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Royal Chamber nr. 1

Lohe and Benno chanz.com
Lohe and Benno in Royal Chamber

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.”

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Daily stories

Slow sunday

The Purr Duo
The Purr Duo

It was a slow, sunny Sunday.
The hoomin was deep in sleep, dreaming of a world without emails, when he suddenly felt a presence.

Something… was watching.
From very close range.

He cracked open one eye—
Benno.
Sitting by the bed, eyes wide, tail neatly curled, conducting a silent psychic scan.

Benno (whispering to himself): “Still sleeping. Suspiciously peaceful. Breathing… snack-deep?”
Lohe’s voice echoed from the other room:
“Leave him. The longer he sleeps, the better the treats. It’s scientifically proven.”

Benno (whispering): “But what if he’s pretending? He could ambush us with cuddles.”
Lohe: “Unlikely. We’ve established a firm no-touch treaty… unless initiated by us.”

What the boys didn’t know:
Hoomin was absolutely awake, smiling into his pillow.
He waited until Benno leaned in just a little too far…

“BOO.”
Benno levitated like a startled loaf.

Benno: “GAAAAH! He’s alive?!”
Lohe: “Retreat! Retreat with dignity!”

Hoomin burst out laughing.

Hoomin: “Okay, you weirdos. You win. Breakfast it is—with extra goodies.”
Benno (recovering fast): “Fear was part of the plan. Motivational tactic.”
Lohe: “I calculated the bounce trajectory precisely.”

They got their breakfast—full bowls, a spoon of luxury wet food, and a few “just because” treats.
Purring satisfaction echoed faintly in the kitchen tiles.

And then, The Big Announcement:

Hoomin: “I’m staying home all day today. No errands. Just us.”

Benno (gasps): “He’s OURS today!”
Lohe (serious): “Then we must honor this with wild athletic nonsense.”

AND ZOOMIES WERE UNLEASHED.

Benno darted between sofa legs and launched into midair like a flying dumpling.
Lohe did a precision side-crab walk down the hallway and then flopped in a majestic, slow-motion twist onto the rug.
A toy mouse flew from the balcony into the kitchen with zero explanation.

When the storm finally settled, the boys loafed nearby, blinking slowly at the hoomin who was now laying on the floor, still laughing.

Benno (quietly): “We know we’re still a bit… shy.”
Lohe: “Still don’t love being touched. But…”
Benno: “But playtime with you is everything.”
Lohe: “And this home. Our forever place. That’s priceless.”
Benno: “We show it by leaving toys on your bed and stealing your socks.”
Lohe: “We care. Deeply. Just… in our own perfectly odd way.”

Sunday morning ends not just with wild zoomies and bellyfuls of snacks,
but with two tuxedo boys quietly reminding their hoomin that even without cuddles,
their hearts are fully his. 

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Daily stories

Lohe tries Eurovision yoga

It was Thursday evening, and the hoomin was deeply invested in Eurovision.

The glitter. The drama. The fog machines. The questionable key changes.

He was mid-bite of a snack, judging an outfit made entirely of sequins and possibly caution tape, when—

movement.

From the bookshelf.

Not a full cat.

Not even a head.

Just… a paw.

Pointing. Slowly. Dramatically.

Hoomin (startled): “…What in the—”

Lohe (calm voice from above): “Do not be alarmed. I am transcending.”

The hoomin leaned back and squinted.

And there he was—Lohe, balanced across the top shelf like a furry deity, slowly stretching one leg skyward while staring into space.

Hoomin: “Are you… doing cat yoga? Again?”

Lohe: “Yes. This pose is called ‘The Ascending Sardine.’ Only to be performed during televised chaos.”

Benno (from the sofa): “He’s been up there for twenty minutes. He’s really into the ceiling lately.”

Lohe: “Ceilings are symbolic. They represent unlickable heights.”

Lohe extended his other paw, now looking like a feline weather vane trying to summon pigeon-shaped enlightenment.

Hoomin: “I mean, I’m watching Eurovision. You’re doing yoga. This room can’t get any weirder.”

Lohe (very seriously): “Wait for the bridge key change.”

Benno: “Or when Finland brings out the neon goats again.”

The paw slowly retracted.

Silence resumed.

The glitter on TV exploded again.

Lohe (softly): “Peace is found only in stillness… and atop Ikea.”

Thursday evening ends with synchronized chaos—onstage and on shelf—two cats meditating on melody and floor snacks, and one hoomin realizing he may never again know a truly ordinary Thursday.

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Daily stories

Yoga time

Lohe and Benno Cat Yoga
Lohe and Benno Cat Yoga

It was a peaceful wednesday evening.

Hoomin had just sat down on the sofa with a warm drink, ready to unwind…

when a soft thud echoed from the living room floor.

Benno had arrived.

Sprawled like a furry starfish across the carpet.

Eyes half-closed. One leg in the air. Belly fully on display.

Hoomin (blinking): “…What are you doing?”

Benno (serenely): “This is yoga. Inner peace through maximum exposure.”

Benno slowly twisted onto his back, one paw flopping dramatically to the side.

Benno: “This pose is called ‘Collapsed Loaf of Courage.’ It aligns the snack chakras.”

Hoomin: “You look like someone who lost a fight with a pillow.”

Benno (ignoring): “Observe now… ‘The Side-Flop of Introspection.’ Useful after emotional breakfast.”

