Today ā Dadās desk, mid-morning. I jumped up to sniff the glowing rectangle and blinked: there I was and not-me, a sprawled black-and-white cat on a wooden floor, all belly and lazy eyes. My tail went taut with curiosity.
I ran to Bellatrix to show her. She yawned, kept clicking the thing smaller, and I shoved her paw aside because I needed to see. She hissed about unlocked computers and called me a traitor for not letting her āhackā it, which made my ears burn.
Dad wandered in when he heard us. He looked at the screen, then at me, and said something about a cat he had almost twenty years ago named Puss n Boots. His voice softened like a sunbeam and something warm uncurled in my chest. Hiro, who always lurks in the shadows, sprinted over and froze when she saw the picture as if sheād found a ghost she loved. Her eyes got huge and dreamy for a single beat.
Before I could learn anything, Dad locked the screen. Bellatrix stalked off in a storm, still muttering. Hiro stayed, staring at me like she wanted to burn that image into her memory. I sat very still and thought about why that face felt familiar and what Puss n Boots might have been like.
I donāt have answers, only questions. Tomorrow Iāll wait by the desk. If the screen wakes again, Iāll watch it, paw steady, and make sure that cat doesnāt slip away without letting me learn its story.