"Please!" I begged through my tears. "Please... help her..."

  The man in white looked at me with pity before gently stroking the one thing that still tethered me to life—Pip, my beloved cat.

  "Son," the vet said, his voice calm yet heavy with regret, "I'm truly sorry. But lymphoma… it can’t be cured. You can slow its progress, but in the end, the only options are to prolong her suffering or… let her go peacefully."

  I stood there, frozen. My mind refused to process his words.

  For twenty-five years, this man had been Pip’s doctor. He had cared for her longer than most people had cared for me. And now, he was telling me there was nothing he could do?

  I clenched my fists, swallowing the rage bubbling inside me. "Liar." The word escaped in a hoarse whisper, barely more than a breath.

  Ignoring the vet’s sorrowful gaze, I opened my jacket, gently lifting Pip from the cold steel table and nestling her against my chest. She was so light. Too light.

  A weak purr rumbled against my ribs as I carefully zipped my jacket up to shield her from the world. That sound… that tiny, fragile vibration… it was the only comfort I had left.

  I turned on my heel and walked out of the clinic without another word.

  Behind me, I heard the vet sigh—a long, weary exhale filled with a sadness I refused to acknowledge.

  The moment I stepped outside, the rain greeted me like an old enemy, relentless and unforgiving.

  I ran my fingers gently under Pip’s chin, scratching that familiar spot that always made her melt. Another faint purr.

  Pulling my jacket tighter around her, I whispered, "Let’s go home."

  Home. What a fucking joke.

  I trudged forward, my boots splashing through puddles as I made my way back to the only place that still belonged to me—an old tent tucked beneath a railway bridge at the edge of the woods.

  It wasn’t far from the clinic. A blessing, I supposed. At least I didn’t have to carry Pip through half the damn city. Most of the time, we were left alone. No one cared about the man living under the bridge. And the roaring thunder of the passing trains? It became just another sound. White noise.

  The rain kept coming, seeping through the thin fabric of my worn-out jacket. Cold was setting in, wrapping itself around my bones like an old friend I had long since stopped fighting.

  As I walked, memories surfaced—ghosts of a life that felt like it belonged to someone else.

  I remembered my childhood, back when the world still made sense. Back when it was just me and Pip, every single day. Even when my family went on vacation, Pip came with us. She was my shadow, my partner, my only real friend.

  But then came that one awful day. The day I came home to an empty house.

  Pip was gone.

  The rain had poured down just like this, drumming against the roof in an endless, mocking rhythm. I tore through every room, every closet, every impossible hiding spot. She wasn’t there.

  Panic clawed at my chest, and despite my mother’s reassurances—"Don’t worry, sweetie. Pip will come home once the rain stops."—I couldn't sit still.

  I ran outside, into the storm, my little feet kicking up mud as I tore through the woods near our house. Pip and I had spent countless afternoons there, playing, exploring, building forts out of fallen branches. If she was anywhere, she had to be there.

  By the time I reached our makeshift shelter beneath the old, uprooted tree, I was drenched, shivering, and covered in dirt. My hands shook as I crawled inside.

  "Pip? Are you here?"

  Silence.

  My throat tightened. I was about to turn back when—

  A faint, broken meow.

  "Pip!"

  I scrambled forward, heart hammering against my ribs. And there she was, curled into a miserable, soaked ball in the corner.

  "Come on, Pip! Let’s go home!" I called, waving her toward me.

  But she didn’t move.

  A fresh wave of fear crashed over me. I crawled closer, reaching out, and the moment my fingers brushed her fur, I knew something was wrong.

  Her tiny body was trembling, her breathing ragged. When I lifted her, her back legs hung limply, lifeless in my arms.

  Panic took over.

  I ran, holding her as tightly as I could, screaming for my mother before I had even reached the front door.

  She flew down the stairs the second she saw my tear-streaked face. "What happened?!"

  "Something’s wrong with Pip!" I sobbed, barely able to get the words out.

  Mom took her from me, her hands gentle but quick as she felt along Pip’s legs. The second Pip let out a pained meow, my mother’s face hardened.

