The main judging arena was a theater of the absurd. A series of raised platforms, draped in purple velvet, were arranged under a constellation of bright, unforgiving spotlights. The air was thick with tension and the aerosolized haze of high-end finishing spray. A panel of five judges sat at a long table, their faces grim and serious, as if they were about to pass sentence on a particularly complex international war criminal and not, as was the case, a slightly over-fluffed tabby cat.
Kenji led Caesar toward their designated platform, his movements stiff with a terror he was trying to pass off as artistic gravitas. The lion, for his part, seemed utterly unfazed by the lights and the hushed whispers of the audience. He padded along with a slow, majestic indifference, his gaze sweeping over the assembled crowd with the bored, proprietary air of a king surveying his less interesting subjects. Kenji's internal monologue was a continuous, high-pitched scream.
Okay. Just act natural. You are a reclusive genius. You are spiritually attuned to your Majestic African Longhair. You are not a terrified fraud holding a leash attached to a 500-pound carnivore in a room full of potential snacks. The lion is calm. Why is the lion so calm? He is lulling them into a false sense of security. That's it. He's casing the joint. He's identifying the slowest, most delicious-looking judges.
They reached their platform. Reika, a silent and calming presence, gave Caesar a single, almost imperceptible nod. The great lion, instead of sitting or preening like the other cats, simply lay down, tucking his massive paws under his chest, and fixed the lead judge with his unnerving, analytical stare. He did not blink.
Sato's voice, now amplified by the arena's sound system, washed over the tense silence. She stood at a sleek, transparent lectern on the side of the stage, the picture of a cool, professional consultant.
"And here we have a truly remarkable entry," she began, her voice a calm, authoritative purr. "Exhibitor Takahashi Kenji with his magnificent Caesar, a prime example of the Majestic African Longhair. Note the profound stillness, the incredible poise. This is a feline who has transcended the need for frivolous movement. He is not merely occupying the stage; he is centering it."
The judges scribbled furiously in their notebooks. The lead judge, a small, elderly woman with a kind face and eyes that held the sharp, critical glint of a seasoned professional, stood and approached their platform.
"A magnificent specimen, Takahashi-san," she said, her voice a respectful hush. "The musculature is superb. And the coat… such a unique texture." She reached out a tentative, gloved hand, not to pet Caesar, but to simply hover her hand over his mane, as if feeling its energy. Caesar did not react. He simply continued to stare, his gaze seemingly piercing the woman's very soul.
Kenji's heart threatened to beat its way out of his chest. Don't eat her. Don't eat the nice old lady judge. She is a respected member of the cat-judging community and almost certainly very stringy.
"Now for the temperament evaluation," the judge announced, turning to an assistant who handed her a long, glittering wand with a cluster of brightly-colored feathers at its tip. "We will now test the subject's 'playfulness' and 'prey-drive response'."
This was it. The breaking point. A lion's prey-drive response was not something to be tested with a children's toy. Kenji braced himself for the inevitable, bloody conclusion to his mission.
The judge, with the steady hand of a seasoned professional, dangled the feather wand in front of Caesar's face. The bright pink and purple feathers shimmered under the spotlights, dancing and bobbing with an enticing, playful energy that would have driven any normal cat into a frenzy of pouncing and batting.
Caesar did not pounce. He did not bat. He did not so much as twitch a whisker. He simply stared at the feather wand, his ancient, analytical, soul-piercing gaze not registering it as a toy, but seemingly assessing it as a deeply unserious and slightly insulting offering. After a moment of quiet contemplation, he shifted his gaze from the wand back to the judge, his expression one of profound, regal disappointment, as if to say, "This is what you have brought before me? This collection of fluff and glitter? Do you take me for a fool?"
The judge froze, the wand held aloft, her professional smile faltering. The entire arena was silent, watching this strange, silent battle of wills between a small, elderly woman and a cat that refused to acknowledge the fundamental laws of cat-ness. Kenji could feel a cold sweat trickling down his back. His mind was a frantic prayer loop: Please don't swat it. Please don't eat it. Please don't do that thing where you grab it with your paws and disembowel it with your back legs. Just keep being a weird, broken lion-cat.
It was then that Sato's calm, confident voice once again filled the arena, transforming the awkward, uncomfortable silence into a moment of profound artistic revelation.
"An absolutely revolutionary approach from Caesar!" she declared, her voice filled with a hushed, reverent awe. "Observe, judges. He is not concerned with the toy. He is contemplating the very nature of play itself. He is deconstructing the hunter-prey dynamic that defines the lesser feline. This is not apathy; it is a profound philosophical statement. A true philosopher-king does not chase the feather; he questions the very existence of the string."
The judge, her face a mask of dawning comprehension, slowly withdrew the wand. She looked at Caesar with a new, wild respect in her eyes. "Such… wisdom," she whispered, turning to her fellow judges. "He is not merely a cat; he is an old soul. A master."
"A breathtaking display of intellectual maturity!" one of the other judges agreed, scribbling furiously. "He has completely subverted the paradigm of the 'temperament test'! 10 out of 10 for spiritual poise!"
From across the stage, Kenji could see Le Pinceau. The Belgian champion was not scribbling. He was standing with his arms rigid at his sides, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists. His face was a mask of pure, apoplectic rage. He was whispering furiously to his own assistant, a small, nervous-looking man who was trying to calm him down.
Kenji couldn't hear the words, but he could read the body language. He could feel the waves of furious, impotent sanity radiating from the man. It is not contemplating the nature of play! Le Pinceau was almost certainly snarling. It is not playing because it is a lion! It is assessing her as a potential threat and a low-calorie snack! Are you people blind?!
