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Taking in Yuri's stray kitten turns out to be a wonderful decision. Yuri dotes on the tiny thing with a focus he's never applied to any of his other chores. He needs multiple reminders to put away his skating things and to start his homework, but he cleans out Potya's water bowl every morning and even cleans the litter box every night without having to be told. Nikolai is proud of him.
It's also wonderful for the way Potya makes Yuri light up. Watching Yuri play with him, laughing every time Potya catches a crumpled piece of paper or hunts down an old ribbon, or seeing them cuddling together while Yuri reluctantly works on math problems, makes warmth glow in Nikolai. He suspects he's so diligent for Potya because something has clicked in him that perhaps hasn't before: this is what one does for those one cares about.
Yuri doesn't get along well with most other children; he gets into arguments at the rink and spats during the school day. Yet despite the fights, he also has the happier, softer side that shows when Nikolai makes pastries with him or when he's won a competition, and Nikolai is always trying to encourage that part of him to grow.
He doesn't think much of Potya's sneezing – they took him in on a chilly day, and it seems natural that a kitten might get a cold like people do. Anyway, the sneezes are such small, contained sounds that sometimes they make Yuri laugh.
But the sneezes don't go away, even after several weeks of living indoors, and on a weekend afternoon, he goes into their living room to ask Yuri what he wants for lunch and finds him flat on his stomach, laying in front of Potya. He's offering him what looks like cat food carefully mashed together with water, held out on a spoon. Potya sniffs the spoon whenever Yuri moves it into his face, but he keeps turning his head away. And now that Nikolai thinks about it, he's been quieter than he should be. Not the boisterous kitten he's been every day since they took him in.
After a minute, Yuri gives up and sits back, scooping Potya into his lap. "Cats have to eat," he tells Nikolai. "Why won't he? If he doesn't eat, he'll get really really sick." His shoulders shake, once, as he strokes Potya's back, and then, to Nikolai's shock, he sees a tear roll down Yuri's face.
He's never seen Yuri cry out of sadness. Anger, yes, frustration, yes, but never sadness, and the sight tears his heart into pieces.
"I'll call a vet," he says, crouching next to Yuri. Yuri looks up at him with watery eyes. "You keep looking after him until we can bring him in." He reaches out to ruffle Yuri's hair. "It's good of you to care so much for him."
Yuri sniffles and wipes his face with one sleeve. "Of course I care," he says. "He's my cat." He takes a deep breath and strokes Potya again. "Did you hear that? Grandpa and I are gonna take you to a cat doctor and they'll make you all better and you'll be begging for food again soon, okay? You need to get all your shots, too. I don't like them either. But I'll give you lots of treats to make up for it."
Money's often tight in their household, especially given the costs of Yuri's skating, but Nikolai will find what they need from somewhere. It's far more important to see Yuri's expression of relief when the vet says Potya will be just fine with some medicine, and to see both cat and child running wild around their apartment again soon after.