A Tower Built for One

A sharp hiss exploded from the speakers, followed by a long, miserable yowl.

I scrolled through the videos Choi Seo-ah had sent me of her two cats, Byeol-i and Woong-i.

Yeah. These two really can't stand each other.

Woong-i, especially, was taking the worse of it — the stress rolled off him even through the screen. Can't be helped when you're getting pushed around by a bigger cat.

A moment later, a text arrived from Seo-ah.

Whatever method and materials I currently had in mind, the price was going to make a store-bought cat tower look like pocket change. That much was certain.

At least ten times as much? No — more than that.

Even for a celebrity, it might sting.

But then—

A beautiful woman ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠asking didn't change a thing. Jobs came in, and jobs went out, in the order they arrived. That was the rule. Truly urgent cases were a different conversation — but if it wasn't one of those, first come, first served. No exceptions.

A week later, I finished Min Tae-yong's golf clubs, sent them off, and finally turned to the cat tower for Woong-i, the short-legged Munchkin.

First thing I've made for a living creature that isn't human, since coming back.

Back on Mount Olympus, I'd done it often enough. Hades's Cerberus. Zeus's dragon. Poseidon's Leviathan. Whether you could even call those things animals was an open question, but I'd built plenty for them all the same.

The one difference from making things for the gods was simple: these clients couldn't talk. There was no conversation to tell you what they wanted. You had to watch them, read every twitch and habit, and build from that alone.

In some ways, twice as hard as making something for a person.

I watched Seo-ah's footage again, mapping Woong-i's patterns and size.

"Okay. In that case..."

I set down the hinoki cypress I'd picked up from the lumberyard the night before. A little expensive, maybe, but the phytoncides in hinoki — those aromatic compounds the wood was famous for — would ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠settle a cat's nerves. Structure mattered, but so did the material itself. You had to choose it with care.

Cats are painfully sensitive animals.

Even the one sprawled across my own house all day wouldn't so much as sniff a treat if it wasn't exactly to his taste.

I had no intention of using the hinoki as it was, though. Before I touched the wood, there was something else I needed to do first.

"Should be here any minute now..."

"Delivery!"

Speak of the devil. The timing was almost funny. I went to the door to find the box already sitting there, the driver gone. I carried it inside and tore it open.

The lid came up, and a fierce scent hit me in the face.

Cats really lose their minds over this stuff, huh.

I'd ordered catnip. The real thing — the herb that made cats short-circuit and roll around on the floor from the smell alone. And not just any catnip. This was the best of the best, shipped in from Montana. Even among Montana-grown catnip, this was supposed to be the finest available, and it showed. The scent was far more potent than any catnip I'd ever known.

All right. Now for this...

I wasn't going to use it as-is, either. Powder would have been convenient, but the fragrance would have burned off in no time.

I fired up a small electric furnace and started extracting the oil from the catnip. Commercial products existed, sure, but those were always weaker — cheaper material, lower concentration. I wanted the highest purity I could pull.

The furnace crackled. Drop by drop, I collected nothing but the pure essence, until a high-grade catnip essential oil sat in the vial.

"Whew... it's hot."

It was below freezing outside, but the heat rolling off the flames was too much. I gave up and opened a window. Two hours later, I had it: the finest, highest-purity catnip essential oil I could make.

I'll set this aside for now.

It was the last thing I'd apply, but I'd made it early so it could age while I built the tower.

"All right. Time to get to work."

The flames licked and crackled. The surface of that expensive hinoki cypress blackened, piece by piece.

Anyone who didn't know better might have called me insane for setting fire to wood that costly. But this was Shou Sugi Ban — also called yakisugi — a traditional charring technique used in woodworking. Singe the surface of the timber and the wood grows harder, picking up insect resistance and waterproofing in the bargain. A smoked fragrance comes with it, too, the kind that settles an animal's nerves.

On paper, it was an almost perfect process. In practice, almost nobody used it. The reason was simple.

It's hard.

Miss the heat by a fraction and you didn't char the wood — you burned it. Instead of a smoked fragrance, you got the stink of something ruined. You had to hold a precise flame for a precise stretch of time, and that timing changed with every thickness and every species of timber. That was why the technique was so rarely seen.

For me, it was as familiar as breathing.

A little more here...

I worked through every last piece of hinoki the same way, charring each one until the set was done. Then I took a blade and drew it lightly across the finished surface.

The edge whispered over the wood.

"Not bad."

A sharpened knife, and barely a mark to show for it. The timber had grown that much harder.

That's enough for the wood. Time to put this thing together.

Frame first.

Most high-end cat towers stayed pure wood and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠kept alloy out of the build. But Woong-i wasn't most cats. His legs were short, and from the footage, the muscle density in those legs looked thinner than other Munchkins besides. For a cat like that to use a tower comfortably, tight spacing mattered — but so did the tower never, ever swaying when he climbed.

Mix alloy into the frame and this thing will never so much as tremble.

I raised the frame from charred hinoki posts and KANG alloy together, then fitted the platforms at a Munchkin-specific height. The spacing was 14.6 centimeters — half what you'd find on a typical cat tower. The optimal height for Woong-i, calculated from the footage.

