Chapter 2
Daniel hadn't forgotten me. He kept the photos. A wave of bittersweet relief washed over me.
We were together for three years, from age twenty all the way to twenty-three.
My Polaroid had been my constant companion, and I used it to document every little piece of our life.
Below each picture, I scrawled the date and place in marker.
From 2018 to 2021, we celebrated birthdays, went on adventures, packed up boxes to move, and made countless meals together.
The wall was a mosaic of our history, a testament to everything we were.
And then, in 2021, the memories just stopped.
Because I died suddenly.
My last memory was a text. I was working late, and I messaged Daniel, asking him to make his amazing honey garlic butter shrimp for dinner.
After that, my memory went void.
For two years, I was a disembodied soul trapped in an endless darkness.
Then a voice echoed through the emptiness, "Do you want to live again?"
I screamed with every fiber of my being, "Yes! I don't care what I become. Just let me live."
I nodded as hard as I could, and just like that, I became a tiny kitten.
Hindsight's a bitch. If I had known, I would have specified human.
Now I couldn't even talk. Trying to communicate with Daniel was an exercise in frustration.
Annoyed, I stamped my paw, accidentally sending a stack of books crashing to the floor.
I looked down and realized I had been standing on a tower of his work.
At the bottom was a thick copy of "Criminal Code," with stacks of case files piled on top.
When I first started my job, Daniel was still in grad school, studying economic law.
His advisor adored him, promising to get him an interview at the most prestigious firm in the city.
But these files were all criminal cases.
Sometime in the last three years, Daniel had completely changed his path.
He didn't even become a lawyer. He became a judge.
As I tilted my head, utterly bewildered, the noise woke him. He sat up on the couch.
"Millie, no troublemaking."
I launched myself through the air, landing perfectly on his solid chest.
It felt like coming home.
He caught me effortlessly, tapping my nose with his finger.
"You got your energy back," he chuckled. "Guess it's bath time, then."
In my year-long life as a cat, I hadn't had a single bath.
The warm water hit my fur, and a foul, stray-cat smell filled the air.
But Daniel didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't care. His movements were gentle, careful not to get soap in my eyes.
He kept up a soft mumble.
"Wow, you're even smaller all wet. Your whole face is tinier than my palm.
"How did you get burrs tangled in here? How long have you been carrying these around, you messy little thing?"
It used to be me who was the chatterbox, filling the silence while he listened patiently, responding to every thought I had.
I never knew he could be so talkative himself.
I meowed back at him, responding to him.
He laughed. "You're a little chatterbox, aren't you?"
He always had the best laugh. He still did.
It had been three years. Maybe he was finally healing. Maybe he had moved on from the pain of losing me.
Seeing him happy like this, I could finally stop worrying.
After toweling me off, he patiently blow-dried my fur until I was a fluffy, clean puffball.
Hey! I was a clean cat with a home.
When he laid me on the soft bed, the whole thing felt like a dream.
Daniel took a quick shower, emerging in a cloud of fresh steam.
Here I was, curled up on the sheets I had picked out, with Daniel lying right beside me.
Being a cat was totally worth it.
He looked ready to pass out, but I started meowing, a relentless racket that kept his eyes from closing.
He whispered, "What is it? Not sleepy yet?"
I was too high on the sheer joy of seeing him again to even think about sleep.
But all that came out were more meows, and I was so frustrated that I wanted to tear my fur out.
He pursed his lips, stroking my tail. "Okay, I can't understand 'meow.' So one meow for yes, two for no. Deal?"
"Meow."
Perfect! My boyfriend was a genius. This was so much easier.
He asked, "Are you still hungry?"
"Meow. Meow."
I was stuffed. But he hadn't eaten a thing.
"Thirsty?"
I gave him two quick meows.
"Need the litter box?"
I let out a string of frantic meows. Daniel was an idiot! We had zero chemistry like this. It was impossible to communicate!
Finally, in a burst of inspiration, I zipped off the bed, dragged my empty food bowl in front of him, and leaped back onto his chest, pointing a paw at the plate while staring intently at his face.
He looked completely stunned. "Wait, are you telling me to eat?"
Daniel hadn't had a bite since he got home.
He had a bad stomach. When I was around, I could keep him on track. Looking under the table, I saw the collection of antacid bottles had grown.
"Meow!"
He lifted me high in the air with a bright smile. "You are one clever little cat."
Then he placed me gently back on the bed, tucked the covers around me, and went to the kitchen to make himself dinner.
Such a good boyfriend.
By the time he came back to bed, I was drifting off.
I vaguely registered the mattress dipping with his weight and felt his large hand stroking my back.
His voice, when he spoke, was deeper than usual, laced with a sadness that wasn't there before.
"Goodnight, Emily," he murmured.
It was distinct. He was calling for Emily, not Millie.