The System Mistook Me for a Cat

The surroundings swayed slightly.

There were murmurs of conversation, soft laughter, the sound of someone scrolling through videos on their phone—then a breeze drifted in through the window, though it didn’t quite reach the depths of the cat carrier.

Three-Five-Five caught a whiff of an unfamiliar scent and stirred awake.

She cracked open her eyes just a slit, lifted a paw, and nudged the side of the carrier. Soon after, the sound of a zipper being pulled echoed, and the carrier opened. A hand reached in, first grasping her paw, then leisurely smoothing out the tangled strands of her fur.

The scents drifting in through the car window grew sharper, as did the chirping of cicadas.

Annoyingly loud.

Then, Chu Tingwu reached in with both hands, scooped Three-Five-Five up, and settled her onto her lap.

From the front passenger seat, her cousin asked in a hushed voice, "Is Three-Five-Five sleepy…? Is it too noisy outside? Should we roll up the windows?"

Three-Five-Five detected the concern in her tone.

She stretched out a hind leg, gave it a shake, and rolled over on her young caretaker’s lap, still agile and full of energy.

…And in the process, she kicked the person beside her—though they deftly intercepted the blow with an open palm.

She heard Chu Tingwu chuckle softly.

"It’s fine," Chu Tingwu said. "We’re almost there."

Great-Grandmother Chu Shuzhen lived in the family’s ancestral home—a four-story house with a small courtyard. She resided on the first floor, though in winter, she’d move up to the second. The house had been fitted with an elevator a decade ago, and most of the other floors had been opened up to accommodate visiting family.

Some of the younger relatives lived close by in Qihe City, so during holidays, at least half the family would gather here.

But this wasn’t a holiday—it was Great-Grandmother’s birthday. As for how old she was turning, Chu Tingwu wasn’t entirely sure. None of the younger generation seemed to know, since Great-Grandmother had already passed a hundred. After that, it was local custom not to mention specific ages, simply saying she was "one hundred years young" every year.

When the car stopped, Three-Five-Five perked up and peered out the window.

She wasn’t fond of car rides, mostly because she disliked the smells inside. So whenever there was a chance to get out, she’d take it. Noticing the car had halted, she glanced back at her young caretaker, who said, "We’re here. Let’s go."

As soon as the door opened, Three-Five-Five hopped out—then realized she wasn’t wearing her leash.

No more travel. She could wander freely now.

Still, Chu Tingwu gestured vaguely to the surroundings. "Be back by lunchtime, okay?"

Three-Five-Five: "Meow~"

She immediately put as much distance between herself and the "metal box" as possible.

Ahead stood a courtyard, where a middle-aged woman greeted her with a smile as she darted inside. Three-Five-Five skidded to a stop, rose onto her hind legs, and gave the woman a brief, dignified look—almost like returning the courtesy.

She wasn’t much of a talker, after all.

Then she slipped into the yard.

Inside stood a towering elm tree, beneath which hung a swinging bench.

At the moment, the bench swayed gently as two boys, around six or seven years old, debated who should go first—until Three-Five-Five leaped onto it.

Swinging! Fun!

The tortoiseshell cat nearly lost her footing at first but quickly steadied herself. The bench creaked as it rocked with her weight, and the two boys gasped. "Whoa, cool cat!" one exclaimed.

So big! So fluffy!

The other, after glancing at his mother and his brother, whispered, "Kitty… can I pet you?"

Their mother stifled a laugh.

Three-Five-Five gave him a sidelong glance, shook her head with regal indifference, and hopped onto the edge of a flower bed.

Having thoroughly distracted the children, she eyed the elm tree, then leaped from the flower bed to the top of the wall—carefully avoiding the broken glass—before circling back to the tree and batting at the rope holding up the swing.

When Chu Tingwu entered the courtyard, Three-Five-Five stood tall. The elm leaves rustled above her, a few drifting down as Chu Tingwu, mid-conversation with an aunt, turned halfway and lifted her hands—

Just in time to catch the cat leaping from the tree.

