I am a civet cat, the self-proclaimed "human domestication expert" in the alley.
That rainy night, a new Two-legged beast was moved into the third doorway. She moved very gently, walking with her head lowered, and hesitated for ten seconds when opening the lock. My judgment: I live alone, have social anxiety, and don't know how to raise a cat at all.
Turns out I was right – she gave me skim milk.
Being the professional cat that I am, I decided to stay and "tame" her. Feeding must be done at seven in the morning, petting should start from the ears, and the cat bowl cannot be placed in a draft. This is the rule.
The cats in the alley say I'm tough-talking. Ah Fu said that I obviously liked her, and Lao Hei said that I had found a reason for myself to stay. Huahua updates information every week: The two-legged air conditioner in the third doorway is turned on too short, but for the sake of rice cakes, I give it a B+.
In spring she knew my way around the alley, in summer she started talking to other Twolegs, in autumn she learned to say no, and in winter——
In winter, I discovered that those dreams on full moon nights were not dreams.
An ancient palace, a young human in bright yellow clothes, and a familiar civet cat.
That was a person I promised to go back to a long time ago.
---
"This cat has tamed many Twolegs, this is just the first one."
"The first one is always the most troublesome. And the hardest to let go of."
---
Cat's perspective × daily flow × two-way healing. A arrogant tabby cat and its socially fearful two-legged beast wrote the four seasons together under the eaves of an old alley in Shanghai.