He rolled again. Now his feet were straight up like aerials, tail flicking.

Benno: “And this is ‘Alert Crashed UFO.’ An advanced level stretch.”

From across the room, Lohe peeked from the top of the bookshelf.

Lohe: “You look like a pretzel that gave up.”

Benno: “Lohe. Please. This is sacred.”

Lohe: “You’re vibrating with joy because the carpet is warm.”

Benno: “…Yes. And I am one with it.”

Hoomin: “Should I get the mat?”

Benno: “No need. The floor has accepted me as its own.”

He then tucked into a loaf position, blinked slowly at hoomin and whispered,

“Now breathe deeply. And bring snacks.”

Wednesday night ends with soft stretches, theatrical poses, and a hoomin who might just believe that inner peace can be found on the living room rug—under a purring cat named Benno.

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Daily stories

Treat monster

It started like any normal morning.
Lohe was halfway through a casual pre-breakfast stretch, and the servant was dragging himself toward the coffee machine…

When suddenly—

“SERVANT!!”

A dramatic yowl echoed from the bedroom.
The human ran in, heart pounding, expecting something like an avalanche of laundry or Benno stuck in a drawer again.

But instead, he found Benno staring into the wardrobe.
Ears flat. Eyes wide. Tail puffed.
Clearly shaken.

Human: “What’s wrong?!”
Benno (whispering): “There’s a monster in the closet…”
Human: “…Pardon?”
Benno: “It spoke. I swear. It said…”
“No more treats for cats.”

Lohe poked his head in from the hallway, blinking.

Lohe: “Did the vacuum cleaner tell you this again? You know it lies.”
Benno: “No! It had a voice like… like the bottom of the fridge! And it hissed something about kibble rations!”

The servant tried to hold it together, but it was too late.
He burst into laughter so hard he nearly tripped over a slipper.

Human: “Benno, my dude, that was a dream. Possibly a bad snack dream. There is no anti-treat monster.”

Benno narrowed his eyes.

Benno: “…Are you SURE?”
Human: “Positive. In fact…”
He walked off and came back moments later with a tiny treat.
*“Monsters don’t deliver these.”

Benno cautiously took it, munched it, and then whispered,
“…Still gonna keep an eye on that closet, just in case.”

Lohe: “I bet it was Basil messing with him again.”
Benno: “Well, mission accomplished. I was very messed.”

Friday morning ends with mild trauma, verified snacks, and a reminder that even brave tuxedo warriors sometimes need reassurance that the wardrobe doesn’t hate cats.

Categories
Daily stories

Cloud bed

It was a long day, and hoomin was ready to collapse into his sacred haven:

the bed.

Soft. Warm. Peaceful.

Except…

Benno was already there.

Sprawled diagonally across the entire mattress like a sleepy starfish in full ownership mode.

Hoomin: “Benno… buddy. That’s my side.”

Benno (without opening his eyes): “I don’t see your name on it.”

Hoomin: “You’re literally lying on my pillow.”

Benno: “It’s a good pillow. Thank you for selecting it for me.”

Hoomin: “Can I at least have the blanket?”

Benno (slow blink): “If you can lift me and not feel guilty, sure.”

Hoomin: “…You win this round.”

Lohe, watching from the wardrobe, offered commentary like a sports announcer.

Lohe: “And here we witness the age-old ritual of feline bed dominance. The hoomin, confused, circles the mattress, looking for a corner of hope…”

Benno stretched even further, one paw now across the TV remote.

Benno: “Also, if you’re staying here, I prefer quiet. No documentaries tonight. Unless it’s birds.”

Hoomin gave up.

He lay down sideways at the edge of the mattress, hugging the last corner of the blanket like a shipwrecked sailor clinging to driftwood.

Benno: “You’re very warm. Please don’t move or breathe too much.”

Wednesday evening ends with a half-perched hoomin, one victorious tuxedo, and a bed silently renamed: Benno’s Cloud.

Sleep well, human. If you dare.

Categories
Daily stories

Service needed

The hoomin barely got his shoes off when he heard it—
Benno’s unmistakable shout from the balcony:

“Hoooomin! I feel emotionally weak. I require snacks! Preferably served here. I can’t be bothered to move!”

At the same time, a muffled voice echoed from deep inside the wardrobe:
Lohe: “Seconded. If snacks could arrive to Wardrobe District Level 2, that’d be ideal.”

The hoomin raised an eyebrow.
“How was your day?”

Benno: “Boring. Too sunny. Not enough drama.”
Lohe: “I tried to stare at a pigeon into submission. It ignored me. Rude.”
Benno: “Also we think the rug moved by itself.”
Lohe: “Or it was Basil.”
Benno: “Also, the plant blinked. Just sayin’.”
Hoomin: “Any plans for tomorrow?”
Lohe: “Same. But with more existential reflection.”
Benno: “And possible sock theft.”

With a sigh and a chuckle, the hoomin retreated to the kitchen.

Moments later, he returned like a culinary magician with two saucers of tuna soup —
one placed gracefully on the balcony sill, the other carefully slid into the wardrobe depths.

Purring.
Slurping.
A moment of pure peace.

Benno: “He’s learning.”
Lohe: “He may yet be trained.”

Monday afternoon ends with satisfied tummies, questionable reports, and a hoomin secretly enjoying being bossed around by two very spoiled—and very loved—cats.

Cat lounging in the cupboard