The aunt gasped, then noticed Three-Five-Five taking the opportunity to swat at the "bird" perched on Chu Tingwu’s shoulder.

Auntie: "I meant to ask earlier—why doesn’t that bird on your shoulder chirp or fly away?"

Before Chu Tingwu could answer, her cousin chimed in, "Oh, that’s a toy! It moves on its own and looks super realistic. Super high-tech too—hey, Tingwu, what kind of bird is it supposed to be?"

Fancy-looking. Kind of pretty.

Chu Tingwu: "Ah… it’s a phoenix."

Cousin: "…" Well. That tiny, round, chubby thing? She’d assumed it was a baby pheasant.

Chu Tingwu smiled sheepishly. "I made it myself."

Three-Five-Five gave up trying to knock the "bird" off her young caretaker’s shoulder and instead settled comfortably into her arms as they moved to greet the others.

Chu Tingwu was clearly the center of attention. Many seemed to be meeting her for the first time, yet they spoke with admiration—whether they were younger kids, peers, or even adults in their thirties and forties. Even a simple reply from her seemed to excite them. Someone even invited her to join a card game.

Then, a familiar voice quickly intervened: "You’ll regret it if you play cards with her."

"Aw, come on, Xiao, we’re just playing for fun. Winning or losing doesn’t matter!"

"Speaking of which, Xiao’s really good at cards, right? Must be that sharp memory—but that means we can’t let you join, haha!"

They’d completely forgotten that if Chu Xiao was so wary of Chu Tingwu’s skills, there had to be a reason.

Chu Tingwu ruffled Three-Five-Five’s head. "I’ll take Three-Five-Five to our room first, let her get familiar with it."

"Cats are usually pretty skittish, so it’s good that your room’s on the fourth floor—nice and quiet—"

"Mom, have you even watched Auntie’s streams? Three-Five-Five isn’t scared of anything!"

Three-Five-Five yawned.

When she opened her eyes again, she found herself curled up on the bedside, tucked under a blanket with Chu Tingwu’s freshly discarded jacket beside her.

She kneaded the jacket a few times, gave herself a quick lick, then suddenly pounced—slapping the "phoenix" lying motionless on the other side of the pillow.

Three-Five-Five: "Meow?"

Ah. Understood. The one controlling the phoenix wasn’t here.

But if she waited just a little longer—the phoenix’s eyes flickered to life. Three-Five-Five switched from batting to nudging, impatiently pushing at it with a few insistent meows, then leaped toward the door.

The stupid bird flopped back down.

Three-Five-Five: "…"

Got it. No help opening the door, then.

The cat mother had followed her young caretaker to many places. Perhaps because of a feline’s low vantage point, while humans admired the scenery, she memorized the different "doors" in every building.

Some doors are the ones at home, opening automatically with just a call from her.

Others are hotel doors, requiring her to open them herself.

Then there are automatic doors—ones that open for anyone, though occasionally, certain sensors fail to detect a cat lingering at the threshold.

But this place didn’t quite feel like a hotel.

She strutted out of the room and heard the elevator doors slide open. Someone was dragging luggage and carrying a backpack, seemingly oblivious to the cat ahead of them. They paused mid-step, then abruptly turned and knocked on the neighboring door, calling out loudly:

"Xiao Liu, open up! I brought you a gift!"

A grumble came from the other room. As Three-Five-Five sauntered past, she propped herself up against the suitcase, peering around but spotting no "gift."

Still, she caught the scent of roasted chicken.

Time to hunt for food.

Her long tail brushed against the passerby’s calf, making them jolt in surprise—yet when they turned, they found nothing.

The tortoiseshell cat’s fur blended seamlessly into the carpet as she slipped silently along the wall, only darting aside when a door swung open at the corner.

"Ah, Three-Five-Five?" A young girl with a ponytail—likely in middle school—stepped out, looking lively and bright.

