Yesterday… it finally happened. The door opened… and like a prisoner who had memorised the rhythm of freedom, he ran. Not a hesitation. Not a glance back. Straight out. He bolted… straight towards the staircase. Freedom. His humans panicked. They ran after him, calling, chasing and just in time… they caught him.
Of course, I heard everything. My main door was open…and doing my work at the living room, but I didn’t step out. Dont want to make it so obvious.
Yes… this is exactly what I expected. Because you see… I understand the mind of a cat. You can keep them indoors. You can buy them the best toys. You can give them gourmet food, soft beds, and endless affection…
But the moment they see the world outside, the birds, the wind, the unknown, something ancient awakens in them. And they will find a way. Always, because you cannot silence that pull.
The world outside is calling.
I peeked from the side of the door. Quietly. Carefully. (One must maintain standards, after all.) And then I saw them… bringing him back up the stairs.
And then, he looked at me. Those eyes. Not wild. Not scared. But something else… Something that felt almost like, pleading.
As if to say, “You understand, don’t you?”
So now… I wait. I wait for the day. The day when he goes missing…
And I “accidentally” find him. And in that moment, I already know what I will do. I will carry him home.
Quietly. Secretly. And when my husband and daughter look at me, pleading, negotiating, questioning my sanity: “Return the cat,” they will say.
And I will look at them… and refuse.
Because some love stories… are simply meant to be complicated
June 2026
