Today's events made Jenkins feel he ought to be kinder to his cat. He was now virtually immortal, while the days his cat could spend by his side were numbered. ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ NoveIＦire.net
To ensure Chocolate experienced boundless joy in its finite feline life, Jenkins decided he should buy it some toys. After all, a cat with nothing but a metal block and the Life Pearl to play with all day seemed utterly pathetic.
He asked his cat, surveying the small country town's general store. Chocolate let out a lazy "Meow~," which Jenkins guessed meant it didn't really care one way or the other.
"If you like balls, we could get this one," he mused. "And you'll need some things to sharpen your claws on. I wonder if this world... ahem, if this place has cat trees. Knowing you, I think you'd love one."
The cat purred softly, tilting its head up to look at Jenkins.
That evening, it had seen the man cry for the very first time. There was a reason it had become Jenkins's pet, but regardless of that reason, Chocolate didn't like to see him weep. It had only been playing dead for a bit of fun, a little experiment, never imagining it would drive Jenkins to the brink of collapse.
It knew this man depended on it. This lonely man, who seemed to hide from the world behind a curtain, was in fact as transparent as a little boy standing under a spotlight on an empty stage.
The cat resolved to teach that damned gun a lesson. That should be simple enough.
It was nearly eight o'clock in the evening, and Jenkins, intent on buying toys for his cat, realized he probably wouldn't make it back to the city that night. Before heading to Hathaway's, he had already messaged his friends in Ruen to postpone their gathering, so spending the night in the countryside wouldn't be an issue.
"I remember seeing an inn from the carriage window when we arrived," he thought. "It's probably too late to bother Briny's friends now, especially with so many of us."
He contemplated this while examining a contraption labeled "Fully-Automatic Cat Box." The so-called box was a cage pieced together from metal plates and a small steam-powered device, supposedly capable of automated cleaning to some extent. But Jenkins would never buy such a thing. A sudden jet of steam could easily injure Chocolate. What's more, the all-metal construction would conduct the heat from its boiler—he wouldn't be surprised if any cat locked inside ended up being cooked alive.
This age of burgeoning steam-powered industry had spawned countless strange and wonderful inventions. Only a small fraction ever gained public acceptance; the vast majority, due to fatal flaws or other shortcomings, were quickly buried in the dust of history.
Jenkins himself had a habit of perusing the investment solicitations in the morning paper each day. He had no intention of backing any of the projects from aspiring scientists and inventors; he simply found their descriptions amusing.
"I can let you have that cat box for a bit cheaper," the shop owner behind him offered. "Ten shillings, and it's yours."
"Do I look like a scrap metal collector?"
Jenkins quipped, then shook his head. The owner knew the thing was useless, so he just shrugged and didn't press the matter.
Thinking back on it, Chocolate really was a remarkable cat. Ever since that late summer night when he'd first found it on a corner of Maidenhaven Road, the cat had displayed a startling degree of human-like intelligence.
Jenkins had never known a cat could be so clever. Even before drinking the "Animal Intelligence Awakening Potion," Chocolate's intellect had far surpassed that of most animals.
"Just as long as you don't leave me."
The lonely man thought to himself.
It wasn't some perverse attachment to a small animal. It was simply that after all this time here, Jenkins still couldn't bring himself to fully trust anyone. Bearing a secret alone was agonizing, and he needed a living creature by his side he could trust completely.
Hathaway and Briny had been in the divination room behind him for a rather long time. But since he'd heard loud, agitated female voices from inside a moment ago, Jenkins felt it wasn't his place to interrupt. The room's original occupant, the woman in the black veil and purple skirt, had emerged a while ago. She was now standing at the counter, chatting with the shopkeeper about tomorrow's lunch—they appeared to be husband and wife.
The night deepened. Inside the brightly lit general store, the metal wares reflected the lamplight with a soft gleam. Outside, the main street was dark, devoid of streetlights, but at least the small country town was free from the heavy fog of the city.
Jenkins gazed out at the street through the display window, a wave of melancholy washing over him.
As his eyes scanned the area, he noticed a black point of light in the distance, steadily drawing closer.
Jenkins thought, about to turn and warn Hathaway to prepare herself. But at that exact moment, the shop door swung open and a man carrying a briefcase walked in, dressed in a black business suit.
Jenkins frowned. The man was just an ordinary person, his suit immaculate, his black leather shoes polished so brightly they seemed to gleam. Yet, floating beside him was a ghost with an obscured face. A thick, gray smoke swirled around the spirit, blurring its features beyond recognition.
Jenkins wasn't sure if it was a coincidence. For this man to appear at the very moment the black light was drawing near... the timing was far too suspicious.
"Good evening, gentlemen. Might anyone be in need of the Tykler Cleaning Company's immaculate shoe polish..."
The middle-aged man was a salesman, and a remarkably skilled one at that. Even though no one present had any interest in buying his expensive shoe polish, his pitch was smooth enough that it didn't generate any animosity.
The spirit beside him trailed obediently in his wake, as if it had merely latched onto this ordinary man by chance, planning to give him a few "surprises" in his day-to-day life.
Such occurrences were common enough. Spirits , lacking any truly malevolent traits, would typically fade away on their own after a few months. The standard advice for avoiding being haunted was simple: don't go to cemeteries at night, and don't get too close to the recently deceased.
"But... is this really a coincidence? Why now? A diversion?"
Jenkins stood his ground, unmoving. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the distant black point of light grow larger and brighter, a clear sign that the Mysterious Object was drawing near.
He carefully lifted the cat from his shoulder and tucked it securely inside his coat, determined to prevent a repeat of the afternoon's sorrowful scene. At the same time, he gripped his cane and took a step closer to the salesman:
"Hello, sir. May I see your shoe polish?"
Jenkins inquired in a low voice, as if his interest had been piqued.