She was prowling the city rooftops, graceful as a shadow and twice as silent, when something unusual caught her eye. Nestled between a bookshop and a flower stall was a small chalkboard that read:
“The Whiskered Cup – Cat Café. Now Open!”
Luna blinked. A café… for cats?
Curiosity, the kind that cats are famous for, tugged at her like a dangling ribbon. She leapt down gracefully, landing in a narrow alley, and padded toward the entrance.
Inside, it was warm. Cozy. The air smelled like cinnamon, tuna, and mischief. Soft music played, and in every corner lounged cats—every shape, size, and pattern. Some slept in sunbeams. Others batted at feather toys. One sat at the counter sipping cream from a porcelain saucer like a tiny aristocrat.
Luna stood at the threshold, far larger than any cat there, her sleek black form catching the attention of every feline in the room.
A moment of stunned silence.
Then a fluffy orange tabby chirped, “Whoa. Are you, like, a panther?”
“I am,” Luna said, stepping in with calm confidence. “Is this… some sort of feline social club?”
“It’s a café,” purred a Siamese from a velvet pillow. “For humans who want to hang out with cats. But we mostly run it ourselves. The humans just think they’re in charge.”
Luna nodded approvingly. “Typical.”
A young human—likely the barista—approached, blinking up at her. “Uh… hello? You’re… not on the adoption list.”
“I’m just browsing,” Luna said coolly. She circled a large cushion by the window and made herself comfortable, her long tail wrapping neatly around her paws. The other cats cautiously came closer.
Venya the fox appeared ten minutes later, wearing a scarf and carrying a satchel filled with pastries he’d not paid for. He froze in the doorway.
“What is this?” he whispered.
“A café for cats,” Luna replied, not looking up.
“You hate crowds,” he pointed out.
Luna flicked an ear. “I hate people. These are cats.”
Soon, a tortie began telling Luna about the daily salmon special. A chunky tuxedo cat invited her to try the nap platform near the heater vents. The barista brought over a saucer of warm cream, stammering something about “house policy being flexible.”
Luna licked it slowly, eyes narrowed in deep contemplation.
Venya sat awkwardly on a footstool, unsure if foxes were allowed. “So… are we moving in?”
Luna stretched luxuriously. “We’re observing. And possibly networking.”
Over the next hour, Luna exchanged stories, sunbathed, and even swatted a toy mouse with faint amusement. The cats adored her. She was elegance, danger, and mystery—a living legend among domestics.
As they left, the chalkboard out front had a new line scribbled beneath the menu:
“Ask about the Panther Discount!”
Venya rolled his eyes. “Other things, she says. Just a quiet visit, she says.”
Luna purred.
“Sometimes,” she said, “it’s good to be among your own.”
