Henry scrutinized his desk with more attention than usual. Normally, it was a hub of what people often call creative chaos. However, today was different as he planned to leave work early; it was his birthday, a minor yet significant milestone.
Besides, Henry had requested an additional week’s leave for a family trip to the lakes, prompting him to tidy up his workspace. “Good enough,” he thought. His eyes landed on a photo in the corner of the desk, and a quiet wave of melancholy washed over him—not quite sadness, but a longing for something precious yet irretrievably lost. Enlarged copies of this same photo adorned his parents’ home and his own apartment. That day lingered in his memory, though it had been several years. Not just because it was his birthday.
Henry and his brother were on a bench outside their building. His older brother animatedly retold the plot of the latest action movie they’d seen at the cinema, impersonating the main characters. They were so engrossed they didn’t notice their dad’s car pulling up until his cheerful voice brought them back to reality. “Hi there, son. Happy Birthday!” said Dad, smiling as he produced something from under his jacket—a small, fluffy kitten, gray with white paws, gazing around curiously.
Their mom emerged from the building, carrying a blue sports bag, usually accompanying dad on business trips. “I need to go away for a bit,” she said. “But the main present will wait for me.” She handed the kitten to Henry. “Give him some milk at home. I’ll be back by the weekend, then we’ll go shopping together so you can choose your gift, okay? And we’ll visit the zoo afterward.” Their dad hugged them both, ruffling Henry’s hair. “How long will you be gone, Vic?” mom asked. “Not too long, should be back tomorrow evening,” he replied, taking the bag from her hands. “Hey, how about a quick photo for memory’s sake?” mom suggested.
They’d recently bought a camera, a popular model back then, and mom was eager to capture as many moments as possible. “I’m in a rush,” dad said, slightly embarrassed. His colleague, Uncle Tony, honked the car horn playfully, tapping his wristwatch. Dad waved at him, gesturing to wait a moment. He set the bag down, picked up the kitten again, while Henry and his brother posed beside him with smiles, unaware the kitten was to be Henry’s only gift. A last one, as dad didn’t return from that trip. Later, they learned he and Uncle Tony were transporting a significant sum of cash. It was the ’90s, and such transactions were common; someone tipped off robbers.
According to the investigator, robbers hadn’t intended to kill. They waited for a quiet moment on the road to stage an accident and steal the money. But they miscalculated, resulting in a severe impact that sent their car off the road, where it overturned and caught fire. Neither the informant nor attackers were ever found, and the case was quietly shelved years later. Remembering those days, mom often said, “I don’t care to know who those people were. God will judge them. But I’ll never forgive those who watched and did nothing, saving only themselves.”
Henry’s dad and Uncle Tony were buried on the same day, in closed caskets. Henry, standing beside his weeping grandmother—his dad’s mom—couldn’t quite grasp the reality that his father lay in the velvet-laden box. For weeks after, whenever the door rang, he dashed to it with hope, expecting to see his dad, jovial and alive, smelling of cigarettes and fuel. Despite having keys, his dad always knocked when returning from trips, and Henry would rush to meet him. He’d pull out a surprise gift from his bag, joking that it was from a forest bunny. His brother would tease, “How can bunnies give gifts? There are no shops in the woods!” Yet young Henry was proud, convinced forest creatures knew and remembered him.
But as dad never returned, the boy crafted a fantasy—his dad hadn’t died, but a wicked wizard turned him into a gray cat. Over time, this story grew elaborate, to the point he almost believed it. Now, even Henry questions whether it was sheer imagination or his mind’s way of coping. Those fantasies likely helped him navigate the profound sense of loss. Much later, when he and his brother reminisced, they felt certain their dad’s spirit lingered in the family’s beloved cat, Butch. While alive, Butch had a comforting presence, BEing an invisible connection to their father they didn’t share with others then. Named after a Disney cartoon character aired on Sundays, Butch became an adored guardian in their household, greeting them from school or work and offering warmth when anyone fell ill.
Butch lived a long, loyal life with the family. Yet time is relentless, and on a summer evening, he quietly passed away. By then, Henry’s brother was married and living elsewhere. Hearing of Butch’s passing, he immediately returned. They bid farewell to their longtime furry friend as a family, which felt right—after all, Butch symbolically connected them to their father. Henry’s vivid memory of that last day forever shaped his image of his dad—happy, in a hurry, with a kitten in his arms. His mother seemed to feel similarly, commissioning an artist to depict a lonely road with a car racing toward the sunset on his father’s memorial, beside a full-length photo of him.
They buried Butch in a young pine forest at the city’s edge. Though years have passed, leaving barely a hint of the grave, Henry always visited the spot to pay respects while driving by—a small tribute to a family member who defined an entire era of his life, his childhood and youth. Reflecting on a photograph with a wistful smile, Henry gathered his laptop, wiped his moistened eyes, and left his office.
At home, everyone was already gathered—his mom, brother and his family, and close friends. As everyone congregated in the living room, his brother and nephews brought in a box, presenting it to him amid applause. “Guess what’s inside!” the nephews urged with mischievous grins.
Knowing Henry’s love for video games, he guessed, “A cool joystick, a racing wheel?” His nephews shook their heads, laughing, and revealed the contents. Henry, overcome with emotion, sank into a chair as childhood memories surged, tears freely flowing. Inside the box sat a kitten, the spitting image of the one his father once gifted—gray, fluffy, with white paws. Memories of dad and Butch flooded back.
Henry, as a boy, spent endless hours confiding in Butch, trusting him with childhood secrets and emotions. He felt a connection, as if he conversed with his father, believing he was truly heard. Even as an adult, in his heart, Henry held onto this belief. The cat gazed back with an understanding, almost human-like stare, purring gently in comfort.
Now, his teen daughter would return from school and head to the kitchen, where her voice would soon echo, “Why are Butchie’s bowls empty?! Come here, little one, let me feed you.” The cat, recently having enjoyed a meal and milk, would scamper into the kitchen at her call, casting a sly look at Henry before being pampered by his little mistress.
