Ghost Cat
I was a cat when I was alive.
Now, I'm a ghost cat.
Don't think it's strange. When cats and dogs die, their souls separate from their bodies, just like humans. I'd seen it happen many times.
But other animals' souls only lingered briefly before moving on to the next world.
Only I stayed behind.
I don't know why. When I was alive, my life wasn't so different from other cats. I met a wonderful owner, and received devoted care...
Actually, to be honest, in the beginning, her care wasn't all that great.
When we first met, she was just a kindergarten-aged little girl who couldn't even take care of herself. Her care for me was entirely instinctive. But I was only a tiny kitten then, accidentally separated from my mother, caught in the rain, soaked to the bone, cold and starving, in a terrible spot.
If my owner hadn't found me hiding in the bushes and taken me home, I might have died that very day.
Her parents didn't really want to keep me. They were gruff about it, telling her to throw me outside. But she secretly made me a bed in a big cardboard box under the backyard eaves, padded with her own small blanket, and every morning she'd pour half her milk into my bowl.
It wasn't much, but it was far better than being a stray cat outside. I was grateful to her, so I behaved well—never running around making noise, and I even learned to use the litter box. Over time, her parents got used to having me around, and after they saw me catch the mouse that had been gnawing on their sofa, they grudgingly accepted me.
She was so happy, hugging and kissing me for ages.
"You have to stay with me forever," she told me.
And I said, "Meow."
I suppose that counted as agreeing to our pact.
---
Looking back, those were truly happy days. She was a sweet little girl who loved holding me on the little chair in the backyard, basking in the sun, gently rubbing my belly with her soft little hands. It felt so good.
Since I grew faster than she did, within a few months she couldn't carry me anymore. Instead, she'd sit beside me with one arm around me, reading picture-book fairy tales aloud. I didn't always understand, but I loved it when she'd stop and ruffle the fur on my head.
In winter, we'd sit together on the living room sofa, wrapped in our little blanket, snuggled close—warm and cozy.
Perhaps it was from those days that I began to feel she wasn't so much my owner as my friend, my family.
I loved her, and she loved me.
---
But not every story is as beautiful as those in her picture books, and within a few years, the atmosphere at home changed. The harmony was gone, replaced by terrifying arguments between the adults.
Whenever the vicious curses and the sounds of smashing objects drifted over, my owner would huddle on her little stool in the corner of the room, shrinking into herself in fear.
She didn't understand why her parents were fighting so fiercely, but an inexplicable guilt always gripped her, making her feel she should do something to make them stop. Yet she was also paralyzed by the fear that if she spoke up, she might discover she was the reason they were fighting.
Even though she didn't know what she could possibly have done wrong.
She was too young to navigate the twisted landscape of adult conflicts. She could only sense danger by instinct, curling her small body up as tightly as possible, trembling in fear, neither crying nor making a sound.
As if the very existence of this family was a mistake.
And she was part of that mistake.
Whenever this happened, I would jump into her lap and gently nuzzle her arm, staying close, giving her a little more courage and strength.
I didn't want her to feel alone.
---
Whether this was lucky or unlucky, I couldn't say, but her parents separated entirely. One family split in two. My owner, now in elementary school, took me and her stuffed bear and moved with her mother far, far away to another city.
Their new home was a small apartment high up in a building, much more cramped than before. Fortunately, there was a small balcony where she'd still hold me on weekends after finishing her homework, sitting and squinting in the sun.
Sometimes she'd fall asleep like that, her little head pillowed on my belly.
It was a bit heavy, but I didn't mind at all.
Really.
Because I knew her mother's temper had gotten worse. Even though my owner was clearly very well-behaved and hardworking, she was still frequently scolded. The little girl carried so much hurt inside, and sometimes it turned into nightmares in the middle of the night that woke her up violently.
Only when she was holding me in the sun could she relax a little and fall asleep peacefully, unafraid of nightmares.
At those times, I'd stay perfectly still, terrified of waking her.
Dreams bathed in sunlight don't have shadows.
---
I always regretted why I'd rushed recklessly onto the road that day, why I couldn't have had a little more patience.
My owner had been sent to a boarding school, only coming home once a month. I was locked inside, without enough cat food or water, and the litter box went unattended.
But what made me miserable wasn't any of that.
It was missing her. I missed her every single day.
So when I saw her stepping out of the school bus from the balcony, I was so overjoyed that I forgot myself, bounding from window ledge to air conditioning unit to pipe, scrambling straight down from the upper floors onto the road.
I was so eager to see her that I didn't notice the car speeding past. The next thing I heard was a "bang," and then I felt my whole body go light, my soul separating from my physical form.
The pain was long forgotten, but I'd never forget the expression on my owner's face as she held my lifeless body, crying silently.
It was as if the one beautiful thing left in her life had been taken away.
