*Meow?*
Pudding meowed sweetly, tilting his head in that irresistible way cats do. I just wanted to scoop him up and cuddle him forever! So what if he had three eyes? He was *adorable*. I'd never owned a cat in my previous life, but now I finally had the opportunity.
I'd wanted to take him to a proper doctor for a checkup, but the butler arrived with a small crystal vial instead. Holy water, he explained. It would be sufficient to give Pudding a drink.
_What kind of world is this, where holy water cures all ailments?_
If that were true, then why had they killed all the cats during the epidemic? What was going on with animal welfare here? The logic made no sense.
I poured the holy water into a shallow bowl, and Pudding lapped it up with gusto, his tiny pink tongue darting in and out. As he drank, I noticed him closing one eye—his third eye, the one centered on his forehead. With his fluffy fur falling just so, he looked like any ordinary two-eyed cat.
_Interesting._
He only opened all three eyes when we were alone together. Two eyes for the public; the third reserved for me.
The butler watched until Pudding had drunk every last drop, then nodded in satisfaction and departed. So everything was fine? *Hooray!*
"What a good boy," I cooed, lifting him onto my lap. "You drank all your water."
I stroked his fluffy hindquarters, and he purred like a small, contented engine.
---
Pudding, it seemed, did not view me as his owner.
He viewed me as the proprietor of an inn. One with *free* accommodation and *complimentary* meals.
Pudding possessed what one might call a free spirit. I was a reclusive homebody, content to spend my days indoors, but he—a true extrovert—spent his days roaming outside the manor. Yet every night before bed, he returned faithfully and curled up beside me to sleep.
_Why does he love the outdoors so much? Perhaps because he was once homeless?_
To keep him safe during his adventures, I decided he needed a collar. The maid brought one—soft leather, elegantly embroidered with the Rohanson family crest. She suggested adding Pudding's name as well. Evangeline, apparently, had been quite skilled at needlework.
The only problem?
I was illiterate. And I certainly couldn't embroider.
Before I could confess either of these shortcomings, the maid fled the room as though demons were chasing her.
The servant who'd promised to bring me an alphabet primer hadn't appeared in several days either. She'd claimed she would fetch it within a day, but she'd clearly never intended to follow through.
I'd initially assumed the servants were simply afraid of me—understandable, given Evangeline's apparent reputation as a villain. But now it seemed they were actively *mocking* me. In stories about reincarnated villains, the protagonist usually put the disrespectful staff in their place immediately. That was the standard approach.
But I hadn't hit anyone. I hadn't even raised my voice.
I looked down at Pudding, who was watching me with patient, knowing eyes.
"I'm sorry your master is such a clumsy person," I murmured, scratching behind his ears. "I can't even write your name..."
_I wish I could learn to read soon. What a botched rebirth this is._
---
I woke up the next morning and suddenly—*bam*—I could read.
_What?_
Was that some kind of... system maintenance? If this was supposed to be a rebirth bonus, why had it arrived so late? I was irritated, certainly, but better late than never.
Perhaps my tears over not being able to write my cat's name had triggered something? Fresh moisture welled in my eyes at the thought. Now I could finally read—and *write*—Pudding's name!
Emboldened, I picked up a needle. Since I'd mysteriously acquired literacy, perhaps I'd also inherited some of Evangeline's embroidery skills?
No.
Absolutely not.
The result was *disastrous*. I'd attempted to stitch "Pudding," but the letters were so mangled that even I couldn't decipher them. It looked like a drunken spider had crawled through ink and then staggered across the fabric.
_Should I throw this away and start over?_
I considered it for a moment, but Pudding meowed insistently, pushing his head toward the collar as if begging me to put it on him immediately.
_My guardian angel!_
I fastened the collar around his neck. They say if a cat calmly allows you to put a collar on it, its owner is very lucky. Pudding was already a placid creature, so he didn't resist at all. The size was perfect, and I tied a loose knot just in case—if Pudding strained even slightly, the collar would break free and release him.
"Do you like it?"
Pudding padded over to the full-length mirror and studied his reflection, turning this way and that. Then he meowed contentedly, apparently satisfied with his new accessory.
A thought struck me: *Pudding can look in a mirror.*
He understood what a reflection was. He was examining himself with clear self-awareness. There were some remarkably intelligent cats in this world... or was it just *my* Pudding who was so special?
Of course it was. My cat was the best in the world.
---
## — The Butler's Burden —
Count Rohanson left for his distant lands.
*Fled* would be the more accurate word. He'd been in such desperate haste that he'd taken only two changes of clothes and departed in the dead of night. During his final days at the estate, he'd grown increasingly agitated, insisting that *eyes* were watching him everywhere he went. He'd been terrified—jumping at shadows, refusing to enter certain rooms.
The maid Daisy had been similarly afflicted. She hadn't opened her eyes once since that day in the Count's study.
Lady Evangeline—or whatever now inhabited her body—had offered to write Daisy a letter of recommendation for employment with another family. But Daisy had declined, saying she wished to join a convent instead. She sat with her eyes perpetually squeezed shut, hands clasped in constant prayer. Apparently, whatever she saw, no one outside the estate could see it. She believed she'd find peace among the sisters.
In the Count's absence, all responsibilities for managing the estate fell to the butler. The Count could handle family matters from his own holdings; the butler had only one concern now.
Lady Evangeline.
The elderly butler stood at the window, gazing out at the weeping cherry tree in the garden below. A white-haired young woman strolled along the gravel path, her pale gown trailing behind her. A cat followed at her heels—presumably the very creature she'd requested permission to keep.
At first glance, it was a peaceful scene. Idyllic, even.
But there was a red handprint on the butler's shoulder. It had appeared the day he'd helped Lady Evangeline rise from her coffin, and it had not faded since.
