Milo, with its nascent 'unscientific luck', subtly nudges Leo's hand towards a lottery ticket that wins a surprisingly large, but not absurd, sum.
The fluorescent lights of the 24-hour convenience store hummed, casting a sterile glow on the aisles of brightly packaged snacks and lukewarm hot dogs.
Leo stood at the counter, a large bag of premium cat kibble under one arm and a smaller, even more expensive bag of salmon-flavored treats in his hand.
His wallet was weeping.
From his shoulder bag, two green eyes stared at the transaction with intense, calculating focus.
Milo had connected the dots.
The human's thin, leathery square was the source of all good things.
And lately, that source had been producing inferior tribute.
The treats were smaller. The kibble, less divine.
This was unacceptable.
The human is experiencing a resource crisis, Milo concluded with cold, feline logic. This requires intervention.
As Leo reached for his debit card, a soft, furry weight pressed against his arm.
He glanced down. Milo was leaning out of the bag, nudging his hand with his head.
"What is it, buddy? You want to pay?" Leo chuckled.
Milo nudged again, harder this time.
Leo's hand slipped, knocking over a cardboard display of lottery scratch-off tickets that cascaded onto the counter.
"Oops, sorry," Leo said, starting to gather them.
The clerk, a teenager who looked profoundly bored with his life choices, just shrugged. "You knock 'em over, you buy one. Store policy."
Leo sighed. He didn't have money for gambling. He barely had money for the gourmet cat food his furry overlord demanded.
But the clerk was staring at him with the dead-eyed apathy of the truly underpaid.
"Fine," Leo said, grabbing a random ticket from the pile. "Just one."
Milo let out a soft, satisfied purr from the bag.
Phase one complete. The seed of fortune has been planted.
Back in his apartment, Leo tossed the keys on the counter and let Milo out of the bag.
He'd almost forgotten about the lottery ticket. He pulled it out of his pocket, found a coin, and started scratching.
The first number matched.
"Huh," Leo said.
The second number matched.
His hand paused.
The third, fourth, and fifth numbers all matched.
He scratched off the prize box.
He stared.
Then he stared again.
It wasn't millions. It wasn't enough to change his life completely.
But it was five thousand dollars.
Five. Thousand. Dollars.
Enough to solve his pet food budget crisis for the foreseeable future.
Enough for that new spatial-stabilizing chew toy the Codex had recommended for Max.
Enough for the imported Alpine spring water Goldie had been silently, judgmentally demanding.
A lottery win?
My cat, the financial advisor. And it's all for... more kibble. My life is a sitcom.
He looked at Milo, who was sitting on the floor, washing a paw with an air of profound, smug innocence.
But Leo could see the glint in his eye.
The cat knew.
Somehow, the little furry chaos agent had manipulated probability itself just to secure a better brand of treats.
Leo felt a wave of internal, hysterical laughter bubble up.
This was his life.
He was the caretaker of a pantheon of minor, pet-shaped gods, and they were using their cosmic powers to influence local scratch-off games.
He sank into a chair, his head in his hands.
The elation was real. The relief was immense.
But so was the dawning, terrifying realization of the cover-up he now had to orchestrate.
He couldn't just deposit five thousand dollars and tell his parents his cat had become a financial guru.
Sarah would think he'd developed a gambling problem.
David would demand a statistical analysis of the odds and conclude it was a printing error.
Alex would want to borrow Milo for his next trip to Vegas.
No. This required careful planning.
Meticulous calculation.
He pulled out a notebook and a pen.
His mind, which had become adept at crafting elaborate fictions to explain away supernatural pet antics, now turned to financial planning.
First, the budget allocation.
Premium tuna and salmon for Milo. That was non-negotiable. Milo's purrs of satisfaction were the currency that kept their fragile household ecosystem in balance.
For Max, the 'Spatial Stabilizer 5000'. The Codex promised it would help him focus his demolition talent, hopefully on things that were supposed to be demolished. Maybe it would stop him from trying to deconstruct the mailman.
For Goldie, a top-of-the-line water filtration system that could replicate the mineral content of a Himalayan spring. Anything to appease the tiny, judgmental water deity in the fishbowl.
For Whisper, an endless supply of the softest, most absorbent training pads money could buy. And maybe a new, squeaky toy that didn't sound like a dying spirit.
That covered about half of it. The rest…
He'd put it in savings. A secret slush fund for future supernatural emergencies.
An 'oh-god-Max-ate-a-wormhole' fund.
Now, for the story.
It had to be believable. Casual.
'Beginner's luck,' he'd say. He'd tell them he bought a ticket on a whim. He'd have to practice his surprised face in the mirror. Not too surprised. Just… pleasantly shocked.
He'd have to 'responsibly' mention it. Not brag. Just a casual, "Oh, you won't believe the dumb luck I had the other day…"
Milo, his work done, hopped onto the table and nudged Leo's hand, purring loudly.
More food. More. More. My human is slow. This 'lottery' thing seems efficient. Next time, bigger win. For bigger treats.
Leo looked into those green, all-knowing eyes.
The cat was already planning his next financial intervention.
Maybe he should just make Milo his official accountant. It would certainly make explaining his taxes more interesting.
"Yes, Mr. IRS agent, the deduction for fifty pounds of premium salmon is a legitimate business expense. My financial advisor insisted. He's a cat. A very demanding cat."
Leo sighed, rubbing his temples.
He was ecstatic. He was relieved.
And he was utterly, completely, ridiculously stressed out.
Leo, while internally ecstatic, meticulously calculates how to spend the winnings 'responsibly' (mostly on pet food and training materials), and how to explain it away as a normal stroke of luck to his family.