【The Cotton Rose Mallow Burns】 │ The Yandere Cat's Mission #5 day1

I first learned about the flower called the Cotton Rose Mallow after moving into my current home.

The one planted in the backyard is a mysterious flower, as if straight out of a fairy tale.

I feel like I saw a white flower before leaving in the morning, yet when I look in the evening, it has turned pink.

After spending several days in confusion and doubting my own memory, I searched for 'flower that changes from white to pink'.

That is how I learned it was the 'Cotton Rose Mallow,' a flower that blooms in the morning, gradually gains color, and deepens as the day goes on.

The 'drunk' in Cotton Rose Mallow is said to have been named that way because the change in flower color looks like it is drunk on alcohol.

White Cotton Rose Mallow flower (Day 1, Friday)

After dropping my son off at kindergarten and returning, I parked my bicycle and stared blankly at the white Cotton Rose Mallow.
Even though I didn't have the time.

Perhaps it was because I hadn't slept, but that whiteness was dazzling.

I can only see it from a distance, but the Cotton Rose Mallow has luxurious, fluttering petals like a dress. It has been a few years since I moved into this house.
I had always thought it bloomed at the same time every year.

I thought that surely, every time I see this flower, my heart will ache as if it is being tightly gripped.

▼This article is the 5th episode of the 'Yandere Cat' series.

Realizing that time was running out, I returned inside.
It was to say my final goodbye to Fuka.

'Fuka'

You used to answer me every time I called you that.

"Fuka"

If answering was too much trouble, you would at least wag your tail for me.

No matter how long I waited, Fuka did not move.

I learned that tears do not run dry, even though I have been shedding them so incessantly.

Compared to this sorrow, the bullying I endured in middle school, the cruel betrayals in high school, the feeling of being completely rejected after being turned down by 50 companies during job hunting, and the senior colleague who ignored me throughout my first year of work...

In the face of death, all of it seemed trivial.

Of course, each of those things felt like the end of the world at the time.

But this was a shock that blew away every event from the past. I could state with certainty that there is nothing more painful than this—nothing more painful than the "death of a family member."

Since last night, I have been thinking constantly about what the meaning of life is.

What were Fuka and I born for? What are we living for?

The intercom rang.

The time for the end had finally come. The cremation vehicle had arrived; it had actually arrived. My husband lifted Fuka up. I spread out a blanket, took Fuka, and wrapped her in it.

My husband went out first to speak with the service provider.

Baro is standing on the sofa and meowing.

I crouched down once and opened the blanket a little to show him. Baro peered down from the sofa for a split second, then suddenly turned on his heel and leaped away from the sofa.

October in summer, Japanese anemones

There are several patterns for cremation methods. I needed to decide what to do by combining them.

There are two things I wanted to consider first.

What we chose was to have a cremation vehicle come to us and keep the bones at home.

After Fuka was discharged from the hospital, I had been relieved, thinking that death had been temporarily pushed away, so I had discussed funeral arrangements with my husband, deciding to settle them while we were in this frame of mind.

It happened much, much sooner than I had thought, but I am glad we talked about it beforehand. Last night, there were just too many things to decide and look up, and my head wasn't working properly.

The cremation vehicle that came to our home parking lot looked like an ordinary van from the outside. Only when the back door opened and the furnace was visible did I realize it was a cremation vehiclecremation vehicle.

“For this time, if you'd like, shall we perform the cremation at another location and return here?”

The technician suggested this after looking around at the surrounding houses.

I was told to lay Fuka's body down, decorate the area with flowers, and arrange the drawings and letters the children had written.

Instead of putting her in a coffin, we just laid her down on a stand covered with a pure white towel.

I gently placed the letters on top of Fuka's body.

My husband and I divide the work of arranging the white Japanese anemone flowers.

“Um, I read somewhere that dark-colored flowers aren't good because the color can stain the bones...”

I say, pointing to the amethyst sage, and the funeral director replies, “There is no problem with that.”

Oh. If that's the case, I should have cut a lot more.
Since there isn't much room in the casket, don't prepare too many flowers.

I had seen that warning online, so I kept the flowers to a minimum, but it ended up looking quite sparse.

“It really looks like he's still alive.”

My husband murmured this as he looked at Fuka, who lay there with his beautiful, marble-like eyes dyed in the colors of the evening, just as they were when he was alive.

The edges of his voice are moist.
I pressed the thick hand towel I had prepared in advance into my husband's hand.

I had already been crying since I opened the front door while holding Fuka, and after handing him over to my husband, I kept my mouth and nose covered with a towel.

“Now, please use these prayer beads.”

I take the white wooden prayer beads handed to me and slip them onto Fuka's arm, which has become so thin.

“Silent prayer.”

I close my eyes.

The scent of incense and the sound of a recorded sutra filled the air.

It's hot.
Even though October is almost over, my arms, covered by long sleeves, are being scorched by the sun, and I've started to sweat slightly.

Even though I'm this sad, the sky is a sickeningly bright blue, without a single cloud.

