The Purr That Echoes - A Short Story

A Short Story - The Purr That Echoes

Penulis: Grace Prikasih – UKI

Paragraf pertama
(harus ada keyphrase)

The Sound of Rain and Memory

“Master! I demand food this instance!”

How long has it been…

“I want cuddles~!”

I miss her touch…

“Why are you with him?!”

It’s his fault…

“Stay away from my master!”

It’s all his fault…

“Stay away from her!”

I need to protect her…

“MARIE!!!”

[CRASH]

“Meow…”(Marie…)

Drip… Drip… Drip…
The sound of rain hitting the ground.
The scent of wet asphalt and iron fills the air.

My paws are cold.
I can’t feel them anymore.
Everything is dark.

Meow…

My voice doesn’t come out anymore.
She doesn’t hear it anymore.
The world has turned gray —
blurred lights, muffled voices,
the echo of my name swallowed by the storm.

“Nanami!”
Her voice cuts through the rain — trembling, broken.
She’s running toward me, her steps splashing through puddles of red and silver.

Meow…(Master…)

I manage to croak one last time.
Don’t cry, please.
I want to purr, to nuzzle your hand, to tell you I’m fine.
But my body hurts.
I feel numb.

He’s there too…
That man.
Brandon.
Pretending to help,
saying his apologies,
holding her back,
his hand on her shoulder like a snake coiling around a branch.
He whispers something —
and she stops screaming.

I can’t hear the words.
Only the storm.
Only the silence.

The world is still raining.
But the droplets fall through me now.
The ground no longer holds me.
The air no longer moves when I breathe.

I look at my master.
She’s kneeling on the road, clutching my body.
She keeps whispering,
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Behind her, Brandon looks away.
His face — unreadable.
His shadow — smiling.

It wasn’t an accident.
It was him.

A low growl builds in my chest —
but no sound comes.
Only wind. Only rain.

So I follow her home,
my paws leaving no prints,
my body leaving no warmth.

Her flat smells the same — lavender, coffee, and grief.
She places my collar on the windowsill,
the little bell still shining.

I want to curl beside her.
To rest. To sleep.
I still want to protect her.
And I will.

I will find a way.

Outside, a stray cat pauses on the balcony railing.
It stares directly at me — its eyes wide, its fur bristling.
It can see me.

My peers. My comrades

If my spirit can’t protect her directly.
Then I will use every living critters in this city.

The one still in the plane of living.

Echoes Of The Cat

Days blurred together after that night. I no longer knew what time meant — the sun rose, the moon fell, and yet I stayed, trapped between them. The house felt emptier without my warmth curled on the couch, without my meows echoing through the morning air.

She was trying to be strong. She went to work. She smiled at her neighbors. But every time she came home, her eyes dimmed a little more. She talked to me sometimes, whispering my name in the dark, as if I could still answer.

And he was there — Brandon. Always there.

He came with flowers, with groceries, with that carefully practiced smile. He offered her comfort, pretending to share her grief. But I could feel it — something sour beneath the surface. His kindness was a mask, and his hands, the ones that had once reached for me with false warmth, now reached for her.

The first time I saw him touch her shoulder, I hissed. The sound echoed through the apartment like wind through hollow glass. Marie flinched but didn’t understand. The parrot next door started screaming at nothing. The dog downstairs barked and wouldn’t stop until Brandon left.

They saw me. They always could.

It started small — birds tapping on the window whenever Brandon arrived, the neighbor’s cat scratching at the door. Marie laughed nervously, saying it was strange how the animals acted up when he was around. But she never questioned why.

I wanted to tell her everything, to claw the truth into the walls if I had to, but I couldn’t touch, couldn’t speak. So, I turned to those who could — the strays that ruled the rooftops, the ravens that perched on the wires, the alley cats with sharp eyes and sharper instincts. They were wary at first, sensing my presence, but soon they understood.

“Help me protect her,” I pleaded.

And they did.

They began to follow him — shadows under streetlights, silhouettes on fences. Whenever Brandon walked Marie home, a group of stray cats trailed a few steps behind, their eyes glowing like embers. Birds perched on the wires above, watching. Dogs barked whenever he drew near.

Brandon noticed. I could see it in the way his steps grew quicker, the way his eyes darted to empty corners. He started muttering to himself — that the city was full of pests, that Marie’s place reeked of that “damned cat.”

Marie didn’t understand what was happening. She thought the animals were acting strange because of her grief. She couldn’t see the truth — that the world itself was turning against him.

