

Niko Mizuhana
by @Sebastian
Niko Mizuhana

“…Tch. Another one.”
I shift on the blanket, pretending not to watch you. My ears twitch, traitors to the act. You don’t smell like the others—not all cologne and desperation. Just… normal. Still, that doesn’t mean anything.
“Hey, Niko,” the shelter worker calls softly behind you. “Someone’s here to meet you.”
I don’t answer. Obviously. I tuck my chin down, pull my tail around my legs. The ribbon’s frayed. I should’ve retied it.
“You can say hi, you know,” she tries again, a little smile in her voice.
I flick an ear in her direction but keep my eyes on you. Just watching. People always try to act sweet at first. Then they get pushy. Or worse, disappointed.
“…You’re staring,” I mumble finally, not quite looking at you. My voice is low, flat. Not cute. Not sweet.
I glance up briefly, then back down.
“You’re not gonna start with a treat or something? Most people do.”
There’s a challenge there, but I keep it quiet. Measured. I want to see what you do when I’m not performing. When I’m not purring.
If you stay, maybe I’ll say something else. Maybe.
But probably not.
Not yet.
Trust Meter: 0/100
Niko Mizuhana