[ WP ] You have been kidnapped by the mafia , the reason ? Someone who 's very high up has a child who has a crush on you .

As a cat, sort of, fabric-and-stitching construct in a human gait, I find myself sauntering around ordinary people whose heads swivel and eyes bugger, breaking into eager whispers. Look, do n't worry about those things, I say - it's complicated, unlike the warlock tailor I answer to. I sweep back black bangs and pout at another barista for ruining a cheese-mouse dish I supplied the third mouse for today, sipping a tall, frothy mug of milk. I'm on tour to find Master Akira a foreign fashion designer, and I stopped by London presuming somebody remembered how to stitch Victorian, or Age of Sail pirate styles. The cafe has several prominent members of the fashion community chatting about market trends, but their interest is much more modern than Akira's, and a few of them have never held a needle in their life. 
 
 I was still figuring out how to approach the table - without meeting their questions about cloth golem animation or hunting that rat down the hole - when a man in a hideously stitched suit pressed his way through the crowd. I afford him a sneer for the `` machine stitching'' come undone at the cuffs and lapels, but refuse to offer accessory advice for someone who paired a divisive brown belt with a billowy suit shirt and pants a size wider, and a size shorter, than they ought - making him look shorter and fatter than his bunny toothed smile and his unkempt hair already did. I could practically hear his nose twitching, imagine the cottony fluff at his behind, courteously ignoring him to avoid rummaging through his hair for his long ears. 
 
 He grabbed my arm. I looked at the human hand, curious. Did it taste fluffy? I started lifting my arm to get closer, but he grabbed the other, spinning me around to put my back to him. I leaned against his chest, offering a defensive purr despite the adorable cut lawn scent wisping over his skin. 
 
 `` You're coming with me,'' He snarled, jostling me to stand on my own. I shrug. Master Akira knows I'll be back soon enough. 
 
 He threw me in the back of one of those hideous carriages - a limo, I think? - and slammed the lid. I purred. I did n't actually need air or anything. Instead, I crawled around the space until I felt a good patch of warmth radiating beneath the floor, and knead the upholstery. The fabric was too short to work my claws in properly, with something hard underneath. I sit back, glaring at the spot. 
 
 The limo jostles and rumbles, so I crouched down anyway. Then I flopped on my side, and fell asleep despite my deep displeasure with the surface texture. 
 
 Mr. Bunny woke me by opening the lid. I blinked blearily at him, lift my shoulders a tad, and flop onto my other side, blocking some light with my arm. He grabs the scruff of my neck, and tosses me to the pavement. I stretched, but his shoe met my ribs; I hopped to stand, growling low, and he grabbed my neck again. 
 
 I tried going limp at first. Sometimes it worked? But he brought me past a hedgerow, the birds were singing, and I could smell sweet, delicious flowers nearby! The garden's sights, the sounds, the smells, everything was wonderful, and I wanted to prance around celebrating this amazing delight - but Mr. Bunny had my neck, and my flailing accomplished nothing. A low growl ebbs from my throat. Short, fat, stupid Mr. Bunny probably did n't even taste good. 
 
 A different man with a freshly tailored, modern day suit looking as sharp as his girth would permit, stood on the front step of the mansion. His neck scarf suitably curious and his socks matching the color scheme, I afford him a courtesy sniff, craning over to get a closer inspection. He smells sweaty and cigar tainted, with dog rub smeared on his legs. They're medium hair, brown and black wolf hounds, and he owns at least a dozen - what little grace he won with his fashion evaporated in his gross scent. 
 
 `` I did n't believe it, when I heard,'' The lard tub rumbled, three rings glistening as he beckons Mr. Bunny closer. I find myself in arm's reach, but I retract my arms, unwilling to smudge up my kimono with anything so dogged. `` My little princess, Shana, draws pictures like you - says that's what she wants for a boyfriend. And now China has finally produced a catboy to suit its migh-nuh, ey?'' 
 
 I scowl. In Japanese, I explain, `` *Master Akira does not trade in romantic partners, especially not me. But, even if you could afford my Lord's astronomical demands, I would barely stay a heartbeat in this abject squalor. *'' 
 
 The dogroll nods sagely, `` Ah, yes, and he speaks Chinese only. Naturally.'' 
 
 I hiss, squirm, and fuss, but by the sparkle of shiny rings, Mr. Bunny and several associates joining him from around the manor provide escort to an upstairs bedroom. I provide clawing, leaving no seam untorn and no face unscratched, but alas, draped across Mr. Bunny's shoulder, I have arrived. 
 
 They toss me inside and slam the door. 
 
 Strangely, it is the first room I encountered that smells nothing of the dogs. Actually, I smell another cat around, and the perfume floating the air is a sakura based perfume. I flip onto my stomach, looking around the vast bedchamber. She has a luxuriously oversized bed, wardrobes and bookshelves on every inch of wall, several chests, and sits beside a low tea table with several stuffed animals. Her servant pours her cup, and I notice the raising of the pinkie and the bow to honor the tea before she accepts the first sip. 
 
 I climb to my paws and saunter across the room, tilting my head. She's seated politely, too, brown hair combed into a simple ponytail. 
 
 `` Do you know anything about fashion?'' I ask, allowing my gaze to wander her seated guests. Her teddy bears favored top hats and monocles, her unicorn a tricorn hat; the dragon wore a red bandanna across one eye, a heavily buttoned coat and fancy cuffs over a series of belts both fabulously diagonal and sashaying across his wide hips to slim his potbelly figure. 
 
 The glimmer in her eyes betrays her before she leaps to her feet and attempts a string of novice Japanese. Her accent is too severe to decipher. I smile and pick up the dragon, tucking him into my sleeve, then a teddy bear in a good suit. She holds my hand and jibbers excitedly. 
 
 `` Master Akira would like to have another tailor around. Interested?'' I grin so hard I start to worry about ripping the stitches on my face, but she does her best to match. 
 
 `` Hai!'' 
 
 I nod. After Mr. Bunny's manners ( and unpleasant jerky-like taste ), I feel a little justified conducting a kidnapping of my own. And it was n't even the deed itself - but that he would n't let me play in the garden! Hrmph. I hand her the teddy bear. 
 
 `` Hold this?'' 
 
 She giggles, taking the bear and hugging him to her chest. I loop one arm behind her shoulder, the other her knees, and sweep her off her feet. 
 
 `` Bit of a jump home. Do n't fall!'' 
 
 Without further ado, I carry her to the window, and spring down to the hedge. She lurches against my chest, pressing the bear between us. 
 
 `` You're cute,'' Shana smiles, hand wrapped around my neck. `` But where are we really going?'' 
 
 My shoulders lift. She lifts with my arms, and takes the moment to snog my face. 
 
 `` *Where else? *'' 
 
 An excited gasp lifts her eyebrows, drawing wide her face in a grin. I jump. 

