He came into the shop every Thursday morning. Always with a smile, always smelling faintly of sawdust and motor oil. But today, there was something different.

Today, his jacket was zipped halfway up, and a tiny paw was sticking out of it.

Fast asleep, tucked right against his chest, was a kitten. Cream-colored fur, ears twitching like she was dreaming about a world with no hunger or fear

I asked him where she came from.

He scratched his neck, looking sheepish. “Found her in a ditch behind the lumber yard,” he said. “Cold and crying. Didn’t have the heart to leave her.”

I smiled, told him he did a good thing.

But when he leaned down to grab his wallet, I caught a glimpse of something in his inside pocket.

A collar. Old, worn, pink with a bell that no longer jingled. And stitched into the inside fabric, barely hanging on:

Mira – please bring her home.”

I didn’t say anything. Just handed him his change and watched as he gently zipped his jacket back up, kitten still purring against his heartbeat.

But as he walked out, he paused at the door.

Turned back and said, “Funny thing… I think she recognized me before I recognized her.

Then he pulled something else from his back pocket.

A photo.

Faded. Water-damaged.

It was him.

And a little girl.

Holding a kitten that looked exactly the same.

My heart did a little flip. This wasn’t just a stray kitten he’d found. This was something else. Something… more.

He saw the question in my eyes. He sighed, a deep, weary sound. “Her name was Clementine,” he said, his voice rough around the edges. “That little girl in the picture… that was my daughter, Lily. Clementine was her best friend.”

He came back inside, the bell above the door jingling softly. He looked around the small antique shop, his gaze lingering on a dusty music box on a high shelf.

“Lily… she loved music boxes,” he murmured, almost to himself.

He told me the story then, over a cup of lukewarm coffee I offered him. It was a story of a happy family, a little girl with a bright spirit, and a tiny kitten who was always by her side. Clementine, with her cream fur and playful antics, was a constant source of joy in their lives.

“Lily found her as a stray, just a tiny thing,” he explained. “We tried to find her owners, but no one claimed her. So, she became part of the family. They were inseparable, Lily and Clementine. Where one went, the other followed.”