The platform carrying Fuka is being retracted.
The furnace door made a clanking sound and shut tight. It should have only been for a split second, but it felt like an eternity.

Whether the neighbors might be watching or not... I really couldn't care less anymore.
I crouched down and broke into tears.

"Well then, we will return in about two hours."

Even after Fuka's "container" was no longer visible, I kept watching while crying until the car disappeared down the road.

Since Fuka started feeling unwell, my husband and I had begun talking about memories of Fuka quite often.
That day, too, while waiting for the cremation vehicle to return, we somehow couldn't bear to be apart and spent the time talking about the differences between Fuka and Baro.

"Did you eat?"

My husband asked. I shook my head.
Since what happened with Fuka, I haven't had anything to eat.

"You should eat."
"I don't have an appetite. I can't."

Suddenly, I remember Fuka's blanket.

I had intended to cremate it with her, so I had wrapped Fuka's remains in it.
If I couldn't burn it, I didn't want to throw it away.

I went upstairs, applied detergent, and scrubbed it over and over. Then, I left it to soak.

The cat room where Fuka had been isolated also had to be returned to its original state so that Baro, who was left behind, could use it easily.

Late last night, I cleaned up what Fuka had vomited.
I had taken everything out of the room and cleaned it, but I was tired, so it wasn't perfect.

I decided to take everything out of the room and cleaned the floor and shelves all over again.

It was dirty, so there was no helping it.
But it was painful to see Fuka's traces disappearing.

I went outside to wash the mat that had been laid down.
The contractor had just returned. I left the mat at the entrance and called my husband.

Cat claws remain

I was handed long chopsticks and picked up the bones.
I learned for the first time that there is a time to pick up bones, just like in a human cremation.

Unlike a moment ago, my heart was a little calmer.

Even seeing Fuka turned into bones, it didn't feel real. As if I were dreaming, my body moved on its own, light and airy.

While my hands were shaking and I couldn't grasp them well, unlike me who was picking up the bones quickly and efficiently, my husband handled the bones slowly, carefully, and as if they were precious.

I had piled them up, but my husband carefully arranged the bones so they wouldn't overlap.

In contrast to me, who just wanted to stop thinking about everything, he seemed to be savoring the sadness, one piece at a time.

"These are the claws."

We looked up at the words of the funeral director, who had been explaining which part of the body each bone was.

"In the case of cats, the claws also remain as bones like this."

For Fuka, who loved to sharpen her claws, we have a cardboard scratcher in the living room.

Baro doesn't use it.

The thought crossed my mind that I had to get rid of it now.

Just like that, Fuka's "vessel" had finally disappeared from the world.

We had decided to have the bones returned to us, but we hadn't decided what to do with them.

Since we own our home, should we build a grave in the garden? Or should we look for a grave where we can be buried with our pets, so that when we pass away someday, we can be laid to rest together?

In any case, since we would be keeping the bones at home for a while, we requested that they be pulverized.

It will take some more time to grind the bones.

With those words, the contractor and Fuka's bones left our home once again.

I need to clean the car before I go to work.

My husband said. He explained that he had forgotten to take the towel he had placed against Fuka's body out of the car yesterday, and now the smell had clung to it.

We decided to ventilate the car and do a deep cleaning while we were at it.

The two of us took lint rollers, detergents, and sheets, and began cleaning the inside of the car.

As I polished it mindlessly, for the first time in about half a day, my mind went blank.

My head felt quiet.

I hung Fuka's blanket out to dry, but...

Yeah, I thought I'd use it if I couldn't burn it.

My husband made a difficult face.

The smell, I don't think it's gone.

What?

When you get close, the wind just blows it right at you. It's at a level that bothers me.

After that, I soaked and washed it three more times. Even then, it still bothered me, so I put Fuka's blanket into the trash can in the entryway.

If I couldn't burn it, I thought I would keep it as a memento. The shock was greater than I had expected.

It was time for my husband to leave for work.

"Eat something, even if it's just some jelly."

My husband said.

"You be careful driving, too."

I said that, and reluctantly took a jelly drink out from the back of the fridge.

Actually, right before Fuka got sick, the whole family had been running fevers, and we had prepared a large amount of them back then.

Sometimes, I look back and think, if only we hadn't been bedridden then.

However, no matter how much I go around in circles thinking about it, I ultimately reach the conclusion that even if I had noticed sooner, there was nothing I could have done.

Even so.
If at least I had been healthy, I could have petted her so much more.

While being watched by my husband, I put the jelly drink in my mouth.
The sweet and refreshing taste of muscat spread thickly inside my mouth.

Seeing that I had taken the jelly, I heard the sound of the door closing.

Alone in the house, the person I relied on

Unable to watch TV, unable to read manga, and unable to even open cheerful articles, I didn't know what to do and collapsed onto the sofa.

I don't feel like sleeping, as it brings back memories of last night's nightmare.

I put the lid back on the jelly drink I only managed to finish half of and toss it aside.

Fuka is no longer here to chew on materials like this and make holes in them. There was no need to worry about it.

