Late spring. Rain fell from the sky. What began as a light drizzle had, within an hour, become a heavy downpour. Wind and rain raged, pushing pedestrians to walk faster. Those without umbrellas could only huddle under store awnings or rooftops, hoping the storm would pass soon.
The school uniform clung tightly to bodies under the wind's pull. From a nearby elementary school, groups of children struggled through the rain with umbrellas, their rubber shoes splashing through puddles. Dust from the road turned to sludge under the rain, and the air carried a damp, earthy scent.
In the midst of the downpour, I lay quietly by the roadside, curling my body as close to the inner wall as possible. Passersby glanced at me but hurried along, unwilling to stop.
At last, I couldn't even lift my head. I opened one eye and stared at the dark sky. It was eerily quiet, save for the thunderous rumble of an approaching train. The sound echoed through the elevated tracks, strong and rhythmic, like the heartbeat of something powerful and alive.
I had always yearned for that sound.
If the faint beat in my chest could sustain my life, then the train's thunder must surely shake the entire world. That must be the heartbeat of a powerful, perfect world—one I had never belonged to.
The rain softened. I felt my last strength leaving me. I pressed my face against the soggy bottom of the cardboard box, melting into the wet, muddy mess below. I fantasized about ascending to the sky—to anywhere I wanted to go.
Soon, I would be gone.
I couldn't remember how I ended up like this. Why I lay there, soaked and shivering. We can't hold every moment in memory—we only keep the important ones. But for me, nothing seemed worth remembering.
Rain fell gently on me. I no longer felt cold—perhaps because I was just as cold as the rain now. My body was an empty shell, floating slowly toward the gray sky.
So I closed my eyes, waiting for the end.
The train's roar grew louder. I opened my eyes and saw a girl's face. She held a large plastic umbrella, staring down at me from above the box.
When had she noticed me?
She squatted down, resting her chin on her knees, gazing at me. Her long, golden-pink hair fell forward, and in the gloom of the rainy dusk, she seemed like a ray of sunlight piercing through.
She looked like she wanted to reach out and touch me. Rain soaked her hair, but my entire body was already drenched. I must've felt unpleasant to touch.
I lifted my head, staring into her eyes. Her gaze flickered, then turned away.
"Meow."
I gave a soft cry. A plea. I liked her eyes. I believed she'd take me away.
But she didn't. She walked away under her umbrella.
The sound of the train faded with her silhouette. I lowered my head again.
"Hey, little one."
I don't know how much time passed, but then a boy squatted before me. His slightly long bangs clung to his forehead from the rain. His black eyes stared at me.
My mother once said my eyes were beautiful—firefly-colored like gemstones.
But I no longer had the strength to open them wide, to show him my beauty, to prove my worth. For a stray cat nearing death, this was fatal.
Yet he still picked me up.
The world turned quietly. His and my warmth faded without us realizing it.
"Come home with me."
His warm fingers touched my body. From above, I saw how small the cardboard box really was. He wrapped me in his jacket. I heard his heartbeat—soft like a caress, but heavy with intention, thumping with all its might.
He used his left hand, the one not holding an umbrella, to stroke my cheek. In the midst of the storm, it was like a fragile candle lit on a snowy mountain—yet undeniably warm.
My matted fur and damp body didn't bother him. His touch seeped into every inch of my skin like parched earth soaking up the first rain.
He carried me away. I closed my eyes in his arms. From that moment, my world pulsed with life once again.
That day, he brought me home.
In many nights that followed, I would sit by the window, thinking of that gray, rainy evening where no moon or stars could be seen. In the glow of the city lights, I'd remember the eight-year-old boy with eyes gentle and dark as the night sky.
But—I never became his cat.
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"Didn't expect you to get sick, huh?"
Looking at the limp, white blob playing dead on the floor, Kitagawa Ryo sighed.
"For a stray, you were surprisingly healthy. It's been a month, and this is your first illness, right, Hotaru?"
"Meow."
Seeing Hotaru reach for its ear again, Ryo quickly batted the paw away.