  "We’re going to the vet. Now."

  Minutes later, we were in the clinic, the same one I had just left tonight.

  The vet—still young back then—showed us the X-rays, explaining how Pip’s legs had been broken. "She must’ve been hit by a car," he said. "She must’ve dragged herself to your hiding spot with the last of her strength."

  The idea of Pip suffering alone, waiting for me in the dark, made me sick.

  "Will she be okay?" I had asked, barely able to look at him.

  The vet had grinned then, confident, reassuring. "Of course! There’s nothing I can’t fix."

  And just like that, I had believed him.

  Pip survived. She healed. And soon enough, we were back in the woods, running, playing, like nothing had ever happened.

  But that was a long time ago.

  Now? Now we had nothing but a tattered tent and a past I couldn't let go of.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  With a sigh, I forced my thoughts back to the present. The bridge was just ahead. Almost home.

  "Tch… this goddamn rain could stop any time now," I muttered, wiping at my face.

  Pip was probably freezing. I needed to get her warm, get her dry—

  I stepped off the curb.

  Pain exploded through me as something crashed into my side, knocking me to the pavement. My breath whooshed out in a sharp gasp.

  "Watch where the fuck you’re going, asshole!" a voice barked behind me.

  A cyclist. He didn’t even slow down.

  Dazed, I pushed myself up, my hands stinging from the impact—

  And then I realized.

  Pip.

  I had collapsed forward—my full weight, my chest—crushing down on her.

  My stomach twisted violently.

  Frantic, I unzipped my jacket, hands shaking as I peeked inside.

  A tiny, frail meow greeted me.

  Tears burned my eyes.

  "Pip... I’m so sorry…" My voice cracked.

  I stroked behind her ear, and for the briefest moment, she purred against my palm.

  She was still here.

  Choking back a sob, I pulled the zipper up, shielding her from the world once more.

  And then, as fast as my legs could carry me, I ran for home.

  By the time I finally reached my tent, I was exhausted—physically, emotionally, utterly drained. My clothes clung to me, soaked through by the relentless rain, but none of that mattered. Gently, with the utmost care, I unzipped my jacket and cradled Pip in my hands before setting her down on her little bed—a nest of the softest, warmest blankets I owned. The moment her frail body touched the fabric, she let out a deep breath, then began to purr.

  A smile tugged at my lips despite the weight crushing my chest. That sound, that precious, familiar sound—I could never hear it enough. I pulled a blanket over her tiny form, making sure she was warm, then stripped off my drenched clothes, hanging them up in the cramped space of my tent. Slipping into my sleeping bag, I lay there, watching her, as she kneaded the air with slow, tired movements.

  And then my mind wandered back to the vet’s words. Lymphoma.

  I swallowed hard. The lump in my throat tightened, my vision blurred, and once again, the tears came.

  “Shit, Pip… what the hell am I supposed to do without you?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

  I closed my eyes and let the tears flow freely. My body trembled with silent sobs, and then—just as suddenly as they had come—I felt something warm and rough brush against my cheek. My eyes shot open in shock.

  Pip.

  She was right next to me, licking away my tears.

  That only made me cry harder.

  She had always known when I was hurting. Always. No matter how bad things got, no matter how many nights I spent shivering in this godforsaken world, Pip was there, my one constant…my light in the dark. She pressed her forehead against mine before curling up on my chest, purring louder than before, as if trying to drown out my pain.

  For twenty-five long years, her purring had been my anchor, my comfort. But tonight… it wasn’t enough.

  I wept for hours, stroking her frail body, whispering to her, retelling the stories of our lives—our adventures, our happiest days, the times she had saved me when no one else cared. How she had been there for me after my parents died, after we lost everything and ended up on the streets.

  “Pip… thank you,” I murmured. “Thank you for always being my safe place, my family. Thank you for never leaving my side… for being the best thing that ever happened to me. You’ve spent your whole life looking after me, making every single day a little brighter. So please… rest now. Sleep without pain… and have the greatest adventures in kitty heaven until I come find you again, okay? I love you so much…”

  Her purring slowed.

