Feline Therapy and Fine Dining

Chapter 2

Three weeks earlier...

“Sigurado ka ba rito, Linden? Dalawang libo at pitong daang piso kada oras? Baka naman sindikato ’yan o kaya ay taga-benta ng laman? Masyadong malaki para sa isang cat-sitter.”

Linden adjusted the strap of her heavily worn canvas backpack, pinning her old phone between her ear and her shoulder as she boarded the train. The afternoon rush hour at the train station was brutal, a sea of sweaty, exhausted commuters pushing against each other just to find a square inch of breathing room. It was the absolute contrast to the elite, untouchable world she was currently reading about on her shattered screen.

“Jo, kahit sindikato pa ’yan, basta legal ang pirmahan at hindi ako pagbubukasin ng bintana sa gitna ng gabi, papatulan ko,” Linden muttered back, her voice low as she squeezed into a corner near the train doors. “You know my tuition deadline is in three weeks. Kapag hindi ko nabayaran ang balance ko para sa fourth year, tuluyan na naman akong made-debar. I can't afford another four-year hiatus, Jo. Naunahan na ako ng buong batch natin.”

A heavy sigh came from the other end of the line. Joline, her best friend since freshman year before Linden’s life went completely off the rails, knew exactly how heavy the stakes were.

“I know, Linds. Pero kasi, napaka-vague ng post sa university job board. No owner name, just a corporate entity under 'Grandview Estate Management.' Tapos may clause pa na absolute discretion required. Hindi ba tunog-mafia?”

“Muntik na nga akong magbenta ng bato noong isang taon, mafia pa ba ang kakatakutan ko?” Linden let out a dry, self-deprecating chuckle. “Basta, bukas ang interview ko sa mismong mansyon. I’ll keep my pepper spray ready. I’ll text you the location once I get there.”

After hanging up, Linden leaned her head against the cool metal glass of the train door, staring at her own reflection. At twenty-six, she looked tired. The faint, dark circles under her eyes were the permanent receipt of her current lifestyle—working a chaotic twelve-hour retail shift at a mall boutique during the day, then pulling all-nighters just to read her delayed psychology modules.

Four years ago, she was just a regular student, running on caffeine and high dreams of becoming a corporate clinical psychologist. But then her father’s construction supplier business went bankrupt overnight, followed by a massive stroke that left him bedridden. Every single cent of her college fund, their savings, and even the equity of their modest family home vanished into a black hole of medical debts and legal settlements. Linden had to step up. She dropped everything, traded her textbooks for a uniform, and worked continuously, sending her younger siblings to school while keeping her family afloat.

Now, she was finally back. A graduating student. But the financial ghost of her past was still actively haunting her. This job post wasn’t just an option; it was a literal lifeline thrown into her sinking ship.

The next morning, the private car sent by Grandview Estate Management picked her up from the edge of the highway. It was an sleek, unbranded black sedan that smelled like leather and expensive peppermint. As the car rolled past the massive, heavily guarded wrought-iron gates of an exclusive enclave in the rolling hills of the city, Linden felt like she was crossing an international border into a country where poverty didn't exist.

The mansion was an architectural masterpiece of glass, concrete, and white marble, hidden behind towering bamboo hedges. It looked entirely clinical, completely minimalist, and utterly devoid of human life.

"This way, Miss Linden," the driver instructed, leading her through a massive glass pivot door into a foyer that was larger than her entire family apartment.

Waiting for her in the cavernous, high-ceilinged kitchen was a man who looked like he had been manufactured by a luxury concierge service. Mr. Harrison wore a bespoke three-piece charcoal suit, his silver hair perfectly slicked back, and his hands encased in immaculate white cotton gloves. He looked like an aristocratic butler, but his eyes were sharp and analytical, like an auditor checking a bank's ledger.

"Good morning, Miss Linden," Harrison said, his voice clipped and formal as he pointed to a smooth leather chair across the marble island. "Please, have a seat. We have exactly fifteen minutes to review your credentials before the master's legal counsel requires my signature on the weekly estate audits."

Linden sat down, carefully smoothing out the skirt of her only formal corporate blazer—a thrifted piece she had meticulously ironed the night before. "Good morning, Mr. Harrison. I brought my resume, my latest university transcript, and a recommendation letter from the head of the Psychology Department."

Harrison didn't even touch the papers. He merely waved a gloved hand, dismissing them. "Your background has already been thoroughly vetted by our security team, Miss Linden. We know about your financial history, your academic standing, and your flawless record during your temporary retail employment. We do not care about your grades. We care about your psychological resilience."

