Chapter 4

I was cooped up in the house all day twiddling my paws, feeling bored.

Thankfully, aside from one day a month where he would disappear completely, Daniel spent his weekends at home, watching movies on the couch.

It was always the classics we had watched together a dozen times.

He knew the dialogue by heart, often murmuring the lines just before the actors did. I wondered how many hundreds of times he had replayed our past.

I would just curl up beside him, utterly content.

It was just like old times, when we tangled up under a blanket on a lazy evening, binge-watching a show or playing video games.

"I never knew cats were such movie buffs," he said one day, noticing my rapt attention.

After that, he started leaving the projector on for me when he left for work, a small kindness to break up my empty days.

He was so good to this cat. Why had he never wanted one before?

I used to be obsessed with cats. I would stop dead on the street to coo at them and spend hours trying to convince Daniel we should get one.

He always gave me the slightly jealous refusal.

"Absolutely not. You love them too much. A pet would steal all the attention you're supposed to be giving me."

What a jerk. He totally loved cats.

Life fell into a happy rhythm for three months.

Then, on a perfectly ordinary weekend, he vanished for the day again.

He returned at sunset, looking utterly defeated, like a plant that hadn't seen water in weeks.

I trotted to the door to greet him, purring happily. He was silent for a long moment before stooping to scratch under my chin.

"You must have been lonely," he said softly. "I'm back."

But looking at him, I thought he seemed infinitely lonelier than a cat left alone for a day.

He carried me to the couch and just stared, unblinking, at the movie playing on the wall.

He was a million miles away.

I wanted to ask him what was wrong. Why did he have this one soul-crushing day every single month?

I could only paw at his belly, trying to pull him back to the present. He gently caught my paw, his gaze finally focusing on me.

"Are you bored? Should we play with the feather wand?"

I hated that stupid wand.

But watching me chase it, getting myself dizzy until I flopped over, always made him laugh.

And I desperately wanted to make him laugh.

"Meow!" I chirped.

He was just getting up to find it when his phone rang, shattering the quiet.

It was the police.

"A witness came forward. Someone saw something. They're at the station now."

Daniel's replies were robotic. "Okay. Yes. I'll be right there." When he hung up, his hand was shaking.

He just stood there in the middle of the living room, frozen.

From my low vantage point, his silhouette seemed immense, like an immovable mountain of grief.

After a long moment, he grabbed his coat. "I have to go out," he said. "Sorry, I can't play with you right now."

I darted into my cat carrier, making my intentions clear. I was going with him.

I needed to know how I died.

Besides, I needed to be there for him. I knew he was still holding onto the hope of finding me alive. When that hope was finally shattered, I wanted to be there to press my little pink paws against his back in comfort.

But he didn't seem to see me. He just walked to the door and shut it behind him.

His steps were unsteady. He was still wearing his house slippers.

My ears drooped, and I slowly climbed out of the carrier.

In all these months, I hadn't tried to tell him who I was.

I used to ask him all sorts of ridiculous questions.

"If I turned into a cockroach, would you still love me?"

He hated cockroaches, so he flicked my forehead and laughed.

"With a brain that comes up with stuff like that, you're pretty close already."

But later, long after I had forgotten the question, he turned to me with a dead-serious expression.

"You're not a cockroach, so I can't say for sure. But I know I'd protect you. I'd put you under a glass dome, like the Little Prince's rose, just to make sure I didn't accidentally step on you."

I guess my wild hypothetical came true after all.

Would he be happy to know I had come back to him, even as a cat?

Or would he be devastated by the final proof that Emily was gone forever?

Which would be stronger, the joy or the grief? I was too scared to even guess.

I just wanted to be his pet, a source of laughter and light, while his life still seemed bearable.

But the fragile peace we had built was over. The day had finally arrived.

My heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I thought it was time to tell him.