They Mistook my Meow as a Dao

Every thousand years, the Celestial Realms host the Grand Concord Ball, where gods, immortals, divine beasts, and overly perfumed spirit nobles gather to:

Swirl wine made of stardust, trade diplomatic pleasantries laced with passive aggressions, and sign important treaties while pretending not to eavesdrop on scandals

It's all very shiny, very tense and very dignified. So, of course, Whiskers was not invited.

Ruan Fei on the other hand was invited. She wore moon-silver robes and carried her sword out of habit.

Whiskers?

He stowed away in her sleeve.

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The guards didn't notice him at first but once inside the ballroom—glittering with floating lanterns, ambient Dao harmonies, and divine hors d'oeuvres—Whiskers emerged.

He leapt from Ruan Fei's arm like a missile of floof and indifference. Three minor gods gasped. A harp string snapped. Someone dropped a tray of jelly star cubes.

The Head Host turned pale. "That's the... That's him!"

"Do not panic," whispered an elder deity. "Just let him nap. We'll rebuild later."

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The cheese platter was legendary. A circular platform floated midair, layered with: Heavenly brie from the Cowherd Constellation, A spicy tofu curds from the Hellfire Plane (for the bold), a Gouda aged inside a spatial time ripple and a single cube of Transcendent Blue—a cheese so potent, eating it granted temporary telepathy with one's past lives

Whiskers pounced directly onto it.

He ignored all the cheeses except the cube of Transcendent Blue, which he licked once.

Then he sat on it.

A demon duke began foaming at the mouth. "He's communing with the First Cheese! That's illegal divination!"

Whiskers flicked his tail and the duke collapsed into a peaceful dream of cows.

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Several ambassadors immediately accused each other of cheese sabotage.

The Sea King tripped over a divine wine table.

The Sky Empress declared the ball cursed.

A thunder deity proposed invoking a purity storm.

Meanwhile, Whiskers:

Knocked over a goblet of phoenix wine, used a war god's shoulder as a launch pad, batted a scroll treaty into a fish tank and took a 10-minute nap on the Crown Prince of the Heavenly North's lap

Ruan Fei noticed the strong communion and walked over to find Whisker.

Minutes later, she found Whiskers drinking from a cosmic punch bowl while five immortals debated whether or not to interpret his presence as an omen of doom.

Ruan Fei sighed.

"He's not an omen. He's my husband."

Everyone stared.

The Lord of Contracts whispered, "That explains so much. And so little."

She lifted Whiskers from the punch and bowed slightly.

"My apologies. He was not invited."

Whiskers licked her cheek, then bit the edge of her collar.

Everyone gasped.

"Affection!" said someone in awe.

"Marriage ritual," muttered a spirit fox, taking notes.

To avoid a diplomatic disaster (and future cheese thefts), the hosts passed a motion: From this moment forth, Whiskers shall be granted honorary attendance to all divine events, as long as:

1. He does not incite sectarian war

2. He does not bring raccoons

3. He is offered a cheese platter of his own

Whiskers nodded once.

It was interpreted as a pact.

Extra: Rumors and Revelations

After the Ball, Gossip Spread:

✎ "The Cat God only ate the Transcendent Blue. He must be signaling something."

✎ "I heard he marked the God of Strategy's robe. That's a declaration of dominance."

✎ "He slept through a treaty signing and now the Moon and Sea Courts are married."

✎ "The Cheese Platter is now guarded by a phoenix."

Whiskers?

He returned home with a block of divine cheddar in his mouth, pawed open the vault of stolen things, and added it next to the Glittering Sardine of Supreme Luck.

Then took a nap.

It was, by all accounts, a successful evening.