After My Father Passed Away, He Turned into a Cat and Came to Me

This is a moist 80s story. It has been ten years since my father passed away. Every time I think about it, it feels like I'm in an illusory dream, and I can't believe that people are just gone. But even so, I don't often dream about him... Are there really ghosts in this world? Since my father passed away, I rarely dream about him. How could there be a ghost? When people are gone, even dreams are stingy with charity and warmth, let alone ghosts and gods. If ghosts could travel through the cracks in time and space, my father would be standing behind me right now watching me typing on the keyboard. He didn't need to speak, he just had to repeat the action of straightening my crooked collar, which was enough to defeat me. It's a pity that even dreams have become a luxury product, let alone ghosts. I have become more emotional than before, and my sadness seems to have been soaked by the south wind of the past ten years, making it wet and sticky. In the past ten years, I seem to always be able to see my father's figure behind the crowd. At the corner of the intersection in the vegetable market, he hurried past with his toolbox on his shoulder; outside the balcony on New Year's Eve, he looked up at the fireworks and listened to the wind; even now when he was typing on the keyboard, his right shoulder blade always felt heavy - where his toolbag should have been pressed. Those memories hidden in the corners of life always sting me inadvertently. Passing by the streets we once walked together, the familiar scenes instantly pulled me back to the past; hearing the familiar local accent felt like my father was calling me, but when I looked back, I was left with endless loneliness. Perhaps, on a quiet night, when the south wind blows again, my father's figure will pass through the layers of fog and appear in my dream. But before that, I can only hold on to these moist sorrows, and miss him alone in the torrent of time...