early summer ~ 2026

a stranger, then not

A few days ago, while walking Cà Kê (my hyperactive cream-colored dog), found a kitten abandoned under a bodhi tree. Quýt and Măng - Cà Kê’s friends - had gotten there first, sniffing and circling frantically, sending the kitten into a panic. pulled the dogs away and scooped the poor little thing up, then took the kitten to the vet. The vet kept the kitten for a few days.

This afternoon we went to bring the kitten home.

They’re a calico, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand, with a thin coat that’s a little ragged and ears too big for their face. I made them a nest in the bathtub: a rope basket lined with fabric, a litter box, a water bowl, and a small dish of wet food. When I’m not there, the kitten roams freely and without hesitation: climbing the edge of the tub, winding through the ferns, nosing under the alocasia and the snake plant. But the moment I appear, they shrink back behind the litter box. Just their blue-grey eyes, peering out.

They’re not used to me yet.

I already feel used to them.

I’ve started making small visits throughout the evening — so they can slowly learn the weight of my footsteps, the sound of the door opening, the running water. I talk softly in the room so they can get used to my voice. I’m glad they are quick and lively. I’m glad they finished most of their dinner tonight.

It’s been raining since evening. Now it’s late, and I’m sitting by the balcony door writing this, the wind coming in slow waves. Outside it’s wet and dark. In here, the kitten is probably dreaming under the ferns.