Tag: Miku

Exquisite.

Soft, comforting and all I could look at. A work of art, beautiful and alluring. I’d have made that masterpiece my own if it weren’t for that woman.

She hadn’t turned towards me once, her gaze focused on the pot she was stirring. Lost in her own world, perhaps. I couldn’t blame her. I was imagining myself stretching out on the dark corduroy of that beautiful sofa in her hall, rolling in its warmth.

I craned my neck, trying to get a better view. Ah… Cosy. It was almost enough to make me forget the gashes on my back.

The ground beneath me slipped. In an instant, I found my hind legs dangling in thin air. Clutching at what little I could with my front paws, I tried to pull myself up. Each muscle in my body stretched painfully as I dug my claws into the tiles. Bit by bit, one piercing yowl after another, I managed to regain my original position on the roof. I scrambled a safe distance away from the edge, where I’d neither be seen nor heard. But it was too late.

The damage had been done.

Tiny fragments of a red tile lay on the white floor, mosaic in appearance. It must’ve been the one that made me lose my balance. I hadn’t heard the crash, but it must’ve been loud. And my mewls hadn’t been quiet by any means either. Scampering off was my first instinct in such situations, but the day had finally caught up to me. The cold breeze against parts of my bare skin, the stickiness in the patches of my fur, and my shattered dreams of ever getting to sit on that sofa… it was too much. I stayed still, unseeing and yet, acutely aware of every sensation in my body.

A few minutes passed. The woman continued stirring the pot, occasionally stopping to sniff at it or to regulate the flame being used.

She hadn’t noticed a thing. 

Just when I plucked up the energy to bolt for it, she turned. It might have been to pick up the salt shaker, or the sprigs of thyme on the adjacent counter, but she caught sight of the mess I’d made. The next moment, her brown eyes were gazing right into mine.

I froze again.

She tilted her head slightly, before stretching her slender arms outwards. I blinked a few times, before mentally scoffing. Was I supposed to trust that?

She appeared to understand my hesitation. She smiled, before scurrying out of the kitchen. She returned in seconds, lifting a step ladder. I jumped backwards, out of sheer impulse. She expected as much, choosing to climb it herself. As she reached the top, she extended her hands towards me.

Weird woman.

I ought to have let her bring me down, but I didn’t have good experiences with humans. The younger ones shrieked and threw rocks my way. The adults often ignored me, hardly ever crossing my path. It was only natural that I reacted like I did, even if it wasn’t one of my proudest moments. 

However, I had underestimated her determination.

​​Half an hour later, she was dabbing black liquid on my wounds, blissfully ignorant of the scratches on her own face and shoulders. I think it irked me more than it did her. She gently bandaged me after cleaning me up, stroking the remnants of my fur as she did so. It was then that she did the unthinkable. She placed me on the couch and then scuttled into the kitchen.

I got to sit on that couch. 

It was heaven.

My ecstasy was short-lived. She returned yet again, with a bowl. She placed it on the floor and faced me. With one hand on her throat, she began to speak.

“Bee… ck-h.” She looked at me meaningfully. I stared back. She tried it a few more times, gesturing harder than before. I soon lost interest in what she had to say, but she remained persistent. 

“Mi… k-hu!” She exclaimed, her face now flushed and scrunched up. She pointed at the bowl. I glanced at it lazily, and then with disdain.

I didn’t like milk. And why would I accept what she had to offer anyway?

​​​​Once more, she seemed to catch on to what I was feeling. She put her index finger in the bowl, and let one drop of the milk slide down her throat.

Nothing happened.

Well, I didn’t really hate milk.

That was the start of a new routine. One that repeated itself whenever it was mealtime. She’d bring in milk, and I’d wait until she tried it herself. To spice things up a bit, I’d hide myself every now and then, just to see if she’d find me.

She always did.

There were also times that she tried to bring me out of the house. I don’t know if it was her idea of fun, but I staunchly refused. I had everything I wanted, right here.

I didn’t keep track of the days as they went by, but I did notice the gradual increase in my stamina, the newly formed scabs, and the decrease in the number of patches on my skin. I saw the dark red marks on her arms turn faint pink too. Everything was going unexpectedly… well.

​​​​​​”Miku!” It was the voice that I had grown accustomed to. I sprung to my feet, heading in its direction. The strong scent that greeted me made my mouth water. I bounded up to my bowl with sudden anticipation.

Sardines.

I didn’t think twice, gobbling up the feast that had been laid out before me. It was only when I had eaten them all that I returned to my senses. I looked up, and there she was, with that same patient smile on her face.

She tricked me.

I’d say that the emotion that welled up within me was anger, but maybe it was just fear. 

Again, nothing happened.    

The real question came to me one day when I was relaxing in my favourite spot. Why did she still use that word – ‘Miku’?  

​​​​She had started varying my diet, now that I was healing. Some days it was chicken; the other days, turkey; and on rare occasions, salmon. And sporadically, milk. But the word ‘Miku’ remained the same.

I never got the time to mull over it. I had more pressing issues to deal with. Like how fate seemed to have randomly switched sides. Now that I was on the road to recovery, the woman had begun to leave the house more frequently. It wasn’t that I cared, because I didn’t. I had not only the sofa but all the food and the entire house when she was away. Even so, I soon learnt that the sofa was comfy but not as warm as I’d envisioned. The food was somehow more delicious to eat when she was the one surprising me with new snacks. And the house was nicer to live in when we were playing our usual game of hide-and-seek.

The next time I saw her wear her favourite hat, I trotted beside her, intending to follow her wherever she went.

“Miku,” she murmured, pleasantly stunned. I wondered if she thought I was doing this for her, but it didn’t really matter. This was, in all honesty, for me. Hiding was my best skill. I wouldn’t allow it to become hers.

I had once walked on the streets, ages ago. Today, I walked alongside her. That was when I realised. ‘Miku’, the word which had once stood for ‘milk’, had slowly become a name. 

My name.

I, who had been called ‘unlucky’ all my life, finally had a name.

My euphoria didn’t wear off, even after we reached home. I ambled over towards my cherished spot, still in a daze. She bustled around, carrying about her business.

I lounged on my couch as she brought out an old, dusty record player. She set a disk on it, letting it spin under the needle. A music piece, similar to that of chimes and pianos began to play.   

I saw her twirl around in circles, with an elegance that defined her every movement. Her hands and feet moved along with the rise and fall of the music. And I sat back, simply watching. It was perfect, except for one minuscule flaw, one that I wouldn’t even call a flaw.

She continued to dance, long after the music had ended. 

She then stopped, nodding at me. Her tanned arms were outstretched, and her eyes wide with hope. There was no doubt about what she wanted me to do.

This once, I decided to comply.

The couch was just as exquisite as it was the first time I laid eyes on it. But it was still my choice to get off of it.

Why? 

Because I’d found something… no, someone better.