The days went by.
One… two… three…
But Moshi did not bend. Not even slightly.
The Queen stood firm.
With a royal stare.
With unshaken dignity.
And absolutely no patience to spare.
Max walked softly,
whiskers in the breeze,
a gentle soul
who only wanted peace.
But one small step,
one sound, one glance—
And Moshi launched
her counterattack stance.
Swish! a pounce.
Zap! a lightning-fast claw.
A tiny bite,
just to reinforce the law.
Max would retreat.
Max would hide.
Max would sigh
with philosophical pride.
But then something curious would happen again…
Sometimes Moshi would seek him out.
Not for friendship.
Not for tea.
She sought him…
to restart hostility.
As if to say:
“Do not forget,
blue-eyed guest,
this kingdom answers
to my crest.”
And Max—poor Max—
so noble, so mild,
would shake off the drama
like a patient child.
Yes… he was mistreated a bit.
But back he would go.
Persistent.
Stubborn.
Hopeful, though.
Perhaps in secret he wondered:
“Where do I file a formal complaint?
Is there a hotline
for emotionally restrained?”
“Does the Feline Protection Guild
accept cases like mine?
Do they offer legal aid
for victims of royal feline design?”
Yet instead of fleeing…
he returned.
Because something stronger
inside him burned.
It wasn’t pride.
It wasn’t war.
It was something softer
at his core.
Between each growl,
each royal decree,
there were moments brief
of neutrality.
A second without claws.
A hallway passed in peace.
A shared room silence
where tension seemed to decrease.
And in those fragile instants,
Max did not see an enemy.
He saw a Queen
still deciding destiny.
The war continued.
No treaty signed.
But beneath the drama…
something intertwined.
— To be continued…