Girl and cat entered the elevator together. The girl smiled down and asked, "Did you come back with your sister? Which floor are you headed to?"

Three-Five-Five meowed once, and the girl pressed the button for the first floor. Then, as if remembering something, she added, "Oh, right, my cousin brought his kitten home a couple of days ago. But it’s really timid—probably won’t leave the room."

She’d heard her cousin went through quite the ordeal to retrieve the kitten from the K-9 and Feline Training Base—apparently, it had flunked out of the program.

Three-Five-Five lazily let out a "meow." She had indeed caught the unfamiliar feline’s scent, but since it posed no threat, she paid it no mind.

The first floor was far livelier than the upper levels. Three-Five-Five glanced over and spotted Chu Xiao, Shao Lingwu, and Chu Tingwu locked in a tense game of poker. While the youngest seemed unbothered, the other two wore grave expressions. A crowd of onlookers had gathered, though Three-Five-Five couldn’t fathom what was so fascinating about a three-person poker game.

She slipped into the kitchen, with the girl—Chu Zihan—trailing behind. After a quick word with the older relatives, the girl began rummaging for food. One of the elders marveled, "This cat actually picks her own food? I thought we’d have to dig out a can. Your brother just brought some."

Chu Zihan grinned. "This is Three-Five-Five we’re talking about!"

The mother cat’s fluffy tail swayed leisurely, so irresistibly plush that one of the elders crouched down to pet her. Three-Five-Five didn’t protest, keeping her head lowered—until she heard: "She’s so chubby."

Three-Five-Five: "..."

Chu Zihan corrected, "She’s not chubby—she’s strong!"

Three-Five-Five rubbed against the wall.

"Hey—ow!"

After polishing off her meal, she slinked out of the kitchen just in time to see someone waving their phone around, swiping at the air. These types were common—probably hunting for some "virtual cat food" or "holographic treats." Three-Five-Five was baffled: Could people really catch cat food out of thin air?

Chu Zihan, clearly with time to spare, ambled behind Three-Five-Five, hands clasped behind her back. She wasn’t interested in joining the poker game either. Then, she noticed the tortoiseshell suddenly freeze.

Three-Five-Five’s ears didn’t twitch. Ahead was a rarely used stairwell corner. Just as Chu Zihan began to wonder, Three-Five-Five pounced—and a high-pitched "eep!" echoed from the shadows.

A Siamese kitten had been flattened beneath Three-Five-Five, flailing its little paws and yowling for help.

Chu Zihan peeked over and deadpanned: "..."

There wasn’t even a scratch on you.

The so-called "little coal miner" wore a gray collar around its neck, about six months old. Realizing resistance was futile, it curled into a submissive ball against the wall.

Three-Five-Five: "==" Boring. Didn’t even put up a fight.

The moment she released it, the kitten sprang up, eyeing her warily before slowly crouching low—exchanging feline pleasantries through posture and scent.

Cats rarely vocalize unless squabbling. Body language and scent usually suffice—unless one happens to be particularly chatty.

And this little coal miner was *very* chatty.

Once it realized Three-Five-Five wasn’t actually ferocious (just grumpy), it attached itself to her, mewling incessantly. Its vocabulary was limited, but it got its point across—

And so, the kitten launched into tales of its time at the training base.

Lessons on retrieving, searching, fieldwork… and then, inexplicably, being sent away.

Three-Five-Five: "..."

She pieced it together: This kitten had been rejected for being "overly curious," "excessively talkative," and "timid." One flaw might’ve been tolerable, but all three? No wonder it was booted. Here it was, yammering on to a cat it had just met.

Little Siamese: "My battle buddy used to go out hunting every day, but now he stays inside all the time, meow!"

Three-Five-Five: He quit. Now he’s starting a business with friends.

Little Siamese: "He calls himself my ‘battle buddy,’ but then he cuddles me and says, ‘Call me Dad!’ Is my name ‘Dad,’ meow?"

