After a long stay, my belly doesn’t hurt so much anymore. My broken leg is slowly healing, and the bald patches are growing new, soft fur.
The woman pays the man in the white coat again and says she’s taking me home.
Lucky waves his tail at me through the glass door to say goodbye.
This is my first time in a human’s home.
The woman’s home is big and empty, but it smells nice—similar to her own scent, which feels a little familiar.
She holds me in her arms and scratches my chin. It feels so good, I start purring.
She says gently,
“This is your home now. Let me give you a name.”
I meow in response.
I want to tell her I already have a name.
Back when I was a stray, my siblings called me “Scar” because I have a scar from a human kid’s knife on my leg.
A big yellow cat who fought me for territory called me “Broomhead” because my fur was long and messy, like a broom.
But the woman doesn’t understand cat language. She thinks I’m agreeing with her.
She holds me by the window and sits quietly for a long time, until I almost fall asleep.
Then she says,
“I’ll call you Nian Nian. How do you like that?”
“Meow.”
Not great. Even though I’m a girl, I’m tough—I don’t want a soft name like that.
But she misunderstands again and thinks I agree.
She holds me up and kisses my nose.
I feel something wet—she’s crying again.
What a crybaby.
Life in my new home is comfortable.
The woman cooks delicious food for me every day and even sets up a special room with a cat tree, scratching posts, and a fancy cat bed.
I’m one lucky kitten.
The only downside is that the woman cries way too much.
My injuries are slowly healing. Every time she gives me medicine or changes my bandages, I’m not in much pain, but she cries as if she’s the one hurting.
One night, I hear muffled sobbing.
It sounds so sad and painful, it wakes me up.
I follow the sound and find it’s coming from her bedroom—but the door is closed and I can’t get in.
The crying makes my heart ache.
I’ve heard this kind of crying before. The kitten who lived next to me on the street, just a month younger than me, cried like this when his mother was killed by some mean humans.
I’m worried about the woman.
I try to push the door open with my head, but it’s too heavy.
I bump my head and it hurts.
The crying stops.
The door opens, and the woman stands there barefoot.
I limp over and rub against her legs.
“Meow, are you okay?”
Humans don’t have fur like us—she must be freezing!
She must be crying because her feet are cold, just like that little kitten.
She pauses, then picks me up and hugs me tight, lying back on the bed and crying even harder.
After a long time, she finally falls asleep.
I lick the tears off her face—they taste salty.
I curl up in her arms.
Meow, I’m so tired.
Chapter 02
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