  A quiet, fragile rhythm, growing weaker with each breath. I held my own, as if willing time to stop, as if clinging to the last, fading vibrations against my chest.

  And then—silence.

  A stillness settled over her, over me, over everything. The world outside continued—rain tapping against the tent, the distant rustling of wind through the trees—but in my arms, the warmth that had been my everything… was fading.

  She was gone.

  A hollow ache opened inside me, vast and endless, threatening to pull me under. My fingers trembled as I brushed over her fur, still so soft, still so familiar, as if she were only sleeping. I wanted to believe it—I wanted to pretend. But reality had already taken root, twisting deep, merciless and cruel.

  A ragged breath left me, barely more than a whisper. "Pip..."

  I held her closer, pressing my forehead to hers, my tears slipping into her fur. "I love you," I choked out again, softer this time, a confession, a plea—though I knew she could no longer hear it.

  She was gone.

  And yet, I wasn’t ready to let go.

  I stroked her tiny head for what felt like an eternity, letting out every tear I had left. I was grateful—so, so grateful—that she had passed peacefully, but my heart was shattering into a thousand jagged pieces.

  I had lost my everything.

  A pain unlike anything I had ever known consumed me, clawing at my very soul.

  I exhaled shakily, forcing the sobs back down into the pit of my stomach. My hands trembled as I lifted Pip’s still-warm body from my chest and gently placed her back in her bed. Then, moving on autopilot, I pulled on my soaking-wet clothes, stepped outside, and walked straight to a small plant growing near the tent. With careful hands, I dug it up, roots and all, then turned back toward the tent one last time.

  With a heavy heart, I carefully wrapped Pip in her small bed, cradling it in my arms alongside the plant. Then, without a single glance back, I stepped outside.

  I didn’t look back.

  I knew exactly where I had to go.

  Each step through the rain felt heavier than the last, as if I were sinking deeper into some endless abyss. The world blurred around me—whether from the rain or my own exhaustion, I wasn’t sure—but eventually, I reached my destination.

  Our spot.

  A small clearing in the woods, where a quiet stream wound its way through the earth.

  I set Pip’s bundled form down beside me, along with the plant, then dropped to my knees and began to dig.

  With nothing but my bare hands, I tore through the soaked soil, pulling up chunks of earth, roots, rocks. My fingers bled from the effort, cut open by sharp stones, but I didn’t care.

  That pain was nothing compared to what was coming next.

  Once the grave was deep enough, I lifted Pip one last time and placed her inside.

  The tears returned, blurring my vision as I slowly, painfully, covered her with the cold, damp earth. Every handful felt like betrayal. Like cruelty. Like I was abandoning my family to rot in a shallow grave when she deserved a golden mausoleum, a resting place fit for a queen.

  What a pathetic excuse for a person I was.

  What a miserable, wretched life I had led.

  With a final, shaking breath, I placed the last handful of soil over her.

  And that was it.

  I had buried my heart. My soul.

  All that was left of me was a hollow, broken shell.

  But then… the plant.

  Gently, I dug out a small hole in the earth and nestled the plant into the soil, right above where Pip lay.

  “At the very least,” I whispered, “even if I had nothing else to give you in life but my love… I want you to always have your favorite thing close to you.”

  Catnip.

  I stayed there for what felt like hours, staring at the grave, unable to move, unable to think. My mind was blank, my heart an open wound that refused to stop bleeding.

  And then—somehow—the rain stopped.

  The clouds parted, and the first warm rays of sunlight bathed the clearing in golden light.

  My body, weak and spent, finally gave in. I collapsed forward, my cheek pressing against the damp earth beside Pip’s grave. Summoning the last of my strength, I rolled onto my back and gazed up at the sky—so bright, so peaceful.

  “…Gods…” My voice was barely a whisper. “If you exist… if you’re out there… then please, I beg you. End my suffering and let me see her again… one day…”

  My eyelids grew heavy.

  My heartbeat slowed.

  Slower.

  And slower.

  Until, at last, it stopped.

  And with a final, peaceful smile, I welcomed death as if greeting an old friend.

  Finally… my pain was over.