But Le Pinceau's silent, furious protest was a single, sane voice in a hurricane of collective delusion. The lead judge, now completely won over by Caesar's "philosophy," moved on to the final part of the evaluation: the 'Grooming and Handling' test.
"Now, Takahashi-san," she said, her voice soft and respectful, "please demonstrate your bond with your feline by performing a basic grooming ritual. A simple brushing of the coat will suffice."
Kenji's blood, which had been frozen with terror, now threatened to boil with panic. Groom a lion? With the tiny, rhinestone-encrusted cat brush provided on the platform? It was a suicide mission. He looked at Reika, who stood silently at the edge of the platform, her face an unreadable mask. She gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.
His heart pounding, Kenji knelt beside Caesar. The lion turned his massive head and looked at him, his golden eyes holding a look that was less "beloved pet" and more "mildly curious executioner." Kenji held up the ridiculous, sparkling brush.
Okay, big guy, he thought, his internal monologue a frantic plea. I'm just going to touch you with this thing. Please do not interpret this as an act of aggression. Please do not maul me in front of eighty thousand people. Be a good… Majestic African Longhair.
He reached out a trembling hand and gently, with the reverence of a man defusing a bomb, touched the brush to the tip of Caesar's magnificent mane. The brush, designed for Persian cats, was comically, uselessly small against the thick, coarse fur. He made a single, tentative stroke.
Caesar responded not with a purr, but with a deep, ground-shaking thud. He laid his massive head down on his paws, closed his eyes, and appeared to fall instantly asleep, letting out a low, rumbling snore that vibrated through the entire platform.
The judge gasped, her hand flying to her chest.
"Unbelievable!" Sato's voice boomed from the speakers, dripping with theatrical awe. "Notice the incredible trust between handler and feline! Caesar is so centered, so in tune with his master, that the mere suggestion of grooming has sent him into a state of perfect, meditative bliss! He does not require grooming; he achieves a state of 'natural perfection'! A bold and minimalist statement on the very nature of care!"
The lead judge scribbled her final notes, her pen flying across the page. "Such harmony… such a profound connection," she whispered to her colleagues. "He has transcended the need for vanity. He simply… is."
The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of their evaluation time. Kenji, still kneeling beside the sleeping lion, felt a wave of dizziness. He had survived. He had passed the most surreal examination of his life by doing absolutely nothing, while his partner spun his terror into a work of performance art.
"Thank you, Takahashi-san," the lead judge said, bowing deeply to him. "That was a truly enlightening experience."
As Kenji and Reika guided the now-waking lion off the platform, Le Pinceau and his own perfect Persian cat were called up next. The Belgian's performance was a silent, furious, and technically flawless masterpiece of the grooming arts. But the energy in the room had shifted. The crowd, the judges, they were no longer just looking for technical perfection. They were looking for a story. And Kenji's story, a tale of a chaotic, philosophical, lion-sized house cat, was a hard act to follow.
But Le Pinceau's silent, furious protest was a single, sane voice in a hurricane of collective delusion. The lead judge, now completely won over by Caesar's "philosophy," moved on to the final part of the evaluation: the 'Grooming and Handling' test.
"Now, Takahashi-san," she said, her voice soft and respectful, "please demonstrate your bond with your feline by performing a basic grooming ritual. A simple brushing of the coat will suffice."
Kenji's blood, which had been frozen with terror, now threatened to boil with panic. Groom a lion? With the tiny, rhinestone-encrusted cat brush provided on the platform? It was a suicide mission. He looked at Reika, who stood silently at the edge of the platform, her face an unreadable mask. She gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.
His heart pounding, Kenji knelt beside Caesar. The lion turned his massive head and looked at him, his golden eyes holding a look that was less "beloved pet" and more "mildly curious executioner." Kenji held up the ridiculous, sparkling brush.
Okay, big guy, he thought, his internal monologue a frantic plea. I'm just going to touch you with this thing. Please do not interpret this as an act of aggression. Please do not maul me in front of eighty thousand people. Be a good… Majestic African Longhair.
He reached out a trembling hand and gently, with the reverence of a man defusing a bomb, touched the brush to the tip of Caesar's magnificent mane. The brush, designed for Persian cats, was comically, uselessly small against the thick, coarse fur. He made a single, tentative stroke.
Caesar responded not with a purr, but with a deep, ground-shaking thud. He laid his massive head down on his paws, closed his eyes, and appeared to fall instantly asleep, letting out a low, rumbling snore that vibrated through the entire platform.
The judge gasped, her hand flying to her chest.
"Unbelievable!" Sato's voice boomed from the speakers, dripping with theatrical awe. "Notice the incredible trust between handler and feline! Caesar is so centered, so in tune with his master, that the mere suggestion of grooming has sent him into a state of perfect, meditative bliss! He does not require grooming; he achieves a state of 'natural perfection'! A bold and minimalist statement on the very nature of care!"
The lead judge scribbled her final notes, her pen flying across the page. "Such harmony… such a profound connection," she whispered to her colleagues. "He has transcended the need for vanity. He simply… is."
The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of their evaluation time. Kenji, still kneeling beside the sleeping lion, felt a wave of dizziness. He had survived. He had passed the most surreal examination of his life by doing absolutely nothing, while his partner spun his terror into a work of performance art.
"Thank you, Takahashi-san," the lead judge said, bowing deeply to him. "That was a truly enlightening experience."
As Kenji and Reika guided the now-waking lion off the platform, Le Pinceau and his own perfect Persian cat were called up next. The Belgian's performance was a silent, furious, and technically flawless masterpiece of the grooming arts. But the energy in the room had shifted. The crowd, the judges, they were no longer just looking for technical perfection. They were looking for a story. And Kenji's story, a tale of a chaotic, philosophical, lion-sized house cat, was a hard act to follow.