Three-Five-Five: No. He just wants you to call him that.

Little Siamese: "I’ll call him Dad, meow! Dad, meow! Dad, meow!"

Three-Five-Five: "..."

Chu Zihan halted, watching as the two cats tussled again—or rather, as the Siamese kitten got "roughed up" while treating it like playtime, rolling around and even attempting to nibble Three-Five-Five.

Then, Three-Five-Five pinned it down and let out two firm meows—strangely authoritative for a cat, as if delivering an ultimatum.

Three-Five-Five: "Mrowr—You are *not* calling him Dad!"

Explaining was pointless. Better to beat the lesson into it!

Half a moment later, the Siamese relinquished the title of "Dad," meekly trailing behind Three-Five-Five as she led it to meet her own offspring—and to educate it on the concept of *hierarchy*.

Was hierarchy as tasty as cat food?

But the kitten hadn’t expected her "offspring" to be so… *big*.

Wow—

Impressive!

The Siamese rose onto its hind legs, paws resting on the "kitten’s" thigh—yet it couldn’t even reach her knee.

Chu Tingwu glanced down and patted its head. "Hm?"

Someone ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‍nearby noticed the commotion and laughed. "Zhima, how’d you get out here?"

The Siamese flicked a glance at him and ignored the question.

The man—presumably the cousin—scooped the kitten up, cooing, "Zhima, ah, my little Zhima! Come on, say ‘Dad’?"

The kitten shot a nervous look at Three-Five-Five. "...Meow."

The cousin cradled it, ruffling its fur proudly. "Look, everyone! This is my baby! Adorable, right? My little coal miner! It even calls me Dad—heehee!"

Chu Tingwu & Three-Five-Five: "…"

The kitten was passed around for everyone to admire, while its father kept boasting about how well-behaved it was—definitely a product of professional training ("Though of course, it’s no match for Three-Five-Five from the Tingwu household…"). It never extended its claws, had an exceptionally gentle temperament ("It even fetches things for me and never knocks my glasses off the table!"), and greeted him at the door every day!

Everyone should get a cat—having a cat is just the best.

The great-grandmother returned home, finally putting an end to the bragging session. Cousin specifically brought Zhima over, saying, "Let Three-Five-Five mentor her a bit." The cat could open doors on its own and seemed bolder now that it was back in its hometown—though it appeared much more at ease whenever the tortoiseshell cat was nearby.

The sound of "Happy Birthday" filled the house as everyone seemed to gather in the first-floor hall. The Siamese kitten, Zhima, darted around excitedly, clearly eager to join the chatter, but Three-Five-Five let out a soft "meow," signaling to Zhima:

*That human actually sees you as their own kitten.*

Zhima tilted its head.

Before leaving the base, it hadn’t gone by this name, and even after being adopted, it still hadn’t fully grown accustomed to the new one.

The cats at the base lived together, but they all knew they weren’t the offspring of their trainers… How could cats be human children?

Three-Five-Five crouched beside it, surrounded by humans, then pointed and said, "My kitten and your human are siblings, meow."

She couldn’t quite untangle the complicated family relations either, so calling them siblings was fine—crudely speaking, they were from the same litter, even if the other humans weren’t her own. Hmph.

Zhima: "Meow~"

It—understood!

Though Three-Five-Five didn’t carry the scent of a mother, she—she was *mother’s mother*! Extra motherly!

"Meow!"

*Thud!* Chu Tingwu set down her cup.

Her cousin across the table blinked. "Ah… Tingwu, you finished your drink? Let me refill it for you."

Shao Lingwu, who had been rubbing his temples as if trying not to laugh too loudly, quickly intercepted. "It’s fine, I’ll pour it."

Chu Tingwu: "Cousin, wasn’t your cat returned from the base? I remember all police cats nowadays are sourced from Jin City Base. This kitten’s mother or grandmother might’ve even been trained by Three-Five-Five!"

