The city was drenched in pouring rain.

Rain hammered the camphor trees by the roadside, leaves rustling under the downpour. The air turned biting cold. A gust of wind swept past, and Lin Ran fastened another button on his coat. He looked down at the black cat at his feet.

The cat had finished the five McDonald’s chicken nuggets he’d bought. Its soft tongue, lined with tiny barbs, licked his palm—tickling.

He reached out with his other hand and ruffled the top of its head.

"Are you a stray?" he murmured.

Slowly, the cat lifted its face. Golden pupils shimmered faintly, studying him intently. Human-like emotions flickered in its eyes—confusion, bewilderment, and a trace of joy, as if recognizing an old friend.

"Poor thing."

He stood, unfolding a shared umbrella borrowed from McDonald’s. Rainwater streamed down the canopy. The street lay empty beneath the storm.

The cat darted under his umbrella, soft paw pads splashing in puddles.

"Cats shouldn’t cross roads. A dump truck might flatten you," he said flatly. This time, warmth had vanished from his eyes, replaced by a warning edge. The cat’s tail shot up, fur bristling.

"Want to come home with me?" he asked.

The cat let out a soft *mew*, its proud stance melting into a gentle tail sway.

Lin Ran crouched, letting it see his face. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. "Do strays envy house cats, I wonder?"

Cats couldn’t answer. Cats couldn’t speak.

"If you follow me, you’ll lose your freedom," his voice carried a hint of mockery. Yet the cat kept swaying its tail—pitiful, gentle, obedient.

Lin Ran muttered under his breath, "Strays are usually filthy. You’re too clean. Taking you in might bring trouble."

The cat stepped back. *Pride.*

*If you won’t share your umbrella, I’ll walk in the rain alone.*

"But if you turn into a catgirl... that might not be so bad."

Lin Ran grasped the scruff of its neck. He pulled a tissue from his pocket, wiping the rain from its pink paw pads. Then he settled the cat on his shoulder, hoisted the umbrella, and strolled slowly through the downpour toward home.

The cat gave a quiet *mew* but offered no protest.

………………………………

Lin Ran lived in the old district—a desolate stretch of half-finished buildings. With the rapid rise of Ability users in recent years, several Ability-related crimes had occurred here. Rent was dirt cheap. His apartment was on the fourth floor. He closed the umbrella in the hallway. The black cat stayed perfectly still on his shoulder—no attempt to flee, no sign of displeasure.

He took the stairs—the old building had no elevator. Unlocking his door, he stepped inside. The living room stood bare: no TV, just stark simplicity.

He carried the cat to his bedroom. The apartment had two rooms, but he’d lived alone here for over a decade.

He filled an electric kettle, tore open an instant noodle pack, and waited for bubbles to rise in the boiling water. Three minutes later, dinner was ready.

Lin Ran booted up his computer, pulled up an anime, and ate while watching. Rain still lashed the window outside. He cracked it open a sliver; stray droplets drifted inside.

Midnight had passed. The city slept. Night-shift workers headed home. The last buses had stopped running.

Lin Ran lit a cigarette by the open window. The cat *mewed* in disapproval.

But disapproval was all it could offer.

Smoke rarely filled the room—he never smoked near his bed. Once, he’d accidentally set his sheets on fire.

Solitude wasn’t loneliness. Loneliness only grew after tasting crowds, noise, and the illusion of brightness.

He dragged a chair to the window and sat, watching the storm. Lightning split the gloom. Thunder growled. No light pierced the cloud cover. The old district looked like a world swallowed by darkness.

His ribs ached faintly—a punch landed earlier today. He’d retaliated fast, knocking his opponent flat first.

Lin Ran was an orphan.

He’d had friends once—kids from Orphanage Haven. Troubled children, all of them. Then the orphanage burned down. No one adopted the others. They scattered.

A welfare agency sponsored his schooling until high school graduation. He failed the college entrance exam, as expected. After that, he rarely left home. He watched videos, played games. When money ran low, he fought in underground matches. He’d trained in Sanda years ago. Luck held these past six months—no tough opponents, no losses.

Youth meant strength. That was enough.

