Anwen cradled the cat in her arms, doing her utmost to be as gentle as possible so it wouldn't hurt. Its entire body was still trembling violently; its eyes were moist and glossy, heartbreakingly pitiful.
Anwen sighed and murmured softly,"If you can't make it through tonight, then going to heaven with me might be the better thing."
There, there would be no pain, no human cruelty. The cat would live in Aunt Lan's love, have friends, and be endlessly joyful, a free and happy little angel.
Anwen glanced out the window. The sky was vast and open, how could the human heart be so narrow and selfish? She wished the people at the rescue station would quickly find the one who had tried to burn the cat alive, its owner. The very owner who, even now, they were probably hoping would be outraged by the news and rush to take the cat home.
But how could someone like that deserve to raise a living being?
At that moment, the door opened. Startled, Anwen quickly laid the cat back on the bed and hid herself.
The young man entered the room and immediately went to the cat, lifting it into his arms and letting it lie on its back against his chest.
"You must be in so much pain and so scared right now. But hang in there, okay? We'll try together."
With that, he carried the cat outside. The other dogs and cats in the house lifted their heads to look at him, clearly curious and bewildered by this new companion.
Anwen followed him step by step. She saw him go into the kitchen and take a carton of milk from the cupboard. It seemed he wanted to feed the cat. Holding the cat with one arm, he poured milk into a cup with the other. Then he turned, as if to reach for a spoon from a box beside him only to accidentally bump the milk carton behind him, tipping it.
In Anwen's mind flashed the image of milk spilling all over the table. Panicked, she rushed forward at once to steady the carton.
Because it was falling faster than she could reach, Anwen had to stretch out fully to catch it. She ended up sprawled over the table, her toes barely touching the floor.
Her whole body trembled, but thankfully she caught the carton before it spilled.
At that moment, the young man must have sensed that he had bumped into something, because he turned around. Seeing this, Anwen hurriedly set the carton upright. The instant she let go, her body weight collapsed downward thump, her head knocked hard against the edge of the table.
"Good thing it didn't spill."
He put the milk back into the cupboard and then turned away again to look for the spoon.
Meanwhile, Anwen had fallen flat on the floor, face down. Her whole body ached terribly; her face twisted like a monkey chewing chili. After a while, she pushed herself up, clutching her head.
"Ow! That hurts!"
It had been a very long time since she had felt pain like this. Now that she did, it felt unfamiliar and strangely… pleasant, even a little amusing.
By then, the young man had found the spoon. With one arm holding the cat and the other carrying the cup of milk, he went to sit in the living room.
The dogs and cats followed him with their eyes, then quietly gathered around him, sitting nearby and staring intently at Ember like children who had just become older siblings, meeting their tiny new brother or sister for the first time.
"Let's drink a little milk, okay? It'll help you get better faster."
He scooped up a spoonful and brought it to the cat's mouth, but the cat turned its head away, clenching its teeth and refusing to drink. Anwen understood. Not only Ember, any animal, even humans, often lose their appetite after psychological trauma. The cat was already so badly injured; if it also refused to eat, could it really survive? Anwen watched sadly. If the cat died, the young man would be heartbroken and for some reason, she herself felt an unbearable sense of loss.
She sat silently, watching the young man coax Ember to drink milk spoon by spoon. No one knew she was there. She was invisible, silent and her emotions made her feel even more so. Calm on the surface, inside she was gambling with herself: would he manage to feed the cat? Would it survive the night? She felt torn in two, emotions warring within her. Never before had she felt like this, just like the young man struggling at the boundary between life and death to save the cat. It was so strange. Feelings she had never known before seemed to bloom within her.
Then, Ember suddenly opened its mouth and lapped a little milk from the spoon.
Anwen's eyes widened. She sprang up from the chair, tense and overjoyed, as if she herself had just come through a great trial. Her eyes reddened, her nose stung, and she cried out,"It's eating, finally, it's eating!"
"Finally, you're eating,"the young man said at the same time.
Their words overlapped, but hers was a cry of joy, brimming with emotion, while his sounded like a sigh of relief gentle, tender, filled with love.
That afternoon, the animal rescue station finally called.
"Hello."As soon as the young man picked up, an indignant voice burst from the other end.
"You're the one taking care of the gray-furred cat, right? We've obtained footage from nearby cameras, and the results are absolutely infuriating!"
His face tightened."So you've identified who did this to the cat?"
"Of course we have. And the result will shock you, we're still reeling ourselves."
From the anger in the caller's voice, Anwen already knew they had discovered the truth: the one who tried to burn the cat alive was its owner. Hoài Tiên stood beside the young man, straining to listen.
"Who was it?" she asked.
"It was the cat's owner. A despicable, inhuman bastard!"
"What?!" The young man exclaimed in disbelief something anyone would struggle to accept. Even Anwen felt the same.
