An orange cat. Before I jump, I see a small orange cat. It is weak and thin and small. I stare at it. It reminds me of myself. Small, weak, alone. I step down and pick up the cat. Its fur is warm, it purrs as I stroke its chin. My eyes swell up, droplets of tears fall on the kitten's silky, soft fur. I hold it tightly and I know I must protect it.

Winter has come again. I sit at my piano, the small orange kitten sits with me. I begin to brush my hands on the black and white keys, wiping the dust off. I begin to play Beethoven's moonlight sonata, the third movement. I am playing it great, the orange cat is next to me. It's warm and silky, I call it Yuri. I mess up a chord, but I don't mind, I play on anyway, I play for Yuri. This cat saved my life, so I will play for him, and him only. I don't need people to be herd, because I can hear myself, and so can Yuri.