The man knelt down slowly. He reached out his hand. Lumo pressed his head into it immediately.
The worker gasped out loud. «My God, that has never happened.» Daniel looked confused, lost.
«I cannot take him,» Daniel said softly. «I came for a dog. I do not even like cats.»
The worker smiled. «Maybe you weren’t planning to take him. But maybe he was planning to take you.»
That day, Daniel signed the papers. Half out of curiosity, half out of something he couldn’t explain. At first, Lumo stayed quiet and cautious.
But as days passed, Lumo settled into the house. He followed Daniel everywhere: kitchen to living room, bedroom to bathroom. One night, Daniel could not sleep.
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Lumo appeared in his doorway. The cat walked to the bed.
He jumped up without asking. He curled against Daniel’s chest. The warmth felt familiar somehow—comforting, right.
For the first time in months, Daniel started to feel alive again. Two weeks passed. Daniel decided Lumo needed a vet checkup. He made an appointment at a clinic nearby.
Dr. Lisa Tanaka examined Lumo thoroughly, checked his teeth, his ears, his heart, his weight. «He looks very healthy,» she said. «You are taking good care of him.»
«Thank you. How old is he?» «Around five years, maybe. Let me check his microchip.»
She scanned Lumo’s shoulder. A number appeared on screen. She typed it into her computer.
Then her expression changed. Confusion crossed her face. «That is strange.»
«What is wrong?» «This microchip is old. Incomplete registration, four years old. The only information available is that it came from a clinic on Willow Street.»
Daniel froze. Willow Street—the place where his daughter had lived before she passed away. He looked down at Lumo.
The cat was staring at him again—calm, knowing, and silent. It was the moment when Daniel finally understood why the cat had chosen him. Or maybe who had sent him.
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