The journey in the pet carrier was pure torment. The cat didn’t just meow and wail incessantly—he also urinated all over the car seats, leaving behind a pungent stench that clung to the air. Every so often, he lashed out with his claws, swiping at whoever dared to approach the other side of the carrier, as if that alone could prevent him from being torn away from the only home he had ever known.

The adjustment wasn’t easy either.

For days, Snowflake spent his time curled up under the bed, terrified of the unknown, seeking refuge in the shadows. He would emerge only for brief moments to cautiously explore the house before retreating once again to whatever dark corner offered him solace.

Flor, the one who had adopted him, had begged her aunt to let her keep him before she moved abroad. The cat’s previous owner had been searching for someone to take care of little Copito, as she affectionately called him, and Flor, still mourning the loss of her last pet—a guinea pig named Phillip—felt that this fluffy white cat might restore some of the happiness she had lost. Phillip had succumbed to a brutal summer heatwave, abandoned in a vast, shadeless field, sprawled on the dry grass, his tiny paws pointing toward the sky like an overturned beetle—only furrier.

For Flor, Snowflake was a new beginning. And though she tried to convince her boyfriend, Robby, that he would be a wonderful companion for them both, he never quite shared her enthusiasm. She argued that, without a third presence in the house, their life together would feel lonely. But Robby, stubborn as ever, barely concealed his disdain for the newest member of their home.

Snowflake, however, didn’t take long to settle in. When Flor and Robby returned from a short weekend trip, the cat wouldn’t stop rubbing himself against their legs. Overjoyed, Flor squealed with delight, convinced that at last, he had become the pet she had always dreamed of. She pampered him, of course, and from that moment on, Snowflake found his place in the house.

But Robby still wasn’t convinced. He often had to meticulously pick off the cat’s white hairs from his clothes every time the feline shed on them.

“Get off!” he would shout, or he’d try to scare the cat away with loud, stomping steps. And yet, despite Robby’s efforts to ignore him, Snowflake never held back in his audacious displays of affection. Over time, Robby watched as the cat completely charmed Flor.

“I can’t stand it anymore. I don’t want him sleeping in our bed,” Robby declared one night.

“Don’t be mean, poor thing, he just wants love and warmth,” Flor replied, patting the mattress. Snowflake, moving with elegant, silent steps, nestled himself right between them, making sure they couldn’t cuddle.

“Oh, hell no. This is too much,” Robby huffed, grabbing the cat by the scruff and tossing him off the bed.

“No! How could you do that?!” Flor scolded him, then turned her back to him and fell asleep without another word.

But Snowflake slept with them that night. And the next. And the next. He could be seen stretched out between them, belly up, his fluffy white stomach shamelessly exposed. Flor’s fascination with the cat only grew stronger: he listened to her play the piano, kept her company during long hours of studying, snuggled in her lap whenever stress or sadness overwhelmed her, and even waited for her outside the shower. His steady, rhythmic purring was almost hypnotic.

In spite of his cuteness, Robby couldn’t share the admiration. He complained that Snowflake was picky about his Lager-brand cat food and had no honor, unlike a massive, friendly stray dog—a shaggy black beast—that occasionally wandered through the neighbourhood.

But what exasperated Robby the most was the cat’s nigthly routine. Every single dawn, Snowflake would start meowing ceaselessly, demanding to be let outside. Jolted awake by those sharp cries, Robby would drag himself out of bed to open the window, only for the cat to return minutes later, howling to be let back in—so that he could be escorted to the kitchen, where his food bowl awaited him.

“Snowflake can ask for whatever he wants. He’s the king of this house—the one and only King Snowflake,” Flor proclaimed the next day.

“That damned cat gives you nothing! No pet does. They’re a waste of money because they just beg and crap. That’s their gift to you.”

“That’s not true. They give us their love and loyalty. Just admiring Snowflake’s beauty is reason enough to care for him.”

“The only thing he leaves me is paw prints on my car hood. Every night, he climbs up there to dirty it and stake his claim. Even the gas station attendants laughed at me when I pulled in today! And I know it! Yes, I do know it. He is malevolent, Flor. There’s something wrong with him. Something evil. At night, you can’t even see his eyes, just two black holes. Deep, endless black holes.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Robby. He’s just a cat,” she said. Then, with a glint in her eyes, she whispered, “He’s King Copo.”

“He’ll abdicate soon enough,” Robby said.

“But he’ll always find a subtle way to reign,” she answered with a knowing smile.

They joked about it—until one night, a loud crash shook the house.

“No! My laptop!” Flor screamed.

Snowflake had tried to leap onto the desk and, in the process, knocked her laptop to the floor.

“He deserves to be punished!” Robby thundered.

For the first time, Flor agreed. This time, Snowflake had gone too far. Eager for revenge, Robby pressed his foot against the cat’s side, pinning him against the wall—just enough for him to feel a bit of discomfort. But Snowflake seemed to take it far more seriously than intended. He vanished for three days.

Furious, Flor blamed Robby for scaring him away. She called him cruel and insensitive, vowing not to speak to him again until Copito returned.

Robby, consumed by guilt, couldn’t stop thinking about the cat. While at work, the thought tormented him—what if Snowflake had been hit by a car? Or had some other terrible accident? A part of him admitted that it would be a relief. But the truth was, if the cat didn’t return, his own life would be ruined.

How had a simple cat gained such power over him?

Teetering on the edge of paranoia, he searched online for information about malevolent cats. Science dismissed such absurd theories, explaining feline behavior as entirely logical and natural. Yet, in obscure forums, he stumbled upon posts about demonic possessions and interdimensional entities—obvious nonsense.

And yet, one word stuck with him.

Reincarnation.

Could it be possible? Why was Flor so insistent on calling him King Copo? He thought about kings—about the sadistic rulers of history. Ivan the Terrible, who murdered his own son. Vlad the Impaler, whose name said it all. Manuel I of Portugal, infamous for his cruel colonial policies…

He needed to stop. He had to stop. Shaking his head, he slammed his laptop shut.

But that night, a noise jolted him awake.

Still drowsy, he opened his eyes and found himself staring straight into Snowflake’s gaze. The cat had returned without a sound. He stood on Robby’s chest, staring at him with unblinking intensity. There was a sinister sparkle in his eyes.

From that night on, it was Robby who filled his food bowl and cleaned his litter box.

Like a true servant.