These were the days he treasured most.
The ones where his little lady would come out of her room and perch prettily beside him at his organ or while he was scribbling furiously at his piano composting works that would never grace anyone's ears other than the two residing in his underground abode. Oftentimes she would distract him, knocking his pen from his hands or pressing on the keys. He couldn't be angry at her though, she was all he had. A reprieve from the turmoil in his head. She would hurt him, dig her nails into his leg whenever he brushed out her hair, or beg to be let out.
Frolicking through the basements was one of her favorite pastimes, the gentleman often lost her among old props or behind pillars of stone. It nearly kills him every time, his worry overpowering his senses. His lady always comes back though, showing him affection in her own way, begging for his forgiveness.
He could even take his mask off in-front of her, she would not run, scream, cry, or according to her gentleman's fears, die. She would sit idly on his couch or coffin and watch him work for hours on end.
Sometimes he would let her wonder the opera house above with little missions just for her. She would dash about leaving little surprises for ballet rats or stage hands who let their tongue flap too much. She would never be alone, as her finely dressed skeleton would tail her through his secret passageways scarring the occupants when he could.
It always ended with a nice relaxing evening by the fire, listening to some old forgotten tale told in a magicians voice and her tummy warm and full. Yes. She was a very lucky feline, but even more so to be Erik's lucky feline