It must have been a bitterly cold day, well below freezing. On my way home after drinking late into the night, I spotted a figure huddled and shivering under a dim streetlight at the mouth of a deserted alleyway. The sight was strangely captivating, so I stopped in my tracks and took a slow, leisurely look.

I couldn't tell how long he had been guarding that freezing ground, but his fingers were frozen red at every joint, and the scattered wounds between them were vivid. In a shantytown like this, it wasn't a particularly special sight, so my stopping in front of him wasn't out of some grand sense of pity or goodwill. It was pure amusement and whim.

Without even trying to hide the smell of alcohol, I approached slowly, took off my coat, and draped it over his small shoulders. When he looked up, startled by the heavy weight of the garment, I asked him nonchalantly if it wasn't a bit too cold for a kitten to be out all alone.

In that moment, those empty, dry eyes that held nothing suddenly rounded and filled up entirely with me. A thrill more dizzying than the skin-piercing cold shot up my spine. A reaction so weak it seemed he could be easily tamed, so innocent it seemed he would only get more fun the more I messed with him.

Ah, found you. My kitty.