夏天，下了一场雨。
园区里偶尔能看到几只流浪猫。其中一只瘦瘦的，不知道是不是以前也这么瘦。据说流浪猫曾经都是有人收养的，但主人各种原因不养了。还有的说是一些流浪猫和流浪猫的后代。
他的毛是白色的，眼神看着似乎对流浪的生活并不适应，为什么他突然就过上了这种生活呢？他这一顿吃了吗？他下一顿去哪里吃呢？他看着很疲惫。他大概不是那种流浪了很久的猫，一只猫流浪在外，要学会照顾自己，于是很多流浪猫就会看着脏兮兮的，但并不以为然，而且非常凶暴。这只猫不是这样的，他走路悄悄的，好像还在怕着他的主人训斥他。他曾经也很骄傲吧，就像红楼梦里的贾宝玉，衣食无忧，却又有着像青年人一样的烦恼，没想着忽的有一天，他的屋檐就变成了整个烟台的天，他的地板就变成了整个烟台的地，整个烟台都变成了他的家，他要一下子自己学会面对这么多的客人。
不知道是什么原因，是他想到了什么了？又或是他就在园区里转转？他会来到我们办公这栋楼。我们这栋楼人也不多。他会绵绵地叫几声，我们就知道他来了。走到走廊里，也没其他人，他看着我，我也看着他。他也不说什么，大概他也信了“菩提本无树”之类的，看着我们也没做什么，他也看不了多久，就溜走了。有时候又会娇滴滴走的时候叫两声，怕别人不开心似的，又像是怕自己哪里做错了。
有时候回去的路上也会见到他。大概是我们这个园区的人还算良善，把他抱走领养是没有的，但是故意要为难他的倒也没有。他神出鬼没的，有时候出现了，有时候好几天又见不着。流浪猫去哪里找到吃的维持生命呢？原来在主人家里的时候，主人对他是不是也不太好？现在一个人面对这个世界，吃的喝的保护自己都只能靠自己了。但是看资料说，流浪猫如果没有人投喂，食物也只能去垃圾桶里找。
有时候在路上就能看到他虚伪的样子：自己过的还是很好的，这些人都不认识我。他就这样在园区里招摇过街。
回办公室的路上，我又看到他了。如果他的心是玻璃做的，现在是不是已经碎地很严重了。我买了猫粮。我喊他，过来。他好像听懂了，就跟着我走几步。不知道是他不想离我太近，还是我不想离他太近，还是他知道我认为我不能离他太近，他走了几步，我又走了几步，他就不走了。
我就又喊他，过来。他看着我，我又看着他。然后他就过来了。走了几步，我停了，他也停了，非常迷茫的样子。我就又说，过来。他看着我，我又看着他，他又过来了。就这样，我们这样一点一点地走了也快十米，终于走到楼下。
走到楼下的时候，他又骄傲了。大概他看出来了，我想带他到楼上去。本来有时候他自己是会到楼上去的，但这会我要带他上去，他就不愿意了。他优雅地坐了下来。一脸不稀罕的样子。然而，我看的出来，他过的不好。猫和人是一样虚伪的。他表现出一脸无所谓的样子，抬抬头看看天，把我当成了一个不懂事的小朋友。
我有点怕他在我离开以后，不知道走哪去了，我就又找不着他了。但是他如果要跟我上倔强，怕是把他再领上楼去也费劲。我就跟他说了几次，别走，在这等我。我快去上楼去，然后快速跑下来。他好像脑子没反应过来，还在等着。他啊，仍然是那个看着骄傲的表情，一脸无所谓的，丝毫不会被困难打倒的样子。可是我看着他的小腿，确实是很瘦的。我把猫粮给了他，他好像有点害怕，想吃，又不像不饿，看两眼，又嫌弃。真的嫌弃吗？好像又有点高兴，怕是以为他的阴谋得逞了。我把猫粮放下，他好像以为要找到新的主人了。
新主人？那可给他点下马威。他彻底坐稳了，伏了下来。眼神都不愿意看我。曾经的某一天，或许是他这一生最美好的一个日子里，他曾经有一个剧本，只待他坐下，摆出无所谓的样子，人类还得高高兴兴地劝他把猫粮吃了。这不是宠物猫常见的剧本么？
当我想到这里的时候，我已经在楼上了。如果真的他想好了这个剧本，我是一个不称职的演员的了。因为，当时我想的是他害羞，不敢当着我的面吃，我赶紧走开了，他就会自己把自己的小肚子安排好了。
这个世界上曾经有过多少温柔而坚强的生命。我是不敢养猫的。喂完了这顿，我还不一定有下一顿给他。当这个世界在流浪的猫猫狗狗太多，不想自己太累了，最省事的还是不要与他们共情，不要操心他们的命运，这样自己也能过得好一些。可是，为什么生活是这样子的呢？为什么大观园忽然就没了呢？这些是不好想明白的吧。
有的人为了成为强者，把玻璃心扔了。我觉得他还是很有趣的，我竟然有些喜欢这只小猫虚伪又骄傲的样子。只能到如此了，以后的生活我也不能为你做主，或许此生太苦，但我曾经担心过你。
夏月忽逢甘澍落，空庭时见野狸踪。
瘦毛半卷疑寒浸，白羽单披怯晚风。
曾许朱门温玉食，何辜蓬户泣寒蛩？
眼波犹带雕栏恨，步影还寻旧主踪。
朝饮残羹暮嗅桶，尘街哪得玉盘供？
偶随花径呼娇唤，时卧檐角假意慵。
见客低眉佯不睬，闻声抬首似惊鸿。
分明记得雕栏暖，偏作江湖落魄容。
我自廊前呼数语，它依阶下望千重。
欲趋还却三分怯，将信还疑两处忡。
十米相偎疑雪径，一呼再唤破云空。
终随我至楼门下，忽振霜翎傲气隆。
本是华堂金缕客，今为野径雪泥鸿。
衔来猫粮轻嗅罢，抬爪推盘似讳凶。
莫笑狸奴多狡狯，人间谁解此心忡？
曾忧雨打萍踪散，怕见星沉月坠穹。
大观园里春难驻，金陵梦断影无踪。
世间多少温柔骨，偏堕尘途霜露中。
我欲饲之明日饭，安知明岁可相逢？
不如且尽当前意，莫使寒宵叹转蓬。
（Translated by Tencent Yuanbao）
In summer, a rainstorm swept through.
