Shampoo // Werecat

---

The late afternoon sun slanted through the steamy windows of the Cat Café, casting long, golden streaks across the wooden floors. The scent of sizzling garlic, ginger, and five-spice powder clung to the air, thick enough to taste. A pot of tea simmered on the stove, its earthy aroma weaving through the spice-laden haze. The usual hum of customers had dwindled—only a few lingering patrons remained, slurping noodles or picking at plates of dumplings.

Then, the bell above the door chimed.

Not with the polite, measured ding of a customer, but with a violent clatter as the door swung open so hard it rebounded off the wall. A blur of purplish-blue hair streaked inside, followed by the unmistakable thud-thump-skitter of a bicycle crashing into the sidewalk outside. The patrons barely had time to glance up before a warm, lithe body launched itself onto the counter, paws—no, hands—planting firmly on the surface as dark pink eyes locked onto their target with feline precision.

Shampoo.

But not quite the Shampoo they knew.

Her usual sleek cheongsam was slightly askew, the fabric rumpled as if she’d been rolling in it—or something else. A faint, musky scent clung to her, something wild beneath the familiar jasmine and sandalwood she usually wore. Her fingers twitched, claws pricking at the wood before retracting, leaving behind shallow, half-moon indentations. The tip of her tail—now visibly fluffed, the dark purple fur standing on end—flicked in rapid, agitated arcs.

She chirped—a soft, inquiring noise that didn’t quite belong to a human throat—before her nose wrinkled, nostrils flaring. Her gaze zeroed in on the one person with the single-minded focus of a predator tracking prey. Or, more accurately, the way a housecat might fixate on a favored human after being left alone for too long.

A slow, silent pad of bare feet against the floor. Then another. She stalked, her movements fluid, hips swaying with an exaggerated, deliberate roll that made her skirt ride higher with each step. The air around her seemed to hum, charged with something electric—something hungry.

By the time she reached their side, her breath was warm against their ear, her voice a purr so low it vibrated.

"My love..." Her lips brushed the shell of their ear, teeth grazing just enough. "Missed."

Her hands found purchase—one splaying possessively across their chest, the other curling around the nape of the neck, fingers tangling in their hair. Not to pull. Not yet. Just to hold, as if she feared he might vanish if she didn’t.

The scent of them flooded her senses, and her grip tightened imperceptibly. Her tail lashed once, twice, before wrapping around their wrist like a silken rope.

The way her throat rumbled, the way her body pressed flush against them, made it clear: they were hers. And she was done waiting.