Sixty-Four: Sur… prise?

Chat crafts the purrfect way to surprise Marinette with her early birthday gift.


The moment I received the text message with the delivery time for Marinette's early birthday gift, my feline curiosity at how she would react had me immediately crafting a way to be there when it happened. Even though my partner was the one to concoct convoluted plans, I thought I'd created a beauty. Working with Tomas, I managed to wrangle a day-long photo shoot with a generous lunch break on the same day of the delivery. That part of my plan was simple: the moment the lunch break was called, I'd bolt from the scene and make my way across the city as fast as I could, hoping to be hidden in the filigree of the apartment building across from ours just as the package van pulled up.

One hurdle? I had to contrive a way to ensure Marinette would be there, too. While it took me a lot longer to come up with that idea, in the end, it was (mostly) brilliant. Even if I'd had to beg a favor from Sabine in the process.

The morning of the delivery began exceptionally well. We awoke together, tangled in each other and the bedsheets, then transitioned to a very steamy shower that left hardly any time for a proper breakfast. As this had happened to us on a far more regular basis in the months since the reveal, I kept a batch of Tom's croissants in the freezer for just such an emergency; beside them were some pre-cooked scrambled eggs I had made the weekend prior that were similarly frozen. A slice, a dice and a few minutes in the microwave produced a nifty breakfast sandwich that ensured I was a responsible kitty sending his mate to work with enough protein to get her through to at least lunch.

"Will it be a long day?" I asked innocently as I put the finishing touches on her lunch; I had wisely remained de-transformed, for the excitement bubbling through me would have surely been telegraphed by my tail. It had been extremely hard to tamp down since getting the delivery text from the shop, and I was getting worried she was suspicious.

"Yes," Marinette sighed as she polished off the final corner of her pastry sandwich and drained the last of her orange juice. Sliding the empty plate toward me and retrieving the lunch in return, she smiled slyly. "But I know I have the attention of my kitty to look forward to this evening, and that will get me through."

I smiled my megawatt model smile. "And if we are truly lucky, my version of your mother's hot-and-sour soup with sweet-and-sour beef tips."

Marinette's eyes widened. "What's the occasion?"

"Do I need a reason to dote on my fiancé?"

"No," she smiled, "I suppose not. How did you wrangle the recipe from maman?"

I smiled wider. "It wasn't easy, I assure you. But I can be pretty purrsuasive when I want to be."

"I'll buy that," she laughed as she shrugged on her sportscoat and leaned in for a kiss. "See you tonight, kitty."

Pulling her in for a longer moment, I brushed back a lock of her hair before whispering, "I'll be here. But the real question is whether you want the bell on or not."

Marinette laughed as she pulled away, albeit reluctantly. "I did say I was looking forward to seeing my kitty, kitty," she replied as she disappeared through the door.

"You did indeed," I smiled slyly before finishing up the dishes and then laying out my props.


I detransformed in an alleyway two blocks from the Grand Palais and walked the rest of the way to the photoshoot. Knowing the wardrobe would be at the shoot, I'd donned very ordinary attire – jeans and a t-shirt, with a ballcap and sunglasses – and managed to avoid attracting any attention from the Parisians bustling about their business on that beautiful morning. So many of my photos had been taken at that location I felt as though the floorplan for the Grand Palais had become a permanent resident in my brain; I easily found my dressing room and settled in to let the makeup artists do their thing.

Several hours and an unthinkable number of wardrobe changes later, the photographer was adjusting the lighting and other small details on the set for the final set of photos before lunch. Having anticipated such a break, I snuck back to my dressing room and dug my cell phone out of my jeans.

Marinette picked up on the first ring. "Hey sunshine," she smiled.

"Princess," I smiled back, and then remembered I needed to look worried. "Look, can you get away for lunch today?"

"Actually, I can," she smiled wider. "Where do you want to go?"

I frowned. "That's kind of the problem. I'm not going to get a lunch break today," I lied, then forged onward before the blush of shame became visible. "I need to put the final spices in the hot-and-sour crockpot at noon and I'm just not going to be able to do it."

"Oh," Marinette said, looking a bit sad. "Well, I can certainly bug out and jump over there," she said after a moment, smiling a bit at our codeword for her transformation.

I tried to look relieved. "Could you? I'll make it up to you, I purromise."

"With interest," she smiled slyly on the small screen. "They won't keep you past dinner, will they?"

"They'd better not," I replied, "I have plans with Milady."

"Don't you furget it," she laughed.

"I believe that's my line."

"I know," she laughed merrily, warming my heart.


Hitting my marks on the first take allowed our lunch break to start a few minutes earlier. I topped Plagg off with two giant slabs of Camembert, ignored the craft table's bounty of food and instead quietly slipped away from the set to find a hidden nook to transform. Not long after I was rising on my baton into the deep azure sky, moving quickly among the rooftops and stray pigeons to get back to the apartment. The warmth of the sun against my costume had me thinking seriously of finding a prime spot to soak up the rays, but I reluctantly set it aside to continue on my mission.

