Zayn's owner is an old nice lady with soft hands, sickly sweet-cookie-smelling and most importantly lots and lots of food. Zayn had lived in that small cottage house with his mother, that’s it until the ‘curiosity killed the cat’, not literally is.
Looking back, he can't even recall what did he eat or his well beings when in a care of a person. He's long left the secure of his kitten days, and he doesn't regret it even once. Though he vaguely has the memories of his mother, not that it holds any purpose and meaning for him.
When his mother's milk had begun to dry, he shares the food with his mother. It's not an actual sharing, cats don't really share; it's either giving it in or fighting for it. His mother would instinctively walk away and watched him while he ate, she would only ate from his leftovers (zayn doesn't know if it's because of the small saucer or the fact that his mother really doesn't share). Again, his owner gave lots of food, it's portion is more than enough for zayn and his mother.
Surely, as a kitten, he plays around a lot. Scratching the soft leather of the sofas and sharpening his nails on carpets, get distracted by the swift movements of the grass and even rolling around the dirty laundry. His mother bit him playfully, joining his antics, but she won't ever pay attention to the swift grass or joins him on his little adventures. Zayn doesn't think of siblings as he never has one, not does he knows that kittens usually have siblings to play with. Nevertheless, he's a happy lad.
He does get distracted easily, and he even has the food to obey his instinct, all those energy can't be contained. It's unfortunate that his instinct blurred on his surroundings. He doesn't realise that he's out of the gates until the soft patter of rain dampened his fur.
He panicked. His body stood still on the wetness and pupils big on the unfamiliar surrounding.
The rain is cold and it hits his body sharply, sharper than his owner tight grip on his body when she removes him from the sofas. Where did that swift red-lining thin thing goes? It's attached on his owner skirt and it looks so evil that he can't be contained unless he got to touch it.
He's out of his confused stupor and started to call for his owner, his mother and even the tiny thin thread of his owner's skirt, it only succeeded to a mew. The loud mew is lost admist the loud rain. He sees the dark silhiloutte of his owner at the end of his vision and started running towards it. He can't go fast enough, and soon, he lost the only hope he has.
He kept running until he's no longer in the rain. Tired, he can't wonder on whether his owner can't hear him or she's actually sick that he has torn a new patch of the sofa.
