her head—twitching cat ears.

“Ah... a-woo...”

She opened her mouth, trying for the usual meow, the voice clumsy but unmistakably Xiao Yu’s bell-like tone.

No time to appreciate it—Dad’s footsteps approached.

Ai Qing spun and locked the door.

“Why’d you lock it?” Dad rattled the knob. “Did you catch her or not?”

Catch her?

He stared at the dazed, adorable, very naked cat-girl sitting where Xiao Yu should be.

How exactly was he supposed to “catch” this?