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It had been raining all day.
Tom Kazansky hurried under his umbrella, coat collar up, briefcase pressed to his side.
Tuesdays were gray enough without a storm.
Until he heard it.
A faint, trembling meow—so small it could’ve been mistaken for the rain itself.
He stopped.
Under a stone bench, a tiny white kitten shivered, soaked to the bone.
Tom crouched without thinking.
The kitten meowed again, weak but insistent.
He extended a hand slowly, his voice low and careful.
“Easy there, little one. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
The kitten took a step forward, slipped, and landed in his palm.
It trembled so hard that Tom’s chest ached.
He wrapped it in his scarf and tucked it against his chest, under his coat, feeling the tiny heartbeat start to steady.
“Well,” he sighed, “looks like I’ve got you now.”
The sign read Mitchell Veterinary Care.
Tom walked in, drenched, carrying a bundle of scarf that occasionally meowed.
“Need a hand?”
The voice was warm—too warm for the storm outside.
The man who appeared behind the counter had a tousled mop of hair, a wide smile, and kind eyes.
The name on his coat read Dr. Mitchell.
“Found him under a bench,” Tom explained. “He was freezing.”
“Good man,” Pete said, already pulling on gloves.
“Let’s take a look.”
The kitten, however, had other plans.
The moment Pete tried to pick him up, tiny claws latched onto
Tom’s coat like Velcro.
“Feisty one,” Pete chuckled. “I like him.”
“He’s got personality,” Tom said dryly.
Pete crouched, speaking softly.
“Hey, buddy. No one’s gonna hurt you.”
The kitten blinked, loosened his grip just enough to allow Pete’s hands.
Tom held him close while Pete examined him with gentle efficiency.
“A little underweight, but healthy,” Pete concluded.
“With warmth and food, he’ll be fine.”
He smiled up at Tom.
“Seems like he’s already chosen his human.”
Tom raised an eyebrow.
“I just rescued him.”
“Sure,” Pete grinned. “Tell yourself that when you come back tomorrow for toys.”
Ten minutes later, Tom sat in the waiting room, towel across his lap, a cup of tea in hand, and a sleeping kitten curled up like a snowflake.
Pete leaned against the counter, watching with a grin he didn’t bother hiding.
“Got a name for him yet?”
“Not yet,” Tom admitted. “We just met an hour ago.”
“If I may suggest…” Pete tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Snowball.”
Tom looked at the kitten and smiled despite himself.
“Snowball, huh? Fitting.”
“And adorable,” Pete added.
“You mean the cat or me?”
Pete raised his brows.
“Depends. Which one needs more care?”
Tom fought back a smile.
“The cat. Definitely the cat.”
Rain drummed against the window, but the apartment felt strangely peaceful.
Snowball—now clean and dry—wandered the living room, sniffing every corner.
Then, with surprising determination, he climbed up Tom’s leg, scrambled to his shoulder, and nestled against his neck.
“Hey!” Tom laughed softly. “You’re a climber, huh?”
The kitten purred, vibrating gently against his skin.
Tom, who usually spent evenings in silence with grading papers and empty tea cups, found himself talking to a ball of fur.
“You’ll stay here just for a few days, alright? Until we find you a real home.”
Snowball answered with a deep, steady purr and a tiny paw against his cheek.
Tom sighed.
“Yeah… guess that home is me.”
Tom woke up to find Snowball asleep on his chest.
When he shifted, the kitten meowed indignantly.
“Alright, alright,” he muttered, pouring kibble into a bowl. “Some of us have work to do.”
Snowball merely blinked, unimpressed.
When Tom came home hours later, the apartment looked like a battlefield: one toppled plant, a missing sock, and muddy pawprints decorating the floor.
“Snowball…” he groaned. “You’re trying to kill me with cuteness, aren’t you?”
The doorbell rang.
Pete stood there, grinning, holding a small bag.
“Follow-up checkup,” he said cheerfully.
“Do cats need daily checkups now?”
“Only the cute ones.”
Snowball immediately dashed to Tom, burying himself under the professor’s coat.
Pete chuckled.
“Yup. He’s chosen.”
“That’s debatable,” Tom replied.
“Oh, sure. Then I definitely didn’t accidentally buy him a new blanket and toy mouse.”
“Doctor, that’s not professional.”
“Neither is that smile when you look at him,” Pete shot back.
Snowball poked his head out of the coat right as Pete winked.
Tom’s ears turned slightly pink.
The daily checkups became a habit.
Pete showed up with new excuses every time—“booster shot,” “nutritional follow-up,” “behavioral observation.”
Tom pretended to be annoyed, but he never stopped smiling when he heard the knock on the door.
Snowball knew, too.
The moment he heard Pete’s voice in the hallway, he ran to the door and meowed like mad.
“You’re his accomplice,” Tom told the cat.
Snowball purred smugly.
One evening, while Pete sat on the couch playing with Snowball, Tom caught himself watching them.
The way Pete laughed, how gently he touched the kitten, how the apartment seemed brighter when he was there.
Pete looked up, catching Tom’s gaze.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Sure?”
“I just… haven’t laughed like this at home in a long time.”
Pete smiled softly.
“Then we should make sure that doesn’t stop.”
Thunder cracked outside, and Snowball bolted under the sofa.
Tom tried coaxing him out, to no avail. Then—a knock. Pete, drenched.
“I was nearby,” he said with a sheepish grin. “Saw your lights flicker and thought maybe…”
Tom didn’t need him to finish.
He stepped aside, letting him in.
Snowball darted toward Pete instantly, curling into his lap with a trembling purr.
“Guess he’s showing his loyalty,” Pete murmured, stroking his fur.
“I thought I was the boss here,” Tom said.
“You were. Before Snowball.”
They laughed.
Rain hammered the windows, thunder rolled—but inside, the air was warm, still.
Pete set his cup of tea down and looked at Tom quietly.
“You know… I’ve never seen a cat cling to someone like that.”
“Maybe he feels safe,” Tom said softly.
Pete smiled.
“Or maybe he just sensed you needed him, too.”
For once, Tom didn’t have a clever reply.
He just nodded.
Weeks passed.
Snowball had officially claimed the apartment—his blanket on the couch, toys scattered everywhere, his purrs filling every quiet night.
And Pete… somehow, Pete had become part of that picture, too.
Sometimes he brought dinner.
Sometimes he brought excuses.
Always, he brought light.
One afternoon, Tom came home to find Pete fast asleep on the couch, Snowball curled on his chest.
He stopped in the doorway, smiling.
The kitten stirred, stretching lazily before nestling closer to the man’s heartbeat.
“Looks like we both adopted him, huh, Snowball?” Tom whispered.
The kitten purred in agreement.
And for the first time in years, Tuesday didn’t feel gray anymore.