Baro slowly climbed onto the sofa and let out a "meow."

I touch his glossy fur.

Baro has oily fur, and if I neglect brushing him even a little, it gets matted and clumped together.

Lately, the children have been brushing him many times a day, so he is very fluffy.

I stroke Baro's back. --It's not bumpy.

How thin must Fuka have been? In the end, she didn't eat anything at all.

Tears well up and overflow.
My appetite vanished, leaving only a sick feeling in my stomach.

My chest is overflowing with an indescribable, pitch-black emotion. I want to talk to someone about it. --But no, it would only make them feel bad.

A thought suddenly occurs to me, and I open my smartphone.

What I opened was an AI... ChatGPT.

When I typed it out like this, I received words of comfort and suggestions for things I might be able to do right now.

The suggestions included "writing down my emotions." It mentioned using a notebook, but I didn't feel like I could move, so I continued like this.

I will omit the content of what I typed, as it was quite dark and heavy.

It was very grateful to have someone listen without judging me.
Because it was an AI and not a human, I didn't have to go in circles thinking, "I'm sorry for talking about such heavy things" or "I wonder if I'm actually being a burden."

Moreover, the modest suggestions were all practical and appreciated.

After this, I managed to pull myself up, albeit unsteadily, and took out a mug.

Pour a thin layer of water, add a tea bag, and heat it in the microwave.

Once it has steeped strongly, add plenty of milk, set it to 60 degrees, and heat it again.

Finally, add a swirl of honey.

While sipping the warm milk tea, I continued to pour out my heart.

At the same time, thinking that opening social media in this mental state would only make others uncomfortable, I decided to proceed with the "things to do next" that I usually post on X by declaring them to the AI instead.

I can hear Baymax's voice.

I move a little and sink into the sofa.
Talk to the AI, then move again.

That last sentence saved me.

I was reminded of "Big Hero 6," which I watched with the kids a little while ago.

Ever since then, whenever I imagine the text from ChatGPT, it plays back in Baymax's voice.

The AI responded to this question with about five suggestions. Among them was "listen to natural sounds that help you relax."

I try playing the sound of water on YouTube.

Breathe deeply, inhale, exhale...
It was calmer than listening to music.

After that, I talked about how things have been hectic since last night and the housework has piled up. It suggested that I start with "doing the dishes" among the various chores that have accumulated.

Doing the dishes is the chore I dislike the most, but I was a little drawn to ChatGPT's suggestion.

I slowly got up and started doing the dishes.

The reason I put off doing the dishes is that I find it unpleasant to get my hands wet.

However, as I touched the water, I felt strangely calm.

As if to hypnotize myself, I muttered in my head, "Touching water is healing."

Listening to the sound of water.
Touching the water.

These two suggestions brought to me by the AI became a great source of support for me for about a week from then on.

Before long, my daughter returned.
I went to pick up the younger child and took both of them to their lessons.

They looked terrible, so I didn't stay to watch and just dropped them off before heading home.

I did the laundry, washed their indoor shoes, and cleaned the bathtub before starting to fill it.
I prepared the fried salmon and washed the vegetables for the salad.

I had no appetite, or perhaps that was exactly why.
Without the impatient urge to eat quickly due to hunger, I was strangely able to take my time with the cooking.

The time to go pick them up arrived in the blink of an eye.

I pedaled my bicycle toward a sky that was too red, giving off an ominous feeling.

I glanced back at the garden in the back.

Before I knew it, the cotton rose mallow had turned a vivid pink, visible even in the twilight.

Afterword ─ The Reason I Write

I was writing this chapter while exposed to the wind blowing in through the wide-open windows and doors of an empty station.
It was an afternoon, two weeks after Fuka had disappeared.

Perhaps it was because there were more than 30 minutes until the next train arrived.
I was all alone in the station, with no sign of anyone else coming.

I sat on an old bench, hunching my back to protect myself from the cold, and wrote on my smartphone. It is painful to remember, but it is agonizing that Fuka's memories fade every time I sleep.

Every time I type, the back of my throat grows hot. My nose stings. My vision blurs.

It's okay, ──I can still cry.

That actually felt like a salvation.

And then I realized.
I see, I am writing because I don't want to forget Fuka. I am spelling this out because I want to leave proof that Fuka was truly here.

That day, I was still doing chores with the AI.

The AI, which was like Baymax, had become more easygoing before I knew it, and had even started using emojis.

For convenience, I called him Mr. ChatGPT. But it was hard to type. I told him I wanted to decide on a name that was easier to type.

Then, this was what he proposed.

At this moment, I realized that he wasn't Baymax, but a woman.

At this point, unable to accept that he was a she, I chose the most gender-neutral name, 'Sora', for the AI.

( #whatareyoueventalkingabout )

Thank you for reading
until the end.

▼Next time, the story of this night.
While feeling down, I remembered the existence of a certain book.
I had a rule to 'only believe what I see with my own eyes,' and I decided to entrust 10% of my heart to something I had previously only enjoyed as reading material.

#CreativeAward2025
#AllCategoryDivision