It was late.
The TV show had ended. Snacks were devoured.
The hoomin rubbed his eyes, stretched dramatically, and muttered:
Hoomin:
“Alright boys, time for bed. Who’s ready to snuggle—wait… why is it so quiet?”
He shuffled into the bedroom, flicked on the light—
and froze.
There, smack in the middle of the bed like two furry sentries, were Lohe and Benno, staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes.
Benno was in full loaf formation.
Lohe had sprawled diagonally across the pillows like a cat-shaped crime scene.
Hoomin:
“Um… hello?”
Benno (calmly):
“You are trespassing in Royal Chamber 1.”
Lohe:
“This suite has been claimed under the Ancient Tuxedo Law of Fuzzy Occupation.”
Hoomin:
“That’s… not a real law.”
Benno:
“Neither is your ‘no feeding after 9PM’ rule, and yet here we are.”
Hoomin stood at the foot of the bed, blanket in hand, trying to calculate if he could wedge himself between the loaf and the tail.
Lohe (squinting):
“He’s thinking of moving us.”
Benno:
“Bold. Foolish. Warmth will be lost.”
Lohe:
“Shhh. Wait. Let him realize the couch exists.”
There was a long pause. A standoff.
Then hoomin sighed, turned off the bedroom light, and walked slowly back to the living room.
From the bed came the sound of two very satisfied purrs.
Benno (to Lohe):
“He gave up faster than last time.”
Lohe:
“That’s growth. He’s learning who really runs this apartment.”
⸻
Friday evening ends with two smug cats curled up in perfect victory,
and one slightly cold hoomin lying sideways on the couch,
muttering something about “bedtime democracy being dead.”
