Nika found him late in the afternoon, huddled under a bus stop, soaked and shivering, with large, dark eyes that immediately captured her heart. He was small, soft, with a fluffy tail and faint spots on his fur. He looked like a very exotic, very cute little dog. When she picked him up, he nuzzled his face into her jacket and whimpered softly, as if in thanks.

She took him home, carefully dried his fur, fed him what she had—cooked rice—and watched him eat it all, never taking his eyes off her. He followed her around all evening, and she laughed softly, happy to no longer be alone. She even pulled out a small, old toy with a bell, and the "dog" immediately began biting her, knocking her over, and rolling on the floor. He was so sweet that Nika melted at every sound he made.

That night, she let him sleep next to her. He curled up against her belly, resting his head on her hand, and she couldn't help but smile. She whispered to him that he was beautiful, that she thought she'd found a friend. The animal sighed softly, as if it understood her.

The next day, filled with joy, she took him to the vet to make sure he was okay. She put him in a bag along with a notebook in which she had already begun writing down name ideas. He sat calmly, peeking out at her every now and then, as if to reassure herself that she was still there.

In Nika's office, she beamed, telling him she'd found this "dog," asking about treats, toys, and what would be best for him. The "dog" was placed on a metal table, even fluffier in the lamplight.

The vet removed his glasses, moved closer, and froze.

"Ma'am..." he began cautiously. "It's not a dog."

Nika frowned, uncomprehending.

"It's a young male tanuki," he finally said quietly.

Nika's world froze. The color drained from her face. She took a step back, then another. Her hands began to tremble, and she turned her back on both the doctor and the creature. In an instant, her joy faded like a candle doused in wax.

The tanuki began to whine pleadingly. Softly, quietly, as if apologizing. His small paws moved toward the edge of the table, his muzzle lifted toward her. His eyes were pure terror and… devotion. As if he understood everything. As if he feared only one thing—that she would leave.

The vet sighed heavily.

"He's already attached to you," he said quietly. "Tanuki are… very emotional. And this one… looks like he loves you. Young males do. They attach themselves strongly. Very strongly."

Nika was silent, her eyes filling with tears. She felt something inside her breaking. All her care, all her night, all her thoughts about the name… and this wasn't a dog. Not the simple, ordinary friend she'd longed for.

The tanuki made another sound—quieter, trembling, almost apologetic. As if pleading:

Don't leave me. I can be your dog. I'll be the best dog there is. Just don't reject me.

The vet placed a hand on Nika's shoulder.

"Please… sit down. Let's talk. He really didn't do anything wrong. He just… chose you."

Nika trembled, unsure whether to cry or go back for the little creature that so desperately wanted to come back to her.

"Nika," he said firmly, though with a hint of pleading. "Talk to me. Please. For the sake of this poor creature who won't stop crying for you."