Too low would actually be worse. This is the sweet spot.

Frame and platforms done, I started assembling. The joints and brackets were KANG alloy as well, built to kill every last bit of wobble. It might not have looked like much on paper, but a cat tower was a big piece of furniture, and big pieces took time. A full day gone, then another half day on top of that, before the basic shape finally stood in front of me.

Came out well.

The charred finish set it apart from any cat tower you'd see in a store, but it wasn't hard on the eyes. If anything, it had character.

"Now for the rest..."

Byeol-i, the older cat, could not be allowed to use this tower. This one existed for a single Munchkin named Woong-i, and no one else.

With the leftover timber, I built a hideout box — a sum-sum-jip, a cave-like shelter usually perched at the top of a cat tower. I made this one deliberately small. Woong-i, compact as he was, would slip in and out without a thought. Byeol-i, with her larger frame, would jam herself in the opening and think twice about ever trying again.

The size is everything.

Comfortable for Woong-i. Awkward for Byeol-i. That was what would make this tower his and his alone.

Wood slid into place with a quiet rasp, then a solid click.

Good.

I went back over the hideout and the platforms in between, nudging their dimensions so a larger cat would find them just slightly wrong. Once that was done, the tower had its full shape.

One thing left.

Time for the catnip essential oil I'd prepared the day before. I mixed it into the tung oil I blended myself for wood finishes.

Nice.

Even to a human nose, the scent was a good one. I took up a brush and began coating the tower. With every pass, the wood took on a deepening luster, as if the thing itself were coming alive.

A luxurious cat tower, built for a single cat in all the world, was complete.

I never even made something like this for my own cat...

It was a job, nothing more — but standing there looking at the finished tower, I felt a pang of guilt toward Coco waiting at home.

Maybe I'll pick up some of those squeeze-tube treats on the way back.

The next day, a delivery truck pulled up to Seo-ah's apartment with the finished cat tower in the back.

"So this is it..."

She'd commissioned the thing as if she'd been possessed. A few days later, with a clearer head, the price had started to feel excessive. Was I actually under some kind of spell?

If this solved the problem between her two cats, she wouldn't miss a single won of it. Whether it would actually work was another question entirely.

Seo-ah peeled back the wrapping with a look full of doubt.

What is this color?

It was nearly black — nothing like any cat tower she'd ever seen. She stared.

"Are they even going to use this...?"

She let out a long breath and pulled the plastic away. Cats being cats, they wouldn't go near something new right away. She'd unwrap it, she figured, and then go lie down.

And then—

"Huh...?"

The plastic had barely come off before Byeol-i, the bigger of the two, came running and scrambled straight up the tower.

They're using it immediately?

Cats were suspicious, high-strung animals by nature. The thought that either of them would touch a new tower on sight had never crossed her mind.

The moment Byeol-i reached the wood, she started rubbing her face against it. The fierce catnip scent had her hooked.

But it didn't last. Something about the tower sat wrong with her, even through the catnip haze. She climbed back down and returned to the old tower she'd always used.

A moment later, Woong-i — who had been watching the whole time — went up the new tower the instant Byeol-i's paws hit the floor.

He climbed it as if it had always been his, completely at ease. Then he slipped into the hideout box on the top level.

"Huh...? Woong-i..."

In all the time since he'd come to this house, she had never seen him take ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to anything this fast. Wondering, she leaned in and peered inside the hideout.

A low, rumbling purr rolled out of the dark. Woong-i was in there alone, singing himself a song of pure contentment.

Then something even stranger happened. Woong-i — who had never once slept comfortably in this house — rolled onto his back inside the hideout and drifted off, belly to the ceiling, utterly at peace.

"Woong-i!"

The cry burst out of her before she could stop it, but he didn't so much as twitch. He was under too deep.

And Byeol-i, who on any other day would have charged over looking for a fight, didn't even glance at the new tower. She couldn't have cared less.

A complete reversal from the daily war this apartment had been.

About a week after I'd sent the cat tower, Choi Seo-ah called — right as I was about to walk into a lecture for my major.

Looks like the Soul kicked in toward easing the user's mind and body.

"Glad to hear it. Sounds like they've accepted each other's territory."

That was when the professor walked in. I hung up in a hurry.

"That's not necessary. Ah — I have to get to class. I'll call you later."

The call cut off. Se-hyeon, sitting next to me, turned in his seat.

"Who was that? Sounded like a girl. Don't tell me you've got a girlfriend."

"A girlfriend? Please."

"Then who?"

"Just a client."

"The hell does that mean... Anyway, we grabbing drinks tonight? I'm drowning in job applications over here."

I checked my balance — a little fatter, thanks to the cat tower — and nodded.

"Yeah, all right. It's been a while. I'm buying."

"You're buying? Then how about beef...?"

Beef, huh.

Well, why not. First drinks with a classmate in a long time. I could swing that much.

"Deal. Premium Hanwoo, 1++. On me."

At the word Hanwoo, color rushed back into Se-hyeon's eyes — eyes that, a second ago, had looked completely dead.