The little, orphan boy was adopted a couple of months after his birth. The parents he received were the best of their kind. They had the money, they had the wealth and they were both healthy and young. They had passed all the screenings, all the interviews, and psychological testing. All in all, they were fit to be parents according to the adoption agencies. They had wished for a child for a long time and now, as they carried the little bundle in their arms, into their home, and into their hearts, they felt like their lives were now perfectly completed.
They named him Milot.
His father was interested in French wines and his mother was fascinated by the indigenous people in the northern parts of their small, island country, their customs, their culture, and their folktales and thus his name was a weird mixture of their two interests. Some people might have called it cringy and utterly ridiculous but to them, their little boy was all they needed and wanted.
Little Milot turned out to be an especially easy baby. He slept when he was sleepy and he ate when he was hungry. He never cried without a reason and as soon as his needs were satisfied, he lowered his voice and became almost frighteningly silent. Since he couldn't talk yet, crying was the only way he could attract his parent's attention, even though that was not always necessary. They were already enthralled and captured by him and it didn't take long when he could communicate his needs with his eyes and thus, he cried even less than before.
When he was awake, he observed the world around him with his big, blue eyes and smiled at his parents whenever they were close to him, held him, or talked to him. His mother was a veterinarian and his father a lawyer who owned his own small company. Their cozy brick house was situated in a nice area, surrounded by a lush, green fence, large lawn, and a couple of old apple trees. It was close to the schools, the daycare, the supermarket, and the library. All in all, his childhood was meant to be a happy one.
On warm summer days, his mother took him outside in the backyard and placed him on a soft blanket. He looked at the sky, looked at the clouds, and smiled. He was a happy baby but sometimes his mother noticed that his eyes looked much older than the rest of her little boy. This young man of hers was looking at the world with the eyes of an adult and it seemed he was in a hurry to grow up. Hurry to walk, hurry to talk, and hurry to learn new things. She wished she just imagined things and wished and could have slowed time down. She nevertheless adored and doted on him. And despite her love and her will of spoiling him, she was determined to raise him up properly.
At two years old Milot was a beautiful child. His eyes were the color of the summer sky, blue and wild and untamed. His growing hair was dark and silky and his mother loved to brush it, with her hands or with a small comb. Neither his mother nor his father could explain the charm of his interesting eyes or his gorgeous smile, but they were both wrapped around his tiny fingers and there was no amount of love that was too much for them to give.
When he was four, his parents bought him a kitten. It was a small, black tomcat with long, silky white whiskers, soft paws, and shining yellow eyes. Unlike many four years old, he was attentive and careful with the little cat. He never pulled its tail or pinched its ears and soon enough they became good friends. Milot named him Pawie. That little black hairball slept at the end of his bed and refused to leave it before he woke up the next morning. Only then it accompanied him to the kitchen for breakfast. When he started preschool at the age of five, Pawie always waited for him by the window in their foyer and his black tail began to swipe from left to right just before he returned home. His mother learned of this tactic and always had some snacks waiting for him when he came home.
Time and time again his mother always told him not to take Pawie outside without a harness but it was the morning of his sixth birthday when he did exactly that. He was in the backyard, playing in the snow with his little friend when a giant garbage truck passed by their house and scared the little cat. At the same time, his father was leaving for work, and just as he reversed the heavy family car out of the garage, Pawie ran straight under the huge, studded back tire. Milot could hear its small bones crushing and his mother rushed from inside and grabbed him in her arms, trying to shield him from the awful sight. He knew he was to blame but he never shed a single tear. Some small voice inside him told him this was all part of the plan. Pawie was meant to die so he could return as soon as possible. As his father picked up the small body of the cat from underneath his tire, Milot thought he momentarily saw another figure beside his father. A curious figure of a tall, dark, thin man with glowing red eyes. The creature smiled and petted the dead cat. "Can't be!" Milot thought in his little mind. "You tried to kill Pawie. But all you managed to do was kill the kitten and allow Pawie a chance to reborn, for real this time."