Even after her mother dragged her back inside, she kept holding me, gently rocking, stroking my head like she used to, trying to wake me, to make me open my eyes and look at her.
But she didn't know—even as a ghost, my soul stayed right beside her, watching her always.
---
That's how I became a ghost cat.
My owner buried my body under the old locust tree next to the apartment building, then was ushered onto the school bus by her mother's relentless urging.
No—don't go. Even as a ghost, I ran after her with all my might. Don't leave me.
Unexpectedly, my movement was no longer constrained by physical obstacles. I slipped through roadside fences effortlessly, following her onto the bus.
I was suddenly grateful for becoming a ghost.
But she still couldn't see me. She just sat alone in the last row of the bus, other kids playing noisily in front, while she suppressed her crying to quiet little sobs.
My heart ached for her.
So I jumped onto the seat beside her, just as I used to do when I was alive, and gently nuzzled her arm with my head.
She froze and looked over, but saw only an empty seat.
Her tears fell harder.
---
To be frank, she didn't have a good time at boarding school.
Teachers didn't pay special attention to a quiet, ordinary student. The snooty popular girls had no intention of accepting such an unnoticeable hanger-on, except when they occasionally ordered her to fetch packages or takeout.
Even in the dorm, almost no one talked to her. Whether eating, studying, or going to the library, she was always alone.
Sometimes I wondered if, to everyone else, she was as invisible as I was.
No—some people did notice her.
A group of awful boys put live frogs or caterpillars in her desk drawer, then laughed maliciously when she opened it in panic.
I hated those kids. Even though they were young, their souls reeked of rot.
But I was just a ghost cat. I couldn't do anything.
All I could do was pace anxiously around her when she crouched alone in the woods behind the school, crying stifled sobs, trying to jump into her arms to comfort and encourage her like before.
Don't be afraid.
You're never alone.
Then a miracle happened—when sunlight pierced through the clouds and fell on both me and her at the same time.
She saw me.
Me, curled in her lap.
"You came back," she said, her face full of shock, barely believing it.
I flicked my tail proudly, looked up at her, and meowed.
The next second, she crushed me against her, and for the first time since I'd become a ghost, she cried freely.
And mixed into the crying was unmistakable laughter.
---
Even as a ghost cat without a physical body, my existence mattered to her. Even when no one else cared or noticed, she wouldn't cry quietly anymore.
Because she had me.
So many things didn't scare her anymore.
I watched her firmly refuse a girl's demand to do her lab report, and I saw her grab the fake snake out of her desk drawer and shove it right down the shirt of the boy who'd put it there.
Reducing that coward to tears.
After that, no one made her do their bidding or bullied her anymore.
Those useless kids only dared to whisper behind her back, calling her a weirdo who talked to thin air and pretended to have a cat.
She never bothered responding.
Actually, they weren't entirely wrong. She was leaning against the biggest tree in the school's small woods, holding me, watching clouds drift across the blue sky, smiling. "I really do have the best cat."
---
My owner was accepted into a good university.
It was far away—so far she could only come home once or twice a year.
Which was exactly what she wanted.
Carrying her simple luggage and me, she sat on the train, watching all the places of pain and unhappiness recede until they vanished beyond the horizon, smiling freely.
A new life had begun.
A bit chaotic and uncertain, but also full of purpose and novelty. I saw my owner's smiles grow more frequent along with her new friends, and I was genuinely happy for her.
Even if it meant she was too busy to play with me much anymore.
Really, really—any sourness I felt was just my imagination.
I was just a little afraid.
Afraid that one day, she wouldn't be able to see me anymore.
---
My fear came true sooner than expected.
My owner had been busy preparing a large campus event for a while, and I'd been considerately staying out of her way. When the event finally ended and she returned to her dorm to rest, she remembered she hadn't played with me in ages.
The dorm was empty. She started calling for me.
I happily jumped onto her lap, wagging my tail for pets, but she didn't seem to see me. She stood up and searched the room, looking everywhere.
I followed right at her heels, meowing repeatedly, trying to get her attention, but I failed.
A flash of panic shot through me—I remembered the moment I'd died.
She couldn't see me again.
Leaning against the dorm room door, silhouetted in shadow, my owner's face showed such helplessness and loss that my heart twisted painfully, over and over.
The one thing I could find comfort in was that this time, she had friends, freedom, her studies, her dreams—many beautiful things besides me.
So even without seeing me, she'd be okay.
---
She did go through a low period afterward.
But as I'd guessed, there were many other sources of meaning in her life to slowly fill the gap I'd left, helping her bounce back.
Especially when a young man came along.
He was good to her, attentive, and when he smiled, he showed cute little fangs. She liked him too—sometimes she'd push his head onto her lap and ruffle his hair.
I felt a tiny bit jealous.