James scrutinized his desk with a meticulous eye. It usually bore the kind of creative disarray often described by artists. But today, he planned to leave work early because it was his birthday—a small milestone.
James had also asked for an extra week off, planning to spend time with his family by the lakes. So, he decided to tidy up his workspace. “There we go, that’s better,” he thought. His gaze fell on a photograph in the corner of the desk, and a silent wave of melancholy swept over him—a longing for something cherished yet lost to the past. Larger versions of that same photo hung in his childhood home and the living room of James’s current apartment. He remembered that day vividly, despite the years that had passed, and it wasn’t just because it was his birthday.
James and his brother were sitting by the entrance, with his older brother animatedly recounting the plot of the latest action film he’d seen. They were so engrossed they didn’t notice their father pulling up in his car until his cheerful voice pulled them back to reality. “Hey, birthday boy!” his father greeted, smiling while extracting something from his coat. “Here’s a little present for now,” he said, revealing a fluffy gray kitten with white paws and an expression of wonder.
Their mother emerged from the house with a blue sports bag, the one their dad usually took on business trips. “James, I need to go away for a bit, but your main gift will come from me when I’m back. Here, take your kitten,” his father said, handing over the pet. “Make sure to give it some milk at home. I’ll return by the weekend, and we’ll hit the shops for your gift, alright? Then we can visit the zoo.” He embraced James and his brother, playfully ruffling their hair. “Will you be gone long?” their mother asked. “No, I’ll be back tomorrow evening,” he replied, taking the bag from her hands. “Let’s take a photo to remember this,” she suggested.
They had recently purchased a camera, and she was keen on capturing every special moment. “I’m in a hurry, though,” their father reluctantly smiled. His colleague, Uncle Charlie, was behind the wheel, honking, tapping his watch with a grin. James’s dad gestured for just a moment more, placed the bag down, picked up the kitten, and posed with his sons.
Smiling into the camera, they were unaware that the kitten would be James’s only and last gift from his father. Tragically, his father never returned from that trip. Later, they learned that he and Uncle Charlie were carrying a large sum of money, which was not unusual for those times. When criminals caught wind of this, a setup led to an ambush. Although the intention wasn’t to harm, an orchestrated collision on a deserted road went horribly wrong, sending their father’s car off-road and into flames. Neither the informant nor the attackers were ever found, and the case was quietly shelved after a few years. James’s mother often said, “I don’t know who those people were, and I don’t care. They have to answer to a higher power. But I’ll never forgive them for fleeing like cowards without helping.”
They were buried on the same day, James’s father and Uncle Charlie, in closed caskets. James stood near his weeping grandmother, unable to grasp that his father lay in the velvet-lined wooden box. Hope led him to race to the door each time the bell rang, wishing for this nightmare to end, hoping his father—jovial and smelling of cigarettes and petrol—would return. Although his dad had keys, he always knocked upon returning from trips, with James eagerly waiting to greet him. His brother would tease, “How could rabbits bring gifts when there are no shops in the woods?” James paid no heed, convinced that woodland creatures knew of him.
His father didn’t come back, and to cope, James concocted a fairytale where an evil wizard transformed his father into a gray cat. This fantasy, rich with details, comforted him through his loss. Looking back, James wasn’t sure if it was a child’s belief in miracles or a protective illusion. Regardless, it softened the sting of grief. When he and his brother reminisced later, they both felt that their father’s spirit somehow lived within the cat, always sensing his presence with them. While they never spoke of it, even to each other, they named the kitten Butch after a Disney character.
James, his brother, and their mother adored the cat. It became more than a pet—a family talisman. It greeted them after school, university, and work. Sensitive to their wellbeing, Butch would comfort anyone unwell by purring and lying where it hurt until they recovered. The cat spent many years with the family. But time marched on, and one summer evening, Butch quietly passed. By then, James’s brother was married and living separately, but he rushed over upon hearing the news. They saw him off as a family—as he was a living memory of their lost father.
Their father was forever etched in their minds as he had been that last day—jovial, rushing, cradling a kitten. James believed his mother shared this feeling, for she had a monument engraved with not just their father’s portrait but also a long road and a car racing toward the setting sun. They buried Butch just outside the city in a young pine forest. Though years had passed, and only a small mound marked the spot, James remembered it well, often stopping by to pay homage to their long-time friend—a true family member, whose passing marked the end of an era in James’s life, his childhood and youth.
After another glance at the photograph, memories washing over him, James wiped his moist eyes, grabbed his laptop, and left his office.
Everyone was gathered at James’s home: his mother, his brother with his family, and a few close friends. Once assembled in the living room, his brother and nephews ceremoniously brought out a box. As everyone clapped, his nephews mischievously asked him to guess what it contained.
Family and friends knew of James’s love for gaming, leading him to guess excitedly, “A new game controller? A racing wheel? Did I get it right?” His nephews shook their heads with laughter, opening the box. When James looked inside, he collapsed onto a conveniently placed chair. His childhood flashed before him, and tears flowed without shame. Inside was a kitten, identical to the one his father had given him long ago. Gray and fluffy, with white paws, it unleashed a torrent of memories. His father, Butch… As a child, he’d spent hours talking to his cat, confiding his secrets, joys, and sorrows, feeling as though he conversed with his living father.
Even as an adult, a part of James remained secretly convinced that his father had heard him. The cat’s wise, almost human gaze, and its comforting purr were enough proof for him.
Today, James’s teenage daughter comes home from school and heads first to the kitchen, from where her disapproving voice soon echoes, “Butch’s bowls are empty?! Come here, little one, let me feed you.” The cat, having just devoured his meal and milk, glances cleverly at James before scampering off to his young owner’s call.
