Ian carefully inspected his desk. It usually exhibited what some might call a creative mess. But today, he planned to leave work early. It was his birthday, a small milestone.
Ian had also requested an extra week’s vacation, intending to relax with his family by the lakes, so he decided to tidy up his workspace. “Well, it seems in order now,” he thought. His eyes fell on a photograph in the corner of the desk, and a quiet melancholy washed over him. Perhaps more longing than sadness, a yearning for something cherished yet irretrievable. Similar photos, only enlarged, adorned his room in his parents’ house, as well as the living room of Ian’s own apartment. He remembered that day clearly, even though several years had passed. And not simply because it was his birthday.
Ian and his brother were sitting on a bench by their apartment block. The elder was narrating the plot of yet another action movie they had watched in the video parlor, vividly acting out the main characters. Engrossed, the boys didn’t notice their father’s car pull up until his cheerful voice brought them back to reality. “Hello, son. Happy birthday.” His dad grinned at Ian, fishing something out from under his jacket. “Here’s a little gift for now,” he said, revealing a small, fluffy kitten. The kitten was gray with white socks on its paws, and it looked around in wonder.
Their mom emerged from the building with a blue sports bag in hand, the one dad usually took on business trips. “Son, I have to go away for a bit. But I have a main gift for you later,” their dad assured, handing Ian the kitten. “Make sure to give him some milk at home. I’ll be back by the weekend, and we’ll go to the store so you can choose a present yourself, alright? And then we’ll visit the zoo.” Dad hugged Ian and his brother, ruffling their hair. “Vic, will you be away long?” Mom asked. “No, I’ll be back by tomorrow evening,” he replied, taking the bag from her hands. “Hey, how about a photo for memories?” Mom suggested.
They had recently bought a camera, a popular model at the time, and Mom was eager to capture as many life moments as possible. “I’m in a rush,” Dad smiled awkwardly. The colleague in the car, Uncle Tom, honked and tapped his watch. Dad waved him off, gesturing for a moment’s wait. He set the bag down, picked up the kitten again, and Ian and his brother stood by his sides.
They smiled into the camera, blissfully unaware that the kitten would be Ian’s only gift that day. And the last one. Because their dad never came back from that business trip. As it turned out, Dad and Uncle Tom were to transport a large sum of cash. It was the early 90s, such transactions were common, and someone tipped off some criminals about it.
Later, Mum explained that, according to the investigator on the case, the robbers didn’t intend to kill them. They likely followed, scouting for a moment when the road would be empty to stage an accident to seize the money. But something must have gone wrong; the impact was too strong, Dad’s car veered off the road, rolled over, and caught fire. They never found the informant or the attackers, and the case was quietly shelved after a few years. Every time she recalled that period, Mum would say, “I don’t know who those people were, and I don’t want to. God will judge them. But for not helping and just running away to save their own skins, I can never forgive them.”
They buried Dad and Uncle Tom on the same day. In closed caskets. Ian stood by his weeping grandmother, his dad’s mom, struggling to comprehend that his father lay in that dark red, velvet-lined wooden box. Perhaps that’s why, for more than a month, he dashed to the door with hope at every ring. Hoping it was all just a bad dream, that soon the door would open, and his dad would walk in, cheerful and alive, slightly smelling of cigarette smoke and gasoline. Dad had his own keys, but every time he returned from a trip, he rang the bell, Ian would rush to greet him, and Dad, smiling, would pull out a gift from his bag, saying it was from “the Easter Bunny”. His brother, as the older, would tease him. “Where would bunnies get gifts from? There are no shops in the woods,” he’d laugh. “Oh, you little one,” but Ian didn’t pay it any mind, feeling immensely proud that the forest creatures knew about him and never forgot him.
But Dad never came back, and eventually, the boy crafted a fantasy, a whole story that his father hadn’t died, but that an evil wizard had turned him into a gray cat. Each time this story grew in the boy’s imagination, sometimes to the point where he believed it. Now Ian couldn’t quite understand what it had been. A defense mechanism, or simply a naive child’s belief in miracles. But back then, these fantasies likely helped him endure the initial sharp sting of loss. Much later, he and his brother, recollecting those distant days, experienced a strange sensation. As if their father’s spirit had, in some inexplicable way, transferred to the gray kitten. For the entire time the kitten, and later the adult cat, lived with them, they felt their father’s invisible presence. As if he was somehow there with them, unseen. But as children, they shared this with no one, not even each other. They named the kitten Butch after a character from the Disney cartoons shown every Sunday on TV then.
Ian, his brother, and even their mom grew to love the cat dearly. Undoubtedly, Butch became a talisman, a protector for their family. He greeted them coming home from school, college, and Mom from work. When anyone fell ill, Butch would stay beside them, purring soothingly, lying on the sore spot, trying to warm it, and he wouldn’t leave until the person recovered. The cat lived a long life with their family. But time moved on, and one quiet summer Sunday evening, he passed peacefully. By then, the elder brother had married and lived separately, but learning about their beloved pet’s passing, he rushed over. They all said goodbye to the cat together. After all, he was a living memory of their departed father. Dad remained in their memories just as he was on that last day. Cheerful, in a bit of a hurry, with a kitten in his arms. Ian suspected that perhaps Mom felt something similar because on Dad’s gravestone, besides his full-length photo, she had the artist depict a lonely road and a car driving towards the setting sun at the back. They buried the cat on the city outskirts in what was then a young pine forest. Though many years had passed since that day and only a barely visible mound remained of the grave, Ian remembered the spot well, and every time he drove by, he’d turn aside to pause for a few minutes, paying homage to their long-time beloved pet.
Without a doubt, a family member, whose passing marked the end of an era in his life. The era of childhood and youth. Taking another look at the photo and smiling sadly at the flood of memories, Ian picked up his laptop from the desk, wiped teary eyes with the back of his hand, and left the office.
His family awaited Ian at home. Everyone had gathered. Mum had arrived, his brother with his family, a few close friends. Once everyone assembled in the living room, his brother, accompanied by the nephews, solemnly brought in a box and handed it to Ian. Everyone clapped, while the nephews, with mischievous grins, asked him to guess what was inside.
Family and friends knew of Ian’s passion for computer games, and assuming as much, he began guessing. “A cool joystick, a racing wheel? Did I guess right?” The nephews giggled and shook their heads no, then opened the box. Ian glanced inside and almost fell onto a conveniently placed chair by someone. Memories of childhood unspooled in his mind, and tears welled up unbidden. But he didn’t hold them back. In the box sat a kitten, a spitting image of the one his father had given him long ago. Gray, fluffy, with white socks on its little paws. Memories washed over him. Dad, Butch… Back in childhood, Ian would spend hours talking to the cat, sharing his childhood secrets, joys, and sorrows. He had a persistent sense that he was conversing with his living father. At least, he believed his dad heard him.
Secretly, Ian held on to this belief even after growing up. And the cat would gaze at him with thoughtful, almost human eyes, purring softly and reassuringly.
Now it was his teenage daughter who, coming home from school, would head straight to the kitchen, voicing her displeasure moments later. “Why are Butch’s dishes empty?” she’d call out. “Here, kitty, kitty. Come on, sweetie, I’ll feed you now.” And the cat, having just gobbled his meal, washing it down with fresh milk, would slyly eye Ian, quick-stepping to the kitchen at his young owner’s call.
