Mother pricked her index on a holly bush.

A trickle of blood succumbed to the crater, crossing the lines of her palm.

She sanctioned a frown.

On her hand now lay a staining scarlet winter berry.

I’ve been told by a friend to wait here.
As long as I stay here, you’ll be back past five o'clock.
I’ve waited—you came and opened the door.
It’s true; now I will dedicate my nine lives to you.
 
"She drinks her tea by midnight and lulls herself to sleep. You should waggle your tail and lie beside her. Every day except for Saturday." My friend laughed rigorously when she finished that statement.
 
“Why can’t I play with her every Saturday?” I asked her, trying to grasp her evading eyes.
 
"Just because," she shrugged and tried to climb the tree.
 
"Wait!" I hissed, but she’s nowhere to be found now.
 
I did everything she told me to do. Eat my food past lunch, play with my worn-out toy, and wait for her to be home.
 
At the exact moment the cruel sun rose and the light hit my body, I waggled my tail and lied beside her. Unfortunately, I forgot it was Saturday today.
 
I called her name, distinctively meowing in a weird manner. I cackled slightly; she wouldn’t understand. Biting slowly with her calloused hands and licking the side of her face, she still won’t wake up.
 
And I meowed until there was no sound left of me. My dear Celia, wake up, for you have to give me food now.
 
You still need to bathe me and play with me at the park. We’ll still wait for the night to come and watch TV.
 
Oh, Celia, I’d still spend my nine lives with you. Where have you been since I slept last night?
 
I’d still wait for you here at the table, near the window. Where the trees dance the delicacy of their sickening leaves. Oh, how we both hated the crispness of those brown leaves.
 
Oh, how you knew how much I hate autumn and how much I undoubtedly love the breeze of winter. The screeching of the winds and the snow falling onto the ground, where we both scrutinize its unique aspect. We were the same.
 
How you were covered in snowdrops, and you’d throw me inside the snowpack. I’ll hiss, and you’ll laugh.
 
"I told you not to play with her every Saturday," my friend whispered, almost with a faint cry. There was a hint of longing in her voice.
 
"You haven’t told me the answer, Ong."
 
"She grieves in her dreams, my friend. He visits every Saturday, spends a day with her, and goes home at exactly midnight. She’ll wake up tomorrow, bud," she answered in agony.
 
Who's he? " I turned to her, but she vanished once again.
 
Celia, I will love you for the rest of my nine lives. I’ll wait for you tomorrow. It’s okay to grieve for now.
 
I’d still wait for you here at the table, even though it’s autumn. We both got to accept that winter is already over.
 
It’s my first life with you in autumn.