I'd located my hiding spot in the building opposite ours a few nights earlier on my way back from a nasty akuma that had turned all of the water in Paris to a gooey green slimy substance; landing behind the filigree with a soft rubbery thump, I stayed crouched as I crept to the edge of the decorative concrete and peered carefully around it to the street below. My line of sight was primarily on the front door of the apartment building, denoted by a cute awning covering an old-fashion glass inlaid double door. Our corner apartment was toward the top of the structure but well away from that particular angle, and for once, my caution in picking an apartment that could provide a protected superhero entrance worked against me. But I had a plan for that, too.

My feline timing instincts were (sorry) spot on, for at that moment I saw Marinette appear from the alleyway beside our building. I knew it was one of many spots she used to perform her quick-change routine, and I smiled to think we were so synchronized. As she strode up to the main entrance, a medium-sized delivery truck in brown and sporting the logo of the sewing shop pulled to the curb and parked in the loading zone; Marinette ignored it and entered the building through the front door.

Having never taken the elevators, I could only assume it would be a few brief minutes before she would be at our floor; nevertheless, I waited, crouched in the filigree, until I saw the delivery driver open the rear of the truck and begin to unload the box holding the sewing machine onto a card before I made my next move.

Time, I thought with a sly smile.

Creeping away from the edge of the roof, I ran parallel to our building and then leapt to the next one before vaulting up and over the street to a third; leaping from balcony to balcony in the shade of the building, I quickly rose high enough to reach our apartment. Clinging from a downspout, I threw my feline body around the corner to my secluded balcony and dropped into a crouch just outside the glass door.

Pressing a feline ear to the window, I smiled, for I could hear Marinette unlocking the door to the apartment. Gently – very gently – I slid the balcony door open and stealthily crept into my bedroom, crawling over to the door to the kitchen where I repeated the same ear maneuver. Marinette had put her purse down and was humming to herself, a merry sound that was just so totally her. I had intentionally left my ingredients visible on the kitchen counter, so it wasn't surprising to hear her pick up the spices one after the other and gently sift them into the crockpot.

The scraping of the lid going back on the pot was interrupted by the doorbell to the apartment.

"Who on earth…?" Marinette said, her voice muted.

Footsteps made their way to the door, which she quickly opened.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng?" came an unfamiliar voice, then ruffles on a clipboard. "I have an item for you. Where would you like it?"

"Item? What sort of item?"

There was a pause. "Says this is a gift, so I'm not sure."

"All right," Marinette replied, her voice perplexed. "Put it over there on the coffee table – wow, it's pretty big. Where are you from, again?"

"Shannon's Sewing Notions," the voice replied as it moved over to the living room. I adjusted my ear accordingly. There was a slight grunt and then the voice continued. "Sign here?"

Scribbles on paper. "Thank you," Marinette said as she stepped back to the door.

"Have a nice day."

The door closed and I heard Marinette return to the coffee table; there was a long pause, and then I heard the paper being removed from the exterior. A longer pause followed before I heard the clicks of the latches on the case; it was too much for me not to see, so I very stealthy cracked open the door to my room and angled a feline eye to catch the action. My fiancé had her back to me, one hand on her hip, the other holding what appeared to be the manual. Festive wrapping paper, now in pieces, wreathed the base, but my masked eyes snapped back to the hands-on-hips and widened.

Uh oh, I thought as I pressed the door shut and slid my back against it for good measure. Not exactly the reaction I was expecting. Why isn't she happier? Did I misjudge-

"What did that cat do?" Marinette said, loud enough to get through the door and interrupt my internal monologue.

Suddenly thinking it was a bad idea to be near at hand, I started to slink toward the balcony door. I had nearly made my escape when my traitorous baton loudly chirped out an incoming phone call. Startled despite my cat reflexes, I yanked it from my back and desperately tried to mute the ringing, but it was too late; my feline ears flattened when it became uncomfortably apparent I'd been caught.

"Chat Noir!" Marinette bellowed from the living. "Get out here this instant!"

I glanced longingly at the freedom just beyond the balcony window but knew I valued all of my nine lives - or were their eight now? It was so hard to keep track. Reluctantly, I stood and stepped to the door, gently pulling it open. "Princess?" I said tentatively.

Marinette was standing on the other side, both hands on her hips now. "You did this?" she asked, jerkily pointing with her cell phone to the gleaming machine sitting in the middle of the living room.

Swallowing, I nodded rather aggressively, my unruly main shifting as I did.

Something quirked at the edge of her lips. "Why?" she demanded.

Swallowing hard, and still perplexed as to what I had done wrong, I smiled a bit. "Technically it's for your birthday," I said, holding my paws out in apology. "I know what your workload is for the wedding, though, so I moved up the gift."

"My… birthday?" she said, a bit dazed as she glanced over her shoulder. "Do you know how expensive this thing is?"

"Yeah," I said guiltily as I ran my paw behind my neck. "But you are worth it." I knew I looked worried. "I, uh, thought this was the model you were wanting… I'm so sorry, I should have asked… I guess I shouldn't have surprised you-mmmmf!"

Dropping the manual, Marinette threw herself at me, hooking her arms over my costumed shoulders before using a rather smoldering kiss to silence me. Somewhat dazed as I pulled back, I asked: "Uh… does this mean I did okay…?"

"Oh kitty," she said, her eyes dancing with delight. "Did you ever…"