Chapter 2: Whiskers and Secrets

The sunlight warmed my skin, but then I got itchy.

A shiver ran through me—felt almost like fur. Something was about to happen, and I wasn’t sure I was ready.

Then, out of nowhere, something surged inside me.

It was like a wave rolling from my toes to my ears. I braced myself, hoping it wasn’t just another hunger pang.

With a bang—just like that—I turned into a cat.

One second, human. The next, four paws and a tail. No warning, no magic words. Just poof.

I was so startled, my fur stood straight up.

If anyone had seen me, they’d have thought I’d licked a light socket. Not my finest moment.

Is an immortal’s power really this fragile? A few days without fish, and I’m back to being a cat?

I stared at my reflection, stunned. So much for immortality. Miss a few meals and all bets are off.

I looked sadly at the orange fur covering me, then leapt forward and rolled down.

There it was—a big, round, orange tabby. I looked like a pumpkin with legs.

Wow. What a fat cat.

Honestly, I’d seen barn cats with more dignity. My belly nearly scraped the floor.

My four legs weren’t exactly graceful as I waddled over to the mirror.

I wobbled up, paws splayed, and took a good look. The sight was… humbling.

Who would’ve guessed? As a human, I was all slender and ethereal. But my true form? A giant, chubby orange tabby.

Is this a scam or what?

If this is what immortality gets you, I want my money back.

Now, even if you dragged me in front of that mutt king, he’d never believe I was the immortal he’d been pining for, right?

I snorted. He’d probably just shoo me out the door. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

I sighed, feeling my empty belly rumble.

Hunger was real. I’d trade all my nine lives for a scrap of fish right now.

Time to hunt down something to eat.

Mission time. If I wanted to survive, I needed to find that chef.

Hmm, time to track down the little chef who’s so good with fish.

I could almost smell the promise of crispy skin and tender meat. My mouth watered at the thought.

I rolled and crawled for over an hour, finally ending up as a cat pancake under a patch of maple trees.

That’s right—flopped belly-down, paws out. This mansion was huge, and I was way out of shape.

This mansion is massive, I thought helplessly.

It was like a maze—hallways all the same, doors just out of reach. I’d never missed my old alleyways so much.

I could already smell food, so why couldn’t I get to the kitchen?

It was torture. The scent drifted through the halls, taunting me, but every time I thought I’d made it, I hit another dead end.

My stomach grumbled. I sighed, stood up bravely, and staggered on, following the scent.

The things you do for love—or, in my case, lunch. I pressed on, paws aching.

Another half hour crawled by.

Me, a cat immortal, as tired as an old hound dog.

No shame. Even the mighty need a nap sometimes.

Finally, I arrived. But having an immortal’s nose was a curse—every time I caught a whiff of food, I thought I was close, but there was always more mansion to go.

I flopped down in the backyard, panting, eyes half-closed. The kitchen door was right there, but it might as well have been a mile away.

Panting, I collapsed in the backyard of the kitchen.

The grass was cool under my belly, and for a second, I thought about just giving up and living there. But then—

Suddenly, a hand grabbed the scruff of my neck.

“Ah!” I yowled in terror.

Not exactly dignified, but hey, instincts.

Then I heard a soft laugh. “This big fat cat—why don’t you meow? You sound like a person.”

The voice was smooth, teasing. I looked up, heart hammering. Had I been found out?

The fur on my neck practically exploded. Did he know I was an immortal?

I froze, not sure whether to run or play dumb. My tail twitched nervously.

I twisted my head to look.

What a face—skin pale as porcelain, eyes just a little upturned, smile full of mischief.

He looked like he belonged in a movie—one of those Southern heartthrobs, dangerous and beautiful. The kind of guy you trust with your life, or at least your lunch.

He could’ve stepped right out of a Tennessee Williams play—mysterious, a little tragic, just a touch wicked. The kind of man you’d want to keep an eye on.

I tried a tentative meow: “Meow!”

It sounded a little too human, but he just grinned wider. Maybe I was still passing for a regular cat.

The chef scratched my chin with those long, slender fingers and scooped me up.

His touch was gentle, practiced. I melted, purring before I could stop myself.

I snuggled into his arms, giving up all pretense.

Embarrassing how quick I caved. But hey, I’m a sucker for a warm hug.

“This cat’s butt is really big,” the chef said to the kitchen assistant next to him.

I wanted to argue, but he wasn’t wrong.

I folded my ears in shame, not wanting to hear it.

The assistant grinned, laying it on thick. “Of course, Mr. Forrest. You raised it so well—with your magic touch for fish, what cat wouldn’t love you?”

Mr. Forrest. The name fit him—dignified, with a hint of wild. I made a mental note to remember it for later, just in case I needed to butter him up.

I flicked my tail lazily. Of course I’m well-fed—the king sends me five meals a day.

Living the good life. But honestly, I’d trade it all for another bite of that fish.

So this chef’s last name is Forrest. Maybe he really is part fox.

The thought crossed my mind—he had that sly, otherworldly look. Maybe I wasn’t the only one hiding secrets in this place.

Mr. Forrest snorted, laughing. “This isn’t my cat—just a stray that wandered in. Go bring the fish I made today. And what you mentioned, I agree. Tell your godfather yourself.”

He handed me off like a sack of potatoes, but I didn’t care. As long as the fish was coming, he could call me whatever he wanted.

I glanced at Mr. Forrest’s hand—white as porcelain, his whole body cool and flawless. Too bad he’s stuck as a kitchen boss.

He could’ve been anything—a poet, a painter, a magician. But here he was, working magic with catfish.