Pawie was buried underneath the apple tree and his father made a little sing where they carved its name, its birthday, and the day of its death. A year passed by and Milot went to the first grade. When he did his homework by the kitchen table and glanced outside, he sometimes saw that small little sign and remembered Pawie. He often smiled but didn't seem sad at all. It was like he was waiting for something.
On the day when he turned nine and was in the third grade, he returned from school, carrying his pack bag and wearing a green winter jacket with a pair of warm boots and red mittens. And on that day, Pawie returned to him. It was sitting on top of a small snow hill right next to their front door. His father always shoveled the snow on the right side and thus the hill was formed. Milot stopped at the door and banged his feet against the doorframe to get rid of the excess snow from his boots. Then he smiled at Pawie, patted its small head, scratched it behind the ears, and opened the door. The cat slipped in and jumped on top of his bed like it never left in the first place.
It wasn't exactly the first time when his parents watched his actions through their fingers. They were startled, even a bit afraid and his father almost went as far as to dig up the old grave to see if the skeleton of the dead kitten was still inside of the small wooden coffin. Eventually, his parents allowed him to keep the cat but only after a thorough examination, vaccination, and deworming. They both agreed that it reminded them of Pawie and after Milot began to call it the same name, they hastily assured each other that it was definitely not the same cat but simply a very similar one. But from that first day onward, Pawie once again slept on the boy's bed, refused to leave it before he woke up, and waited for him by the window on the foyer.
As he began fourth grade, a new boy was transferred to his class. He was the same age and lived in the same neighborhood so it was quite natural that they became friends. His name was Tommy. He was a ginger with a face full of freckles, a wide smile, a boisterous laugh, and a mouthful of bracers. He was big and tall and fat and his head was full of crazy ideas and more often than not, he grabbed Milot's hand and dragged him to some weird adventure in the nearby woods. Sometimes they were pirates, sometimes they were treasure hunters, and sometimes they were superheroes. Tommy's weight didn't stop him from moving like a ninja when he wanted to and he liked sports and baseball and his mother often took them to watch the games. Milot didn't really care for it but for Tommy's happiness, he accompanied him, cheered and screamed when he did, smiled and laughed when he did, and jumped up and down when he did.
As Milot's tenth birthday closed in, he once again felt like he was waiting for something to happen. When Pawie returned to him, he knew it was coming back. But this time he didn't really know what he was waiting for. By now, he was used to listening to these strange feelings and voices inside his head and he didn't contradict or suspect them. He never mentioned them to his parents because he knew they would first pretend to understand him but behind the doors of their master bedroom, they would talk with low voices about how worried they were because of him, and maybe they should do something or take him to see "someone". He knew they had one of those "master bedroom talks" when Pawie returned. In the end, they decided to ignore the similarity of the two cats and soon enough they forgot the "original" Pawie who was supposedly buried underneath the apple tree in their back garden. But Milot knew for a fact that if they dug up that little grave and opened the small, wooden box, it would be completely empty. Pawie came back, not in the shape of another cat, but as himself. As the real Pawie.
Two days before his birthday, Milot began to cough and sneeze. His throat was hurting, his ears were aching and his whole body was covered in a cold sweat. His mother took him to see a doctor and she diagnosed it as a common cold and prescribed him antibiotics for a week. His mother ordered him to stay in bed but allowed him to watch some cartoons and play some games. Pawie never left his side and eventually, his father moved the cat food and the water bowl to his room since the ever-watchful tomcat refused to move from its place. He only left the room twice and after quickly relieving himself in the bathroom, in its litter box, it returned and kept its yellow eyes on Milot.
On the early morning hours of his tenth birthday, when the snow gently drifted down and the neighborhood was completely silent, Pawie lifted its head, moved closer to Milot, and curled next to his shoulder. The boy was still hot as a stove, his fever still high. He began to sweat and trash around, tossed his blanket aside, and moaned quietly. His mother, who usually had exceptional hearing especially when it came to him, didn't stir from her sleep. She simply turned around and inched closer to her husband, who wrapped his arm tighter around her. In Milot's bedroom, Pawie lifted its yellow eyes and examined the stranger who now stood beside the bed.