Linden blinked, her defense mechanism instantly kicking in. Vetted? Alam nila ang lahat?

"My resilience, sir?"

"Yes," Harrison said, pulling a heavy, five-page bound document from a leather folder and sliding it across the cold marble table toward her. "The master of this house does not tolerate incompetence, clutter, or emotional fragility. He is currently at sea, managing a high-stress elite culinary staff across three international cruise vessels under a strict multi-million dollar contract. He demands absolute perfection in his absence. Your sole responsibility is the mental and physical well-being of his five companions."

Linden pulled the document toward her, her eyes scanning the first page. She expected a list of feeding times and litter box instructions. Instead, her jaw nearly dropped.

CASE FILE: BARNABY (Persian, White, Male, 4 Years)

Behavioral Manifestation: Severe narcissistic tendencies, deliberate territorial aggression, and oppositional defiance. Will intentionally destroy high-value Italian leather furniture if his presence is ignored for more than forty-five minutes.

Dietary Requirement: Poached king salmon or bluefin tuna belly reduction. Must be served at exactly 38°C.

"Teka... pusa po ba talaga ito?" Linden couldn't help but ask, her words slipping out in her sheer disbelief. "This looks like a clinical psychiatric assessment for an institutionalized patient."

"The master does not consider them merely pets, Miss Linden. They are high-value pedigree felines with complex behavioral structures," Harrison replied without a single hint of humor. "The previous day-shift caretaker was terminated after three days because she suffered an emotional breakdown when Barnaby refused to eat and subsequently shredded her designer bag. The master expects someone who can handle structural chaos with scientific detachment."

Linden flipped through the remaining pages, her eyes widening at the descriptions of Siam's crippling separation anxiety, Winston's severe emotional binge-eating, and Lucifer’s primal hatred for the color red. It was wild, absolutely ridiculous, and completely insane. Rich people really had too much money if they were hiring an advanced psychology student to do behavioral therapy on cats.

But then, her eyes caught the bottom line of the contract page: Compensation: ₱2,700 per hour. Paid bi-weekly via direct bank transfer. Overtime hours compensated at 150%.

Linden calculated it quickly in her head. Eight hours a day, five days a week... that was over eighty-six thousand pesos in just two weeks. It was more than enough to cover her entire remaining tuition balance, buy her father’s premium maintenance medication for the next six months, and still leave enough to pay their overdue electricity bills.

Bahala na kung may sapak ang may-ari o kung baliw ang mga pusa, she thought, her survival instinct locking her fear away.

"I can do this, Mr. Harrison," Linden said, her voice dropping into her steady, confident presentation tone. "My training in behavioral modification and cognitive development isn't limited to human subjects. The core principles of operant conditioning—positive reinforcement, environmental structure, and stimulus control—are universally applicable across advanced mammalian species. I can stabilize their behavioral patterns within a month."

Harrison watched her for a long, silent moment, his cold grey eyes measuring her resolve. Slowly, a small, clinical nod escaped him. He pulled an expensive gold fountain pen from his breast pocket and laid it precisely on top of the contract.

"Sign on the last page, Miss Linden. Your shift begins tomorrow morning at exactly nine o'clock. Do not be late. The night shift caretaker arrives at exactly six o'clock to relieve you, and the master does not tolerate a single minute of overlap between his day and night staff. Discretion is absolute. You are not to take photographs of the estate, you are not to invite guests, and you are never, under any circumstances, to pry into the master's private quarters on the upper floor."

"Understood," Linden said, picking up the pen and signing her name with a firm, decisive stroke.

As she handed the contract back, her gaze accidentally drifted to a small, leather-bound journal sitting near the edge of the kitchen island. It was completely empty, its pristine pages waiting. She didn't know it yet, but that little book would soon become the very place where her sanity would begin to unravel, one late-night note at a time.

"One last question, Mr. Harrison," Linden asked as she stood up, strapping her backpack on. "Who exactly is the master? Para lang alam ko kung sino ang tatawagin ko kung sakaling magkaroon ng emergency."

Harrison picked up the folder, turning his back to her as he prepared to leave. "You do not need his name, Miss Linden. To you, he is simply the employer. If an emergency arises, you communicate through the logbook for the night shift, or you call me. The master prefers to remain a ghost in his own home."

Linden watched him walk away, a faint, curious smile tugging at her lips. Isang multo. She looked around the massive, silent white kitchen, feeling the sudden, strange chill of the house. Little did she know, that very ghost was currently thousands of miles away on a luxury ship, commanding a blazing hot kitchen with a ruthless hand, completely unaware that a broke, stubborn psychology student had just signed away her peace of mind to tame his chaotic world.