Occasionally, one or two stray cats could be spotted around the compound. Among them was a scrawny one—whether it had always been this way, I couldn’t tell. It was said that these strays had once been housecats, but their owners had abandoned them for various reasons. Others claimed they were descendants of strays who’d roamed free.
Its fur was white, and its eyes held a look that seemed unaccustomed to life on the streets. How had it come to this? Had it eaten that day? Where would it find its next meal? It looked weary. Perhaps it hadn’t been a stray for long. To survive as a stray, cats must learn to fend for themselves, which is why so many grow scruffy and wary, even aggressive. Not this one. It padded softly, as if still fearing a scolding from a long-lost owner. Once, it must have been proud—like Jia Baoyu in Dream of the Red Chamber, carefree yet burdened by youthful worries—until, in an instant, its roof became the entire sky of Yantai, its floor the expanse of the city, and Yantai itself its home. Now, it must learn to face the world alone, all at once.
Why had this happened? Had it thought of something? Or was it simply wandering the compound? It often came to our office building, where few people lingered. When it meandered over, we’d hear its soft meows and know it had arrived. In the empty hallway, it would look at me, and I at it. It said nothing—perhaps it, too, had come to believe in lines like “Bodhi is originally without a tree”—and soon slipped away. Sometimes, it would leave with a delicate yowl, as if afraid to offend or to have erred.
We’d cross paths again on my way back. The compound’s residents, I supposed, were kind enough not to take it in, but neither did they torment it. It was elusive: here one day, gone for days the next. How did strays find food to survive? Had its former owner treated it poorly? Now, fending for itself, it relied solely on wits to find sustenance and protect itself. But I’d read that without handouts, strays scrounge from trash cans.
Sometimes, it struck a pretentious pose on the path—“I’m doing just fine; these humans don’t know me”—strutting through the compound as if parading.
On my way back to the office, I saw it again. If its heart were made of glass, wouldn’t it be shattered by now? I bought cat food. “Come here,” I called. It seemed to understand, trotting a few steps behind. Whether it didn’t want to get too close, or I didn’t, or we both sensed the unspoken boundary—it stopped, and so did I.
I called again. It looked at me; I looked at it. Then it inched closer. I paused, and it paused, looking dazed. “Come here,” I said. This dance continued until we’d covered nearly ten meters, finally reaching the building.
At the entrance, it perked up, as if sensing my intent to take it upstairs. It often wandered up on its own, but now that I was leading, it balked. It sat elegantly, feigning disinterest. Yet I could see it was struggling. Cats are as prone to pretense as humans. With a dismissive flick of its head, it stared at the sky, treating me like an impetuous child.
I worried it might vanish when I left. But if it clung to its pride, coaxing it upstairs would be no easy task. “Stay here,” I told it, hurrying up and down the stairs. It seemed slow to react, still waiting. There it sat, that same proud, indifferent look, unyielding to hardship. But its skinny legs betrayed it. I set down the food. It eyed it warily—hungry, yet hesitant, as if suspecting a trick. Did it actually dislike it? Or was it pleased, thinking its scheme had worked? It acted as if it had found a new owner.
A new owner? Let’s see how that goes. It settled in, lying low, refusing to meet my gaze. Once, perhaps on the happiest day of its life, it had a script: sit, look indifferent, and humans would coo and beg it to eat. Wasn’t this the classic pet cat playbook?
By the time I thought of this, I was already upstairs. If it had planned this farce, I’d been a poor actor. I’d assumed it was shy, too bashful to eat in front of me, so I’d left it to its meal.
How many gentle, resilient souls have graced this world? I can’t bring myself to keep a cat. After feeding it today, there’s no guarantee I’ll be here tomorrow. With so many strays wandering, it’s easier not to care—to shield my heart, to live unburdened. But why does life have to be this way? Why did the Grand View Garden vanish so suddenly? Some questions are better left unanswered.
Some chase strength by casting aside their fragile hearts. I find this little cat oddly endearing—the way it feigns pride, the way it’s both vulnerable and vain. For now, that’s all I can offer. I can’t decide your fate, but I’ve cared for you. Perhaps life is bitter, but at least I’ve worried about you.