#01

The cat was small, white, and had long, fluffy hair like a cotton ball. Her name was Milk. She was the cat my mother always held in her arms and cherished deeply. Just like my quiet, tight-lipped mother, the cat was aloof and never really welcomed me. Yet, despite that, she always made a habit of leaving poop right in front of my bedroom door or shedding a mountain of fur whenever I was asleep.

I wanted to punish that spiteful cat.

So, whenever my mom and dad left the house, I would pin the cat’s back down with one hand and poke her butt with a chopstick using the other. Immobile, the cat would hiss violently, and every single time, I felt a thrilling rush. Eventually, I graduated from one chopstick to two, and then I started using forks. Later on, the cat would wail and run away just from making eye contact with me, sometimes even wetting herself in pure terror. I found the sight so amusing that I would suppress my laughter, hiding it from my parents.

I’m not sure how I got caught. But one day, my mom confronted me, tightly holding Milk in her arms.

"Yuri, what did you do to Milk? She literally has a seizure every time she sees you!"

It felt unfair and upsetting that my mom was yelling at me over a mere cat. I absolutely detested the cat, who was now trembling, buried deep in my mother’s arms.

"I didn't do anything."

I twirled my hair around my finger, letting my voice trail off. Tears welled up, fueled by resentment toward my mother for cornering me like this. That day, Mom told me we were going out for a bit. Usually, she wore light, flowy dresses, but that day she was dressed in a crisp white dress shirt, black suit pants, and even a belt.

"Where are we going?"

Fascinated by her formal attire, I asked, but Mom drove in silence without giving me a single reply. She kept abruptly slamming on the brakes right in front of traffic lights. Since she was a terrible driver, these sudden stops happened frequently, and the anxiety made me press my body flat against the window. Mom rarely left the house, so the car still smelled faintly of that new-seat scent.

The place Mom brought me to was a clinic called 'Somang Psychiatric Center.' I had expected the place to smell like nasty medical disinfectant, but the moment we walked in, a subtle, pleasant aroma from a diffuser greeted us. The waiting room featured an elegant purple sofa with matching cushions, and soothing classical music played in the background, lifting my mood. I leaned back on the sofa, practically lying down while swinging my feet. Meanwhile, Mom looked anxiously toward the reception desk, fidgeting with the strap of her purse.

Mom went into the examination room first, leaving me to wait on the sofa.

"Heo Yuri, please come into the examination room."

At the sound of the lady at the counter calling my name, I walked inside.

A man who looked to be around my dad's age was sitting in a chair, wearing a white lab coat. Wearing a pristine, ironed doctor’s coat over a black shirt, he looked as sharp as someone straight out of a TV show.

"Hello, Yuri."

"Hello," I mumbled, hesitating.

"Where's Mom?"

"Your mom is going to wait in the lobby. Why don't the two of us have a little chat?" the man said with a warm smile. "Yuri, have you ever raised a pet?"

"I don't raise it."

"Then do your parents raise one?"

"Yes," I said, staring down at the clinic floor. It felt awkward being in a room alone with a strange man. A bizarre, unfamiliar sensation, like a tickle in my chest, washed over me.

"What kind of pet do you have?" the man asked in a gentle, soothing tone. It didn't sound like he was trying to scold me at all.

"A cat."

"Really? Living with a cat must have been inconvenient at times."

It was inconvenient. She pooped in front of my door and shed fur 24/7. I opened my mouth.

"Yes. It’s annoying."

"What part did you find the most difficult, Yuri?"

I was about to answer honestly, but it suddenly dawned on me that this man might tattle to my mom. I shut my mouth.

"I don't know."

"I see." The man paused for a moment, then shifted his question. "Has the cat ever been sick or hurt?"

"I think so."

"How does the cat act when she's hurt?"

Milk flashed through my mind. I remembered how she would hiss and try to scratch me back whenever I jabbed and poked her with chopsticks or forks.

"She gets noisy."

The man stared at me intently for a moment before speaking. "What do you think is the best thing to do when that happens?"

"You have to make her quiet."

Drowsiness was starting to creep in. I yawned as I answered.

"Alright. Yuri, would you