It was a quiet Sunday morning when Ethan first met Momo.
He had just returned from a jog, the air still crisp with the scent of spring dew. As he reached the front steps of the apartment building, he saw Sofia crouched down by a bush, coaxing something with soft whispers.
Curious, Ethan approached. "Did you lose something?"
Sofia turned to him, beaming. "Nope. Found something."
And there she was—Momo.
A silver British Shorthair kitten, barely six months old, with a puffball tail and wide, curious eyes. Her fur shimmered under the sun like moonlight over water.
"She was hiding under the neighbor's car," Sofia explained. "No collar. No chip. I think she's been abandoned."
Momo didn't run when Ethan got closer. Instead, she looked up at him with hesitant trust. Then, almost timidly, she took a step toward him and bumped her forehead against his shin.
"Okay," Ethan murmured. "I guess we've been adopted."
A Companion for a New Life
Bringing Momo home changed the entire rhythm of Ethan's life.
She followed him from room to room like a shadow. Whether he was typing on his laptop, brewing coffee, or reading on the couch, Momo would be nearby—often curled up against his leg or perched beside his keyboard.
She never meowed for attention. She didn't need to. Her big round eyes did all the talking.
What surprised Ethan the most was how gentle she was.
When Sofia brought over another stray kitten for temporary fostering, Momo greeted it like an old friend. During meal times, she'd even step back and let the newcomer eat first before she approached the bowl.
"She's unreal," Ethan said one evening as Momo purred on his chest.
"She's perfect," Sofia replied. "You can tell a lot about a person by how animals respond to them, you know."
"Then I must be doing something right."
The Fear Behind the Fur
But for all her sweetness, Momo had her own kind of trauma.
Any time a stranger visited the apartment, Momo would vanish like smoke. Ethan once had a friend from class come over to borrow notes. The door clicked open—and Momo darted under the bed, trembling so hard the frame shook.
It took two hours and a bowl of tuna to coax her out again.
"She's scared of people," Sofia said. "Probably wasn't treated well before."
Even worse was taking her outside.
Ethan tried once, using a secure cat backpack with mesh windows. But the second they stepped outside and a group of children laughed across the street, Momo started to panic. Her eyes went wide, her tail puffed out, and she scrambled until the backpack tipped sideways.
They went right back in.
Ethan sat on the floor with her for a long while after that, stroking her fur and murmuring apologies.
"You don't have to be brave," he whispered. "Not today. Not ever, if you don't want to."
Choosing Stillness
Over the weeks that followed, Momo became part of Ethan's new daily rituals.
Morning jog. Coffee. Research. Study. Team meeting. Cat nap with Momo.
He had opportunities flying toward him now: the MicroPatch trip to San Francisco, a new internship at a startup he recognized from his previous timeline, even a tentative offer to help as a junior advisor in the business department.
Each path was glittering. Each path required sacrifice.
"I used to think success was all about speed," Ethan told Sofia one evening, as they watched Momo chase a feather toy.
"Now?"
"Now I think it's about choosing stillness at the right moment."
Momo suddenly pounced—missed the feather—and instead gently curled up on Ethan's lap.
He smiled. "She gets it."
The Call
Then came the call.
It was Mira from MicroPatch.
"We're here," she said, her voice alive with excitement. "San Francisco. We pitched. We're in. We're getting seed funding."
"That's amazing," Ethan said. "I'm so proud of you guys."
There was a pause.
"You're part of this too, you know. You should be here."
He hesitated. Looked down.
Momo was asleep in his arms, her little body rising and falling in time with his breathing.
"I think," he said slowly, "you're exactly where you need to be."