Chapter 6: The Cat Who Loved the Fox

I wished I could disappear, but he just scratched my chin, gentle as always.

Mr. Forrest scratched my chin, his voice gentle. “My last name is Forrest because I’m a fox demon. Don’t take my last name.”

He smiled, a little sad. I wondered what memories he carried.

“The cat I used to raise was called Lucky. Why don’t you be called Joy, so you’ll always be happy?”

The name sparkled in my mind—Joy. It felt light, hopeful, like a new beginning.

I quieted down, but inside I was overjoyed.

I finally had an identity of my own.

I’m called Joy—happy, joyful Joy.

I repeated it to myself, savoring the sound. Joy. Maybe I could live up to it.

Mr. Forrest picked up his brush and wrote two letters under the painting I’d stepped on.

His handwriting was elegant, looping across the page. I watched, mesmerized.

“This is your name, Joy. Since you contributed to this painting, your name goes on it too.”

He smiled, and I felt a warmth spread through me. For the first time, I belonged.

I looked up at Mr. Forrest’s face. He lowered his chin, his eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

He was beautiful, in a quiet, understated way. I wanted to stay by his side forever.

Outside, rain dripped down; inside, the room was still bright.

The world felt small and safe, just the two of us in the golden light.

Being a little cat didn’t seem so bad, I thought.

Maybe this was all I needed—food, warmth, and someone to love.

From that day on, Mr. Forrest never went to the big kitchen again—he just cooked a fish for me every day in the small kitchen in his house.

It was our little ritual, just for us. I looked forward to it every morning.

I asked him why he didn’t eat. Mr. Forrest said powerful monsters didn’t need food like this.

He shrugged, as if it were nothing. But I caught a glimmer of longing in his eyes.

So I enjoyed a whole fish by myself every day.

I savored every bite, grateful for the small joys in life.

But even though Mr. Forrest didn’t go to the kitchen, many people still came to see him.

His house was always busy—people dropping by with news, gossip, or just to say hello. I watched from my perch, curious but wary.

There were always kitchen staff coming and going, some bringing food, others chatting with Mr. Forrest in the study for an entire afternoon.

They’d laugh and talk, but I could tell their hearts weren’t really in it. Everyone seemed tense, waiting for something to happen.

I was extremely bored, but couldn’t bring myself to leave.

I’d curl up in the window, watching the world go by, content just to be near Mr. Forrest.

But now, I didn’t want to leave—not for the fish Mr. Forrest made.

Even if I never ate fish here again, I’d still be willing to stay by Mr. Forrest’s side.

I realized I’d found something more important than food. I’d found a home.

Fortunately, Mr. Forrest didn’t forget me—he taught me monster magic every night.

We’d sit by the fire, him explaining the basics, me fumbling through spells. It was hard, but I loved every minute.

I protested, “Immortal magic and monster magic are different.”

He just grinned, unfazed. “Magic is magic. It’s all about heart.”

Mr. Forrest tempted me with yellow perch: “If you learn from me, tomorrow I’ll make dried little fish marinated with yellow perch for you.”

He knew my weakness. I caved instantly.

I gave in, and unexpectedly, monster magic suited me very well. In less than a month, I was already skilled.

I could feel the power growing inside me, like sunlight warming my bones. Maybe I wasn’t so hopeless after all.

I could faintly feel I was about to take human form.

The thought thrilled and terrified me. What would I look like? Would Mr. Forrest recognize me?

During this time, the king grew more and more deranged, firing countless staff every day.

The mansion was in chaos—people whispering in corners, packing bags in the dead of night. Even the bravest kept their heads down.

Sometimes, while chasing sparrows in the trees, I overheard staff gossiping, saying the king’s beloved immortal had returned to heaven, so he dismissed all the staff who had served her.

The rumors flew faster than the birds. Everyone blamed the immortal for their troubles.

Whoever displeased the king, he fired.

It was a bloodbath. No one felt safe—not even the cooks.

Older staff just sighed, as if watching the world fall apart.

Their faces were tired, eyes full of old sadness. I wondered how many kings they’d seen come and go.

I didn’t dare listen much, just hurried back to Mr. Forrest’s little house.