Leo, armed with the Codex's cryptic instructions, decided to brew his first batch of 'Spirit Dew'.
The page glowed with an otherworldly light, the script elegant and ancient.
It looked less like a recipe and more like a wizard's homework.
He squinted at the first ingredient.
"A pinch of moonlight-infused catnip," he read aloud, his voice flat with disbelief.
He looked at Milo, who was currently batting at a dust bunny under the sofa.
"Does our catnip have any moonlight infusion?" Leo asked the cat.
Milo paused his assault on the dust bunny and gave him a look of profound disdain.
You dare address me with such foolish questions, human? Procure the ingredients. My ascension awaits.
Leo sighed. Right. He was talking to his cat about magical herbs. This was his life now.
The Codex, sensing his hesitation, shimmered. The text helpfully changed.
Substitute: High-quality, organically grown catnip. Potency will be reduced by approximately 87%.
"Helpful," Leo muttered sarcastically. "And condescending. Great combo."
He rummaged through the kitchen cupboards, past bags of flour and forgotten spices, finally unearthing a small bag of premium, organic catnip he'd bought on a whim.
He felt a pang of guilt. It had been intended as a special treat for Milo, not as a core component in a mystical energy drink.
The next ingredient was even more baffling.
"One dewdrop collected from a spider's web at dawn."
Leo stared out the window at the bustling cityscape. It was two in the afternoon. Dawn had come and gone, and the nearest spiderweb was probably on a fire escape ten stories up.
His life was not conducive to sourcing artisanal, arachnid-produced morning moisture.
He felt a pulse of frustration in his temple. This was ridiculous. He was a pet shop owner, not an alchemist.
The Codex shimmered again, its patience apparently wearing thin.
Substitute: One drop of purified spring water. Potency will be reduced by approximately 92%.
Leo's eye twitched. He was fairly certain the book was mocking him.
He grabbed a bottle of imported spring water from the fridge—another one of his mother's well-intentioned but extravagant purchases.
The final core ingredient was "the faintest whisper of a summer breeze."
"Oh, for crying out loud," Leo said to the empty room. "How am I supposed to bottle a breeze?"
He paced the living room, running a hand through his hair. This was insane. He was following a recipe from a book that was probably a hallucination brought on by stress and cheap coffee.
Milo, having grown bored of the dust bunny, hopped onto the coffee table and nudged the Codex with his nose.
The page glowed, and a new line of text appeared.
Alternative: The gentle exhalation of a contented familiar.
Leo looked at Milo.
Milo looked back, then let out a soft, rumbling purr, a sound of pure, unadulterated satisfaction.
A tiny, shimmering wisp of energy, almost invisible, drifted from Milo and was absorbed into the bowl Leo had prepared.
The Codex seemed to hum in approval.
This is it, Leo thought, a sense of surreal detachment washing over him. I've reached peak crazy. I'm harvesting my cat's purrs.
He mixed the ingredients in a small ceramic bowl, following the swirling patterns indicated by the glowing script. A pinch of catnip. A single drop of expensive water. And the captured essence of a happy cat.
The mixture swirled, turning from a murky brown to a clear, shimmering liquid that seemed to pulse with a faint, internal light.
Spirit Dew. It looked suspiciously like water. Very, very clean water.
Milo hopped off the table, his eyes fixed on the bowl. His nose twitched. He could smell it. The raw, potent energy. The promise of power.
And, more importantly, the potential to reach the high shelf where Leo kept the salmon treats.
Leo placed the bowl on the floor. "Alright, you furry demigod. Drink up."
Milo approached cautiously, sniffed the liquid, then dipped his tongue in.
His eyes went wide.
He began to drink, lapping at the Spirit Dew with a frantic energy Leo had never seen before.
When the bowl was empty, Milo sat back on his haunches. He blinked slowly.
Then, a wave of giddiness seemed to wash over him.
He chased his own tail in a tight circle, a blur of silver fur.
He pounced on an imaginary mouse with ferocious intensity.
He sprinted from one end of the apartment to the other, his movements impossibly fast, almost a shimmer.
My cat is drunk on magic water, Leo thought, leaning against the doorframe for support. This is definitely not covered in any pet care manual I've ever read.
Then, Milo stopped.
He stood in the center of the living room, his body tense with a newfound energy.
His gaze lifted, locking onto the highest shelf of the towering bookcase against the far wall.
It was a ridiculous height, at least twelve feet from the floor. No normal cat could even dream of making that jump.
But Milo was no longer a normal cat.
Leo saw the muscles in his hind legs tense, coiling like powerful springs.
A faint, silvery aura flickered around his body.
The air in the room grew heavy, charged with a strange, silent energy.
Then he launched.
It wasn't a jump. It was a defiance of physics.
A silent, graceful arc of silver and shadow.
He seemed to hang in the air for an impossible moment, a creature untethered from the mundane laws of gravity.
He landed on the high shelf with a whisper-soft thud, not a single book disturbed.
He looked down at Leo, his eyes glowing with triumph.
Then he turned his attention to the forgotten bag of salmon treats tucked behind a row of encyclopedias.
Leo stared, his jaw slack. He felt a pulse in his temple. This was impossible. Utterly, beautifully, terrifyingly impossible.
My cat ignores physics, he thought, a hysterical giggle bubbling in his throat. The eye-rolls from a physicist would be epic.
Milo, having successfully secured his prize, turned to leap down.
But something was wrong.
He pushed off the shelf, but instead of descending, he seemed to… stick.
He was floating, a foot below the ceiling, his paws paddling uselessly in the air.
The residual spiritual energy from the jump had apparently made him lighter than air. And slightly adhesive.
He was stuck to the ceiling.
Leo's brief moment of awe was shattered, replaced by a familiar, soul-deep sense of exasperation.
"Of course," he muttered. "Of course, my magic cat gets stuck to the ceiling."
Milo let out a small, indignant meow, his pride clearly wounded.
Leo dragged the stepladder out of the closet, his movements heavy with the weight of his new reality.
He climbed up, reaching for the floating, flailing cat.
"Just casually peeling my cat off the ceiling," he said to himself, his voice laced with bitter irony. "Nothing to see here. Definitely not residual spiritual energy from an ancient bloodline awakening. Just… static. Very strong, clingy static."
He gently pried Milo loose. The cat felt strangely weightless in his arms.
He carried him down, placing him gently on the floor.
Milo immediately shook himself, his dignity in tatters. He glared at the ceiling as if it had personally offended him.
Then he looked at Leo, a new, determined gleam in his eyes.
He trotted purposefully into the kitchen, towards the cupboard where he'd seen Leo get the catnip.
Delicious! Milo's inner voice seemed to purr with newfound ambition. More of this! My human is a genius, even if he still thinks I'm just a 'cat'. This power... so much more food to reach!
He rubbed against Leo's leg, purring loudly, then nudged him insistently towards the ingredients for another batch.
Leo looked down at the cat, then back at the ceiling, then at the empty bowl.
He was going to need a therapist. And a much bigger bag of catnip.