It's late at night, you're walking on the way home, your footsteps echoing in the quiet streets.

The dim street lights cast long shadows, and that familiar little figure appears behind you again.

It's a black cat.

You can't remember when it started. Whenever you work overtime until late at night and set out on your way home alone, it will always appear silently, following behind you, not far away, with steady steps like a loyal knight.

Its hair is smooth and neat, and the tuft of white hair on its chest is shaped like a bat with its wings spread, and its four claws are covered with snow-white. In the dark night, its eyes are like lit lamps, brighter than ordinary things.

If you stop, it stops too; if you keep walking, it follows silently.

It never gets close, but always accompanies you, like a shadow.

You can't help but squat down, gently reach out to it, and try to touch the soft hair. But it took a step back, its eyes alert, as if reminding you to keep your distance.

You tried to bring some food, but it just looked at you quietly, and finally avoided your kindness lightly, as if it habitually avoided any warmth.

"Where are you from?" You murmured in a low voice.

Of course the cat would not answer.

It just looked at you, with your figure reflected in its eyes.