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Patches Patches, I loved you, but our love was forbidden. You were a genetically modified cat, an Anthro, a pet, and someone else's pet to boot. I was a rich kid from the Towers, born into wealth and privilege, and used to getting what I wanted. Your owner was our maid, Mrs. Beckworth. She rescued you when the breeder she cleaned for on the weekends was about to have you euthanized. Instead of a designer pet with a smooth, solid-coloured coat, you were a ragged, scruffy little kitten whose fur grew in uneven, multi-coloured patches, each one lying in a different direction and each with a different texture. "Like a patchwork doll." Mrs. Beckworth said when she first saw you. That's why she named you Patches. She saw the beauty in you, even if others didn't. She taught you fine manners and a good work ethic. When you were old enough, you joined her at her work, helping your mistress as age was taking its toll. Your help allowed her to continue earning the money she needed to live, raise you, and feed you. I could see the beauty in you, too. You were chatty, curious, and full of life. So different from the jaded denizens of the towers, the ultra-rich that controlled the state and all the production, those that could afford genetic modification that all but guaranteed everlasting life and health. Those who could afford genetically modified animals like you, Patches, as pets. Mrs. Beckworth was the exception, a servant with a limited lifespan who owned a pet, even though she did not think of you that way. "I love her like a daughter." Mrs. Beckworth told me once. "I know that I am not supposed to, but I've raised her from infancy, and Patches is just so loving and attentive. She is the family that I never had." You adored your mistress in return, despite her lowly station in life, and you were so proud to be able to help her out when her health began to fail, as it does to all who cannot afford genetic modification. Of course, that is true for a lot of masters and mistresses, because the rich, living as long as they do, rarely have children. Like you, I was an exception, bred to fulfil a purpose - to expand the family's influence. I had a lot of time on my hands while I waited for someone to die to create an opening suited to my station in life. I spent that time the way most offspring of the wealthy did, socializing, partying, and engaging in random affairs, but life seemed so empty and pointless. That is, until you came along, Patches. You were a vibrant, vivacious bundle of fur, and you were cute, so goddamned cute with your colourful fur sticking out at odd angles. You were interested in everyone and everything. My parents ignored you, barely tolerated you, actually, but you were like a ray of sunshine in my otherwise dreary existence. I began to seek you out, making sure I was home on the days Mrs. Beckworth was working. I brought you lemonade, something I had never done with any of our other servants, just to be able to spend more time with you. My affection for you turned to love, but not the sweet motherly kind of love that Mrs. Beckworth had for you. My love for you was more basic, more carnal. I blame the geneticists. Why did they give the female Anthros human genitalia and breasts? I have my suspicions, but regardless. Mrs. Beckworth could not afford to clothe you. Everything made to fit a pet's smaller stature was done by designers catering to the whims of the ultra-rich. So much so that even the ordinarily wealthy couldn't afford outfits for their pets. Out on the street, most pets went naked save for a bejewelled collar or the occasional fancy leather harness. It did not help my situation that you had lovely, full breasts with perky pink nipples that were visible through the sparse fur of your chest, or that when you bent over to scrub the floors with your tail up, your fuzzy cleft was on full display. I fell in love with you because of your personality, but I lusted after you because of your beauty. The patchwork doll was now fully mature, with all the attributes that men find desirable. Of course, I knew that love, physical love, between humans and pets is forbidden. Not that it doesn't happen, if the rumours going around the clubs are true; stories of frustrated old men with female Anthros and lonely old women with frisky male pets... and don't get me started on the horse fanciers. That is all well and good, but my love for you, Patches, was deeper and more fundamental than that. It was a love that could last forever, but you were faithful to your mistress, who you called 'mother', and shunned my advances. "It would not do to get the young Master of mother's employer in trouble." You said, with wide, innocent eyes. Yes, she trained you well. I did not have much money of my own, but I did have some. I offered to buy you from Mrs. Beckworth for a sum that was more than fair, considering they she got you for free, but she refused. "What would I do without my Patches to help me?" She asked with tears in her eyes. "She takes such good care of me, and even if I were healthy and strong enough to keep working on my own, I would miss her so." I suspected that she was trying to drive the price up. From a supply and demand point of view, it made sense. It's not like I could be happy with just any old Anthro... it was you, Patches, or no one. I went to my parents and asked them to buy you for a small fortune, enough to let Mrs. Beckworth live out her days in comfort; in the shanties, mind you, but still, in relative comfort. Unfortunately, I foolishly confessed why I wanted to own you so badly. My parents refused. They were old enough to remember the days before anthropomorphic pets, and the thought of their son having ... relations ... with an animal horrified them. They forbid it, and to make sure, they dismissed Mrs. Beckworth, with no severance, of course, but they did give her a letter of recommendation, providing she only sought employment on the far side of the district... far from us... far from me. They couldn't keep us separated, though. I knew where you lived from Mrs. Beckworth's employment records, which my parents had not bothered to purge from our data. I vowed to visit when I knew Mrs. Beckworth would be at the employment agency to make one last attempt to convince you to run away with me, so that we could have a life together. That was yesterday. Now, in today's news, they report that a pet, a patchwork feline, the property of a maid, was found face down in the muddy river that runs through shantytown. The victim was raped and strangled, they said, adding that the authorities were combing shantytown for the perpetrators. Of course, they would never think of looking in the Towers. After all, why would someone who could buy anything they want or need do such a thing? For love, of course. Something the rest of the entitled bastards don't understand. Ah, Patches. You were loyal to your mistress and the law to the end, but I took you, then I took your life, so now I own your soul. And after I visit the river tonight, the same river where they found you, we will be together... forever. Patches, I love you, and we'll be together soon.