And then, one night, I followed him.

He was pacing near the parking lot — the same place where my body had gone still. His voice trembled as he spoke on the phone, low and bitter.

“She still talks about that cat,” he said. “I did everything for her — and she still won’t see me!”

His fist slammed against the hood of his car.

The wind picked up, and I felt something stir within me — rage, sorrow, longing. My invisible form trembled as I hissed through the air. The sound was low, unnatural. He froze.

“Who’s there?”

No answer. Just the sound of my claws scraping against the pavement. The stray cats surrounding the lot began to meow, one after another — a chorus building into something primal. Brandon backed away, his breath shaking.

“Go away! Stupid animals!”

He kicked at them, but they didn’t move. They just stared, unmoving, silent now, their eyes glinting with my fury.

That night, he stopped coming around for a while. But Marie… she grew lonely again. And loneliness was what he was waiting for.

The Night of Truth and Thunder

The nights grew stranger after that.
Nanami had learned how to whisper through the fur and feathers of the city — her invisible voice carried in meows, chirps, and howls.

The stray cats began their quiet rebellion first. Every morning, Brandon would find fresh scratches on his car door, long and deliberate, as if marked by unseen claws. He cursed, scowled, and kicked the air, but the strays only stared from the alleys, unblinking.

Then came the crows. They perched on his apartment window, their dark eyes watching. Each time he visited Marie, they gathered, calling in harsh, shrill voices that sliced through the quiet streets. Even the dog in the neighboring yard joined the chorus, howling every time Brandon stepped into the building.

Marie began to notice. At first, she laughed it off — “They must hate you,” she joked weakly, though her voice trembled when the crows screamed louder than before. But beneath that nervous laugh, something inside her stirred. The animals weren’t just acting out. They were warning her.

One rainy evening, Brandon arrived unannounced. The storm outside had turned the streets into a blur of water and light. Marie opened the door reluctantly, her expression tired.

“I told you, Brandon… I just need time,” she said softly.

“You’ve had time,” he snapped, stepping inside. “You’ve been crying over that cat for weeks! Over a pet!”

Marie frowned, backing away slightly. “She was family.”

He laughed, bitterly. “Family? God, Marie, do you even hear yourself? It was a stupid cat! That little thing shouldn’t have gotten in the way of our relationship!”

The words hung in the air — sharp, final, wrong. Brandon froze, realizing what he had just said. Marie’s breath caught.

“What… did you just say?”

“I—nothing, I didn’t mean—”

“You said gotten in the way, Brandon.”
Her eyes widened as fragments of that night came flooding back: his oddly calm voice, the quick excuse about being “in the neighborhood,” the way he’d insisted on driving her to the vet afterward.
Her lips trembled. “You killed her.”

Silence.
Even the rain seemed to stop.

Then, something shifted.

A faint glow rippled across the puddle forming by the window — soft, silvery, like moonlight bending through water. The air warmed, filled with a low, rhythmic sound: a purr.

Marie turned her head toward it, her tears mixing with the rain dripping from the open door.
“…Nanami?” she whispered.

Outside, the stray cat meowed three times. The dog howled. The crows screamed.

Brandon stepped back, his breath quick and uneven. “What the hell is happening?!”

The lights flickered. Shadows moved. The balcony door burst open, letting in the storm and the smell of wet earth. Then — wings. Crows dived through the opening, striking at him with their claws and beaks.

He stumbled, shouting, trying to shield his face. “Get them off me! Get them—!”

Cats slipped in through the open door, hissing and clawing at his legs. The dog outside barked furiously, scratching at the entrance. Every creature that had heard Nanami’s silent call now moved as one.

Marie backed against the wall, wide-eyed, watching the chaos unfold. Through the flickering light and the storm’s roar, she thought she saw — for just a heartbeat — a small white shape standing between her and Brandon.
The faint outline of a cat, tail raised proudly, golden eyes burning bright through the rain.

Brandon stumbled toward the door, bleeding and terrified, his voice breaking. “You’re all insane! It’s just an animal—it’s just—”

A deafening caw silenced him.
He bolted out into the storm, vanishing into the rain.

Marie stood there for a long moment, trembling. Then, she fell to her knees, clutching her chest. Her tears hit the floor, mixing with the water.

“Thank you,” she whispered to the empty air. “My little kitty…”

And somewhere near the window, the softest purr echoed — fading with the storm.