Cousin: "Oh, what a coincidence! I heard the first batch of police cats included Siamese… Proves they’re perfect for the job! I always said my Zhima is naturally gifted, so well-behaved—"

Once he started praising his cat, there was no stopping him. He quickly listed off one, two, three, four heartwarming things the kitten had done—though to the others, it mostly sounded like he was just smitten with its cuteness, with a generous helping of wishful thinking mixed in.

Chu Tingwu: "It was returned because it talks too much, right?"

Cousin gasped. "Tingwu, you’re *too* sharp!"

Chu Tingwu: "Does it wake you up at night?"

Cousin: "Well, it’s not too bad… But if I don’t play with it in the morning, it gets *really* chatty at night. Even when I’m asleep, it’ll paw at me to wake up and listen…"

……

The humans’ conversation faded into the background as Zhima, ever the social butterfly, scampered up to the second floor. Three-Five-Five followed at a leisurely pace, only to hear barking from downstairs moments later.

Auntie had brought her Chihuahua.

Two hours later, Chu Tingwu scooped up Zhima, leash in hand for both the Chihuahua and an Alaskan Malamute puppy, while two elegant thoroughbred horses nuzzled her head affectionately—as if they’d just trotted over from a stroll. She effortlessly soothed the entire menagerie, exchanged a few words with their owners, then swung onto a horse’s back in one smooth motion, apparently deciding to take the whole crew out to the pasture.

Finally freed from babysitting (and the dog that annoyed cats), Three-Five-Five made her decision—

Not to rest, of course.

Time to patrol the area!

After a meticulous grooming session—ensuring her coat was sleek, claws sharp, and overall appearance radiant—she sauntered out with regal ease.

Inside, the mahjong players paused mid-game. "Is someone playing a game with the volume on?"

Hadn’t there been a popular VR game called *Cat Simulator*? Was playing as a cat *that* fun? Seemed like everyone was into it these days.

But after a moment, they dismissed it. "Nah, it’s just cats outside fighting."

Back to the tiles.

Honestly, VR pods were incredible. Even at their age, they each had one at home. Mahjong, dancing, binge-watching—all without leaving the house! The only downside was the time limits, and how you could customize your "avatar" to look younger, which felt oddly surreal.

Yet gathering in person today, seeing old friends and family face-to-face… It struck them how reality had its own irreplaceable charm. Virtual was great, reality was great, technology kept improving—

"Three of Dots!"

"*Kong*! Ha, *Kong on Kong*! Sixteen points, pay up!"

—But luck remained as fickle as ever.

"Wait, I slipped! I didn’t mean to discard that—"

"You—*you*—" "Hahaha!" "Let’s void this round and restart!" "Perfect, my tiles were *terrible*! Swap seats while we reshuffle!"

Amidst the grating cicada chorus, Three-Five-Five yawned and sprang onto a tree. Below, a child carrying a dustpan pointed up. "Cat—"

But the cat was already gone.

Leaving only her scent markers behind, she prowled across rooftops via the "feline express lane" as dusk painted the sky. Wind rustled the leaves, setting the garden swing into a gentle sway.

Three-Five-Five reclaimed her perch on the sturdy branch, batting persistently at the swing’s ropes. The eldest in the house glanced over at the sound, shaking his head with fond exasperation.

Then—familiar footsteps.

Chu Tingwu smelled like a chaotic menagerie, earning a disgruntled "meow" from her feline mother. But the girl’s eyes sparkled with laughter as she stretched out her arms, fully aware Three-Five-Five was just too lazy to climb down. "Here."

Three-Five-Five eyed the ropes one last time.

Behind Chu Tingwu, voices drew closer—some smiling at them, others glued to their devices. The kitchen wafted with dinner aromas. With a shake of her fur, the cat leapt gracefully into her human’s embrace.

Chu Tingwu teased, "What would you do without me?"

Three-Five-Five: "Meow~"

*What would you do without me?*

But it’s fine. I’ll be by your side for life.

—THE END—