Aunt Mimi, Lio, and Kiyo were relaxing in the house — if you could call the tiny space a house — and at this particular moment they were sitting cross‑legged on Aunt Mimi’s floor, surrounded by bamboo plants and half‑finished clay statues.
The warmth from whatever she was cooking in the little kitchen drifted through the room, turning the cramped space into something cozy.
While Aunt Mimi tried to make dinner out of three ingredients and a prayer, Kiyo casually suggested the impossible.
“Aunt Mimi, we can get an animal. To have around. We can feed it and play with it. I saw a cat,” she chirped, bright and innocent.
Aunt Mimi half laughed, half smiled. “Where are we going to keep it?”
“It can stay here,” Kiyo insisted, swinging her arms around the tiny room as if it were a palace. “I saw a cat outside that looks like it needs a home.”
“Hm.” Mimi paused, actually considering it. “Maybe. Street cats can be a little wild… but they’re not untamable.”
Lio hesitated. “What if it doesn’t like us?”
Mimi smiled softly. “Then we’ll teach it how to.”
And so, it began.
On their way out, they spotted a young orange tom lingering near the gate. He was cautious, sniffing the air, watching from the shadows. His green eyes glistened in the sun.
The girls were convinced they could change his mind about humans.
They left scraps nearby. He sniffed, took a few bites, released a quiet meow, and slipped back behind the gate.
Each day, they brought the food a little closer. They whispered to him. They waited. Hoping he’d trust them enough to join their little pack.
Eventually, he allowed the girls — and even Aunt Mimi — to pet him. They named him Leafy.
But Leafy had his own rules.
He didn’t want to be inside.
He didn’t want to be owned.
So they accepted him as he was — their outside cat, their almost‑pet, their little wild friend who chose them on his own terms.