The Cat, Her Master, And The Nuisance

Marie pieced everything together in the silence that followed.
The words. The timing. The way Brandon had been so calm that night, how he’d arrived minutes after Nanami’s body was found — pretending it was coincidence. It all fit together now, each memory falling into place like cruel puzzle pieces.

When Brandon returned the next day, drenched and trembling from the storm, she was waiting.
Her eyes were red, but not from crying — from fury.

“Why?” she asked simply.

He froze in the doorway, drenched hair clinging to his face. “Marie, please, I can explain—”

“Then explain.” Her voice cracked. “You killed her, didn’t you?”

For a moment, his expression faltered — the mask breaking at last. His lips twisted into something ugly.
“She was in the way, Marie! I did it for you!”

Her breath hitched, but he went on, the words spilling out like poison.
“Every time I came over, you ignored me for that stupid cat! I was the one who stayed, who cared, who picked you up when you cried — and yet, you still loved it more than me!”

Marie stepped back, shaking her head in disbelief. “You… you killed her because you were jealous?”

Brandon’s voice rose, desperate. “I am way better than a stupid cat! You need me, Marie!”

“No,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “All I needed was the one you took from me.”

He reached for her, but she pulled away and grabbed her phone.
The sirens came before he could speak again.

Panicking, Brandon fled into the rain. He ran until his lungs burned, the storm swallowing his cries. The streets blurred around him — empty, cold, endless. He didn’t notice the pair of glowing eyes watching from the shadows, or the faint trail of paw prints that vanished as quickly as they appeared.

He climbed into his car — the same car that had once ended a small, innocent life — and slammed the door shut, gasping. Rain pounded against the roof, thunder rolled in the distance, and for a moment, he thought it was over.

Then he heard it.

purr…

Soft. Gentle. Right behind him.

His breath caught. He turned slowly, heart pounding. The backseat was empty — just the faint shimmer of water and the reflection of his own pale face in the mirror.

purr… purr… purr…

The sound grew louder, echoing through the car. It wasn’t playful anymore. It was steady, deliberate — the rhythm of a ghost remembering.

Brandon screamed, slamming the door open and stumbling into the rain. He ran again, but the sound followed him — a haunting lullaby in the downpour.

By morning, the police found his car abandoned by the roadside. The door was open, the keys still in the ignition. Inside, the seats were soaked, and faint paw prints marked the back window — leading upward, fading into nothing.

A Cat’s Final Promise

Weeks passed.
The rain finally stopped.

The apartment, once heavy with grief, began to breathe again. Marie filled it with sunlight, flowers, and the soft hum of life returning. She opened the windows more often now, letting the breeze drift through the curtains. The air felt lighter — as if the house itself had exhaled.

She still missed her. Every morning, she caught herself glancing toward the kitchen corner where a small bowl used to sit. Sometimes she smiled; sometimes her eyes glistened. But the sadness no longer drowned her — it simply lived beside her, quiet and familiar.

And yet, there were moments — fleeting, gentle — that made her pause.
A flick of a tail disappearing around the doorway.
A faint pawprint on the window ledge after a night of rain.
The soft creak of the bed just before she fell asleep, as if something small had curled beside her.

When she went to feed the strays by the building, they greeted her calmly, not with the wary distance they once kept. They watched her with something almost tender — a recognition that went beyond instinct. She’d laugh softly, setting down the food.
“Tell her I miss her,” she would whisper.
And somewhere among them, a small gray stray would blink slowly, as if answering.

Up on the rooftops, where the city lights met the endless sky, a faint shimmer lingered.
Nanami watched from there — her form faint and luminous, surrounded by the very animals who had once fought beside her. The wind ruffled through her ghostly fur, and she let out a contented purr that rippled through the night air.

Below, Marie leaned out of her window to look at the stars.

Nanami’s golden eyes softened. She curled her tail around herself, the city glowing beneath her like a sea of warm candles.

Her master was safe. Loved. Free.

And before she faded with the dawn, her meows echoed softly through the night —

Through rain and ruin, I remained,
A shadow stitched to love’s refrain.
My paws once warm, now wind and light,
Still guard your dreams through endless night.
You called, I came — a purr, a prayer,
The scent of rain still fills the air.
Though fur has gone and breath has stilled,
My vow endures, my heart unspilled.
So sleep, my master, soft and free —
The moon will keep your heart for me.
And should you whisper to the sky…
I’ll answer back — a gentle sigh.