"If Honami were here, she'd be heartbroken."
He stroked its head, gazing into its big, watery eyes.
"Hang in there. It's almost time for the medicine."
As if understanding, Hotaru collapsed dramatically on the floor, exposing its white belly with a look of hopeless despair.
"You could be a viral meme cat. Perfect expression."
Ryo chuckled and went to retrieve the medicine bottle.
Hotaru had been restless since morning, no longer calm as usual. After calling his father, Ryo had taken the cat to the vet.
Diagnosis: ear mites. Not serious, but quite uncomfortable for a cat. Left untreated, it could scratch its ears raw.
With the meds in hand, Ryo waited for the right time.
"Ding dong."
The doorbell rang. Ryo sighed and headed for the entrance.
Through the peephole, he saw an unexpected figure.
"Ryo, it's me."
Handing her slippers, Ryo leaned in and whispered in Honami's ear:
"Your mom's not home, right?"
"Relax, she's out. And Maki's asleep too."
Honami slipped on the slippers proudly—sneaking out felt like a thrilling accomplishment.
Honami liked Hotaru, the white cat Ryo had picked up. After explaining the diagnosis, she crouched by the cat.
"Ear mites, huh?"
She hugged her knees. "It looks so miserable."
Sensing a sympathetic target, Hotaru sprang up, meowing dramatically as it circled her.
Is this cat possessed or something?
Ryo smirked and handed her the medicine.
"Perfect timing. Want to help?"
She hesitated, then took it.
"How do I use this?"
"Flip the ear, swab it with the medicine. Vet said it'll clear up in 2–3 weeks if treated properly."
He handed her a fresh pack of cotton swabs.
"Hotaru, be good. Just hold still."
Honami dipped the swab in the medicine, murmuring softly to the cat.
Ryo had faith in Hotaru's maturity—if it had hands, it could probably apply medicine itself. But then—
"MEEEOOOWW!!"
The anguished wail could make the neighbors call security.
"Disgraceful."
Hotaru bolted to the top of the sofa. Honami froze in embarrassment.
Ryo internally apologized to her and approached.
"Come on. You want to get better or not?"
"Meow?"
"Hurry or I'll abandon you."
"Meow!"
"You're… talking to it?" Honami blinked.
"Nah, I don't know what it's saying."
Ryo rolled his eyes.
"Come here, or no more love."
Hotaru hesitated, then slowly walked over.
In that instant, Ryo pounced—pinning it down while flashing Honami a devilish grin:
"Now!"
"R-Right."
Honami quickly approached.
"Doesn't this hurt?"
"If I don't hold it, who knows how far it'll run. This is for its own good."
"Hang in there. Just a bit more."
She expertly cleaned its ear. Ryo finally let go as Hotaru pouted.
"Let's watch TV. I recorded this morning's Super Sentai."
Honami usually had strong opinions, but around Ryo, she let him take the lead. He turned on the TV, fetched barley tea from the fridge, and sat beside her—pulling Hotaru into his lap.
He nudged Hotaru's head with his nose.
"Let me pet it."
Honami reached out—but patted Ryo's head instead.
"Oi."
Ryo flinched.
"I'm not a cat."
Honami giggled and nodded. She remembered the night Ryo came, soaked and dripping, with the tiny kitten in his arms. He'd shouted past her stunned mother:
"Honami! Let's raise this cat together!"
That night, Ryo was more like a soaked puppy.
"Aw."
She reached out and stroked his hair again. He grumbled, eyes glued to the screen:
"You'll stunt my growth. I'm older than you, I'm the big brother."
Hotaru, now recovered, leapt to the windowsill and soaked up the sunlight. Ryo chanted along with the Super Sentai attacks. Honami leaned on his shoulder, hugging his arm.
Her swinging feet betrayed her—it wasn't sleep. Just quiet happiness.
This was a summer where superhero shows never ended, kittens never grew up, and two young hearts could lean on each other without care. Joy was simple—and theirs to have.