Matcha slowly stirred from his slumber, blinking sleepily as the remnants of his six-hour nap clung to his consciousness. The soft grass beneath him was warm, still holding the gentle heat from the afternoon sun, and the cherry blossom tree above him provided a canopy of pink petals that fluttered lazily in the breeze. It was the perfect spot for a nap, and Matcha had taken full advantage of it.
As he yawned and stretched, extending his legs and rolling onto his back, Matcha became aware of something—or rather, someone—watching him. Blinking his large, round eyes, he slowly rolled over and sat up, his fur ruffled and a few petals clinging to his ears. What greeted him was not the usual peaceful scene of the Arcas mansion's garden but a sight that made him tilt his head in confusion and curiosity.
