Sometimes, the path to death has a few unexpected paw prints on it.
It wasn't supposed to be complicated.
In fact, he had carefully planned for it not to be.
The trains were quiet. The walk had been silent. The trees had greeted him with that eerie, almost too-still kind of presence—the kind of silence only Aokigahara could offer, where even the birds seemed to hold their breath.
The perfect place to vanish.
And yet.
"Meow."
He stopped walking. For the third time.
"...You again," he muttered under his breath, glancing down.
There, sitting at the edge of the forest path, was the same tiny bobtail calico kitten. Head tilted. Ears perked. Tail flick-flicking behind her like a metronome made of judgment and fluff.
She blinked up at him with that terrifying power unique to small animals: the ability to instantly make a grown man question all his decisions.
He squatted down, suit pants wrinkling at the knees. "You... seriously followed me all the way here?"
"Mew."
She trotted up and began headbutting his shin with the determination of a truck. A very small, extremely fuzzy truck.
"Okay, no, listen—this isn't a bring your emotional support animal to the forest of death kind of situation, alright?"
She ignored him completely. Began trying to climb his leg.
"OW—your claws, woman! Your claws!!"
He shook her off gently and sat down on a nearby tree root, sighing. The salaryman—thirty, emotionally bankrupt, mildly allergic to cats, and absolutely done with everything—leaned his head back and stared up through the leafy canopy.
"Was it the onigiri? Is that why you followed me?" he asked the sky. "You want more rice? Because I don't have any. Just... resignation. And some instant coffee. Which is a metaphor for my life."
"Mrrr." The kitten hopped up onto his lap without a shred of hesitation and promptly sat down—her royal calico butt claiming his thighs as her throne.
He blinked. "Excuse me?!"
She began purring. Loudly. Like an overworked engine in a tinier, cuter car.
And he... froze.
Because no one—no one—had been that comfortable with him in a long time. His coworkers never looked him in the eye. His parents called once a year. And his apartment?
Empty. Quiet. Cold.
He looked down at her, the soft rise and fall of her tiny body as she fell asleep on him like he was the warmest rock in the forest.
"...You're not making this easy, you know that?"
No answer. Just a little paw twitch.
He sighed. "I came here to die. I had a whole thing planned."
He pulled out the folded note from his coat pocket. Unfolded it. Then refolded it. Then glanced back at the sleeping furball on his lap.
"You're not going to move, are you?"
Nope. Just more purring.
So he sat there. For minutes. For hours maybe. The sun moved behind the trees and the shadows changed shape, and still—he sat.
Because standing up now would wake her. Because the silence didn't feel so oppressive anymore. Because maybe… maybe tomorrow was also an option.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. A reminder. Something corporate and heartless.
He didn't look at it.
He stayed there, in that sea of trees and quiet. With a cat who didn't care what he did for a living. Who didn't need him to be someone useful. Someone productive. Someone better.
Just warm.
Just alive.
And for the first time in a very, very long time—
He didn't feel like disappearing.
(Next time: How do you take care of a kitten when your apartment doesn't even have food for yourself? Can a cat survive on instant coffee? And is it possible the calico has more secrets than she lets on...? Stay tuned!)