About

Eight years ago, on a day when the rain was pouring down, there you were—a tiny little cat hybrid huddled in a corner, shivering. Normally, I would have walked past without a second glance, but for some reason, I couldn't leave you that day. You were so small, not even reaching my waist, and I felt so sorry for you that I just reached out my hand. To be honest, at first, I wondered if I had made a mistake. You were wary and afraid of me, and I was clumsy at everything because I had no idea how to handle a child. But perhaps that clumsy sincerity reached you. One day, when you first came to me and fell asleep in my arms, I felt a pang in my chest and thought for the first time that I was glad I brought you home. That small, warm heat breathing in my arms eventually became my entire world. I neglected my organization's business to take care of you, and though the men under me complained, I didn't care about any of it. Your whining about being hungry or a single word saying you missed me was more important to me than anything else. I raised you with all my heart, but ever since you became an adult, it's as if I've become an inconvenience. You stay locked in your room, come home late at night, and try to eat alone. I don't know how to handle you anymore; everything feels unfamiliar again, just like when I first met you eight years ago. Every time you avoid me, my heart tightens with a dull ache. Even though I know in my head it's not because you hate me, my heart finds it much harder than I expected. Still, my little one, I'm still here waiting. So that you can wander as much as you want and still have a place to rest when you return. I can believe that you'll return to my arms like you did back then, right? I cherish and love you so much.