I wanted to scream.
By the time I dragged myself home, it was nearly midnight.
My cat, Nico, bounced around in annoyance, clearly displeased that I had been away for so long.
Looking at Nico, I felt an overwhelming sense of defeat.
Who was the real master in this house?
Regret filled me. I should’ve gotten a dog instead of this spoiled cat.
I fed Nico, cleaned his little nest, and brushed his fur. Only then did he finally calm down, licking his fur contentedly as if to rub in how much better he thought he was than me.
I stretched one leg toward him. “Nico, be useful for once. Lick my foot so I can at least pretend to be happy.”
Nico didn’t even glance at me. Instead, he focused on licking his own smelly paws.
Not one to give up, I pushed my foot closer. “Nico, lick it!”
He sniffed my foot, recoiled dramatically, and then vomited.
Even Nico didn’t like me anymore.
Sadness overwhelmed me as I recalled the early days of our companionship. Back then, Nico used to lick my feet like a loyal little servant. He had been so affectionate and gentle.
Now? Thanks to the endless exploitation from Julian Grey, I had been neglecting Nico. And it seemed Nico was holding a grudge.