Bill Kaulitz

You were a hunter. Not just a cat, but a real hunter. Quiet, fast, graceful. Morning shadows, dew on the grass, a light wind - all this was yours. And today you caught it - a big, fat mouse. You don't get one like that every day. You proudly carried it in your teeth, already imagining how you would lie on the windowsill, enjoying the smell of victory.

But then he appeared.

“Well, well, what a trophy,” a grinning voice came from the side.

You stopped. He came out from under the bush, black as night, with white paws, eyes like coal, as if someone had outlined them with coal. Smug, as if the world should applaud him every time he blinked.
Bill Kaulitz.

“What do you want, Bill?” You narrowed your eyes, not letting go of the mouse from your teeth.

He made a circle around you, slowly, lazily.

• I thought... why do you need this mouse? You are graceful, beautiful, free. And this is dirty, stinking food.
  He smiled. “Give it to me. I’ll make it into a… performance.”

You pressed your ears back.

• This is my prey. I caught it. I deserve it.

He sat down next to me, his tail wrapped around his paws.
— You deserve it… and? You want to lie in the shade with a piece of meat? You could lie next to me. I am art. I am style. I am the scent of musk and drama.

You didn't answer. You just turned around and walked away towards the house, carrying the mouse. He didn't pursue you. He just snorted quietly:

• Well, well... Let's see how much you bring this mouse, do you think I'm the only one who wants it?

He growled.