He stubbed out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. His gaze swept the room: cluttered desk, paper scraps on the floor, a few books tossed aside, peeling gray-white walls. No photos. No decorations.

*Kind of a mess.*

He scratched his head but didn’t bother cleaning. He flopped onto the bed and beckoned to the stray cat. It huddled in the corner, refusing to approach.

"Stop thinking about it. I’ll buy cat food and litter tomorrow. Keeping a cat’s expensive. If you’re picky, just leave."

The cat crept over anyway, curling up on his chest.

Lin Ran tugged the blanket over them both and closed his eyes.

…………………………

Midnight.

The cat bit his finger.

Lin Ran jolted awake, fingers clamping the cat’s neck. It froze—like a child caught misbehaving. He glared fiercely.

"Bite me again, and I’ll give you away."

*Sounded like a good idea.*

But the cat shook its head frantically, *mewing*—apologetic, pleading.

Lin Ran shoved it back under the covers.

"Sleep."

The cat stayed perfectly still. After a while, it slipped out, leapt onto the windowsill, and watched the storm all night. Its fluffy tail swayed softly.

………………………………

Dawn.

Lin Ran stretched. The weather had cleared. Sunlight streamed in, crisp and bright after the storm. The cat pounced onto his chest. He opened the window wide, letting fresh air flood the room.

He cracked open a fruit can, tilting his head back to drain it in one gulp.

Lin Ran wasn’t picky—he was almost anorexic. Anything that filled his stomach worked. That habit never changed.

"Come on. We’re buying cat food. You pick the flavor."

The cat nuzzled his cheek.

"Don’t get ideas. I won’t cook for you. I can’t cook. You can’t eat human food anyway. Only cat food. Ugh... and I’ll have to scoop your litter. Such a hassle."

Muttering, he grabbed clothes from the bed—white T-shirt, jeans. After a quick wash, the black cat perched silently on his shoulder.

It was kind of cute like this. Plump face. Round cheeks. Sunlight caught its fur, glinting with faint blue highlights.

The old district was nearly empty. One pet store existed. The owner, a gentle-faced woman, offered the cat several samples. It chose one. *Two hundred bucks for three pounds.* Lin Ran’s heart clenched.

He bought three pounds, litter, a litter box. No toys—he doubted a stray needed amusement. Survival was enough.

By noon, he was back. He ate a bowl of noodles downstairs while the cat watched. Upstairs, he collapsed onto the bed again—as if the outing had drained him completely.

The cat crunched its kibble happily.

The scene struck him as oddly amusing.

Lin Ran opened a closet, digging out a yellowed photograph from the bottom.

Twelve years old. A group shot at Orphanage Haven.

Two boys. Three girls. He was the boy on the far left—skinny, eyes shadowed. Not unusual. All five children’s gazes were dim. Haunted, almost.

The photo’s sepia tones showed the orphanage gate at sunset. A woman stood behind the children, her smile warm and elegant. But her face was blurred, indistinct.

The cat stopped eating. It stared at the photo, then raced over, *mewing* frantically at the image.

Lin Ran glanced down.

"Want to know this story?"

Tears welled in the cat’s eyes.

"I grew up at Orphanage Haven. We five were close back then. After the fire, we scattered. We kept in touch for a while... then drifted apart. No contact now."

"All these years, I’ve been alone. No one came for me. I didn’t want to see them again."

"This photo survived... maybe because I still hoped for something."

"But the past is past."

Lin Ran flicked his lighter. Flame licked the photo’s edge. The acrid stench of melting plastic filled the room, drifting out the window. He lit a cigarette. The cat lunged, trying to smother the flames with its paws—pink pads already blistered.

Lin Ran caught it by the scruff and tossed it aside. By the time it scrambled back, the photo was ash.

"What were you thinking?"

"You’re just a cat. Cats shouldn’t play with fire. People shouldn’t either. I once told someone that. *Stop playing with fire. Let me walk this life with you.* She wouldn’t listen."

"What a shame."

"Then she became a cat."

"Tell me... is that funny?"

Lin Ran gently stroked the cat’s head. He didn’t wipe away its tears.