"Hard to believe, isn't it? We know there are many people who are cruel to animals, but I've never seen an owner burn their own cat alive for such a worthless reason. After arguing with his girlfriend, he burned the cat they raised together. He claimed he was too angry to control himself. That's not a psychological issue, that's a neurological one. Only someone mentally unhinged would lose control like that and then refuse responsibility for such a crime. This kind of..."
The woman on the phone ranted furiously, sparing no insults, until her voice suddenly dropped. It sounded as if someone had snatched the phone away; Anwen heard her protest faintly,"I was still talking!"
"You're taking too much of their time."
Then a calmer, steadier voice came through:"The cat's name is Dilo."
"Dilo, that's a nice name," the young man said gently. He looked down at the cat, and Dilo, as if recognizing its name, lifted its head to look back at him.
The voice replied,"Yes. Its owner named it brought it into this world, gave it life and yet was the very one who tried to take that life away."
The young man's face dimmed. He asked quietly,"Will Dilo be returned to its owner?"
"No. Of course not. We're calling not only to inform you, but to tell you that you may adopt Dilo from now on. There's no court for animals yet but society itself will be the moral court for abusers. What father who once tried to kill his child would ever be given custody again? None. He deserves to lose that right forever. We've shared Dilo's story online and won't take it down. Those who harm a life deserve punishment."
Hearing this, Anwen felt a deep sense of satisfaction and joy.From now on, Dilo had a new owner, someone who truly loved it.
The young man looked down at Dilo too, his face bright with happiness. From now on, his home would have one more member livelier and warmer than ever.
…
That night was likely the longest night of Anwen's existence.
The joy from the afternoon had turned into worry. She didn't know if Dilo would survive.
The young man kept holding Dilo, never putting it down. With only one free hand and having to switch arms to keep Dilo comfortable, everything he did was awkward. Unable to cook properly, he clumsily made instant noodles for himself. Anwen noticed he'd skipped lunch as well.
After eating, he went out to feed the other dogs and cats, cleaned their litter, and once they were all asleep, tidied up the toys they had scattered everywhere.
Under the care of a single young man, the house became neat and orderly.
Watching him struggle one-handed bending, standing, moving back and forth, Anwen truly wanted to help. But she couldn't. All she could do was sit with her chin in her hand. She'd heard people say that men were lazy and domineering by nature, so how was it that among those rough, ugly stones, there existed someone as gentle, attentive, and warm as him?
When he finished tidying, he closed the door. Instead of going out to wander or flirt like other young men, he went to his room and sat at his desk, where paints, brushes, and beautiful paintings lay.
He removed the landscape painting from the easel and placed a blank sheet of paper on it. Working with only one hand, the paper kept slipping until he finally secured it.
Then he sat down and began to paint.
It seemed to be a commission. Beside him, a photo was open on his phone, a picture of a mother and child.
Anwen sat cross-legged nearby, suddenly struck by an idea: maybe one day she could reveal herself and pretend to be a client asking him for a painting.
Time flowed gently. She stayed there, beside the young man engrossed in his work.
His arm must have been terribly tired. Anwen didn't know how he could hold the same posture for so long painting while holding the cat. Yet his strokes remained beautiful, complete.
The room was so quiet that Anwen could hear each tick of the clock distinctly. Around midnight, he finally set down the brush and prepared to sleep.
Watching him, Anwen wondered was he going to hold Dilo all night?
And indeed, just as she expected.
He sat on the bed and shifted Dilo to his other arm. His left arm was visibly numb by then, the pins-and-needles sensation must have been unbearable. Perhaps he couldn't even feel it anymore.
Dilo kept crying, crying from the heat and burning pain. Once again, Anwen asked herself: would it survive the night?
If it didn't, she wouldn't be able to stay here any longer.
She sat by the bedside, watching the young man close his eyes, then startle awake, hazily checking whether Dilo was still in his arms. Dilo's cries gradually grew hoarse. To that rhythm, Anwen drifted into sleep without realizing it.
…
The next morning, Anwen was awakened by a rooster's crow.
She jolted awake, and the first thing she did was look at the bed to see if Dilo was still there.
But the bed was empty and the crying had stopped.
Her face drained of color in panic. Then she realized something: the soul-calling bell in her hand was silent, unlit. No new animal soul had appeared. Her heart tight, she rushed outside.
The moment she left the room, she saw the young man feeding Dilo milk.
Anwen let out a long breath of relief.
She had lost the wager. Dilo had lived made it through the night.
Perhaps miracles were simply another name for resilience and love.
A cat burned so badly, yet still able to survive, having crossed the threshold of death, there would be nothing it couldn't overcome from now on.
Suddenly, Anwen felt happy. Happy that he wasn't heartbroken. Sometimes, when heaven loses a soul, the world gains joy.
She moved closer to Dilo. Perhaps she would stay here until it recovered fully. After all, only one night had passed, nothing was certain yet. Dilo still looked weak. Who knew one day it might still follow her after all.