Before long, they were all full.
In the days that followed, I threw myself into the chaos of raising five babies in the storage room.
The little ones stayed in their adorable human forms most of the time. Only when I occasionally scolded them and they got scared would they shift back into kittens.
They grew at an astonishing rate—practically changing overnight. In just two weeks, they could walk and jump.
I'd given them one strict rule: never, under any circumstances, leave our room.
They were obedient. So far, there hadn't been any incidents.
While peace reigned inside the storage room, outside was a different story.
The tale of "Madge Henson's ten-month pregnancy ending in a bowel movement" had become the joke of the entire city.
Mockery echoed through every corner of the manor.
"Did you hear? That Henson woman was so desperate for money she rubbed her belly full of crap and called it her baby!"
"I know! The doctor passed out from the smell. Word is he was so traumatized he quit on the spot!"
"Now the whole city knows our manor houses a woman who was pregnant with ten months' worth of shit!"
"And she's still in that storage room, babbling to herself, cooing at her 'babies' like a madwoman!"
Joan stomped her feet in fury every time she heard the whispers. I let them roll right off me.
What did those idiots know?
I had five shapeshifting, talking babies!
I had no idea how it happened, but their intelligence absolutely crushed those drooling ordinary infants.
I was starting to think this disaster had turned into a blessing in disguise.
No competing for favor. No scheming and backstabbing. Sure, I was poor, but guarding my five incredible secrets? Life wasn't half bad.
The only downside was the storage room's miserable conditions.
Cold and crumbling, that was bad enough. But the food—nothing but other people's leftovers, day after day.
Five growing babies needed real nutrition. Those scraps of cold rice and wilted vegetables barely counted as a snack.
One night, I sat staring at an empty bowl, wondering how I'd feed them tomorrow. When I turned around, the mat was bare.
All five babies had vanished.
Panic seized me. Joan and I split up, searching frantically inside and outside the storage room.
It was pitch black. Where could they have gone?
If anyone found them, we were finished!
Just as tears threatened to spill, I heard rustling from the corner.
Then, one by one, five little figures waddled out.
The oldest two carried a food box between them—inside were exquisite dishes and steaming bowls of nutritious soup!
The third and fourth dragged a bag together, its mouth gaping open to reveal all kinds of filling snacks!
The youngest clutched a jade box carved with intricate patterns.
I leaned in for a closer look.
My legs nearly gave out.
This was the urn Jonathan kept enshrined in the ancestral hall—his mother's ashes.
He treasured this more than his own life!
"Where—where did you get this?" I pointed at the urn, my hand trembling uncontrollably.
The youngest puffed out his little chest, face bright with pride:
"Mama hungry! We go find food for Mama!"
"Shiny box pretty! For Mama to play with!"
My vision went dark.
Play with?
This wasn't a toy!
This could get us killed!
At that moment, Joan burst through the door, nearly tripping over herself:
"Miss Henson! Bad news! Mr. Farley's mother's ashes have gone missing. He's in a rage, tearing the place apart with his men."
"They've already reached the storage room door!"
What?!
If Jonathan found these five cat-children and that urn, we were all dead!
Bang! Before I could react, the storage room door was kicked open.
Jonathan strode in with a swarm of bodyguards at his heels.