_What if Lady Evangeline's cat wasn't an ordinary animal?_
His head spun. The estate where he had lived his entire life—where he had served three generations of Rohansons—suddenly felt like the belly of some vast, slumbering monster.
He drew the curtains and sat down heavily at his desk. Across from him sat a maid, drinking tea. Her hand trembled around the cup, but she still looked better than Daisy had.
"I hear cat voices," she said.
This was Hena—the servant who had taken over Daisy's duties attending Lady Evangeline. After what had befallen Daisy, there had been no volunteers for the position. The salary had been raised significantly. Hena, desperate for money, had accepted the job.
But it seemed she wouldn't last long either.
The butler regarded her with pity. In just one day of service, a perfectly normal young woman had returned showing clear signs of mental disturbance. Finding a replacement would be even more difficult now.
The butler opened his mouth to speak, but Hena's expression twisted with confusion.
She heard only cat meows instead of human speech.
She didn't understand what he'd said, but hoping to provide an appropriate response, she spoke: "The lady asked if there were any cats on the estate. I told her we'd killed them all... but why can I *hear* them now? We killed them all..."
Hena had helped dispose of the cat carcasses during the great extermination years ago. The work had been unpleasant, but the pay was good. They'd hauled away several bags of dead cats—animals that had been lured with food and then slaughtered. All of them had been dead and silent.
And now their voices haunted her.
The butler heard no cat voices himself. While jotting down notes to include in his next report to the Count, he asked Hena if she would like him to write her a letter of introduction to another household. It was a generous offer.
But Hena only heard meowing.
The butler wrote something on a piece of paper and slid it across the desk. Hena shook her head.
Here, while she remained on the estate, she could admit that she heard cat voices, and it would be perceived as merely *strange*. But if she moved to another position elsewhere, she would be labeled insane and dismissed immediately.
"I'll keep working," she said, her voice steady despite her trembling hands. "I can't hear you anymore, but I can read your lips."
Hena had a younger brother. For his sake—for the sake of her sick little Kanna—she had to continue working.
---
The Count's reply arrived within the week.
He was furious.
He ordered that the cat be given holy water immediately—a test to determine whether it was a monster. The butler was dubious; if holy water had shown no effect on Lady Evangeline herself, how could it possibly work on a mere cat? But he couldn't disobey a direct command. Holy water cost a small fortune. Only aristocrats could afford to spend it so carelessly.
Hena was horrified when she heard the order.
If *she* had holy water, her brother would be cured. His illness would vanish. And these people wanted to *waste* it on a cat?
"Do you want it?"
*What?* Whose voice was that?
Hena looked around frantically, but there was no one nearby. Only a cat sitting in a patch of sunlight, calmly grooming its fur.
A cat.
Was this Lady Evangeline's cat?
"I asked if you wanted this water." The voice came again—somehow from the cat, though its mouth didn't move. "Answer me."
Hena's mind went blank.
"You want this water. You can take it. I'll tell you how."
The cat opened its eyes.
All *three* of them.
Three golden eyes fixed on Hena with ancient, knowing intelligence.
_A monster. This is a monster._
Hena turned and ran. She had to tell the butler. Lady Evangeline's cat was a *monster*! Surely she'd receive a reward for this information—
But Hena stopped.
The meager coins they'd give her as a reward wouldn't buy even a drop of holy water. What had the cat said? That he would tell her how to obtain it?
Hena imagined her brother—healthy and happy, running and playing in the sunshine the way he used to before the sickness took hold.
She turned back.
The cat, as if nothing had happened, was waiting for her in the same spot. His third eye had closed again, but she could feel it watching her anyway.
---
Hena did exactly as the cat instructed.
She swapped the holy water. She didn't know where the creature had obtained the substitute bottle, but even the delicate pattern etched into the glass was identical to the original. The forgery was perfect.
The butler watched Lady Evangeline's cat drink the fake holy water and noticed nothing amiss.
Only Hena knew the truth: unlike Lady Evangeline, the *real* holy water had affected the cat. She'd seen it flinch when the genuine liquid touched its tongue. She'd seen the flicker of pain in those golden eyes.
After that day, the cat would sometimes summon Hena and request favors.
One afternoon, he ordered her to provide the lady with materials to embroider a collar. Hena, terrified of the lady's wrath, simply thrust the collar and embroidery kit into her hands and fled. It seemed the lady had genuinely picked up a needle for the cat's sake. Later, the cat proudly showed off his new collar with its crookedly stitched letters.
The lady had written some strange symbols on the fabric, but she called the cat *Pudding*.
Hena's duties ended each day after she had served the terrible cat and the lady who was terrible to behold.
The salary was extraordinarily high. Hena could not only support herself and her brother but also set money aside for the future. This allowed her to stop at the market on her way home each evening and purchase her brother's favorite treats.
_He'll be delighted._
Hena's heart melted with tenderness at the thought. After drinking the holy water she'd stolen, her brother had improved dramatically. Just a few days ago, he'd barely been able to swallow thin soup. Now he was constantly asking for food, his appetite returning with his strength.
When Hena arrived home that evening, her brother was sitting by the door, waiting for her.
"Sister!"
"Why are you sitting out here in the cold, silly boy?"
"I missed you! You're home! Let's go inside quickly!"
"Alright, alright, Kanna. Don't whine."
Her brother threw his arms around Hena's neck, hugging her tightly. In that moment, she forgot everything—the creepy cat with its knowing eyes, the terrifying lady with her blood-red gaze, the voices of dead cats that had finally fallen silent.
Hena decided it was worth it to obey the cat.
Perhaps because she fulfilled his every whim, she no longer heard the ghostly meowing. The voices had stopped. Her brother was healing. Everything was going to be alright.
She chose not to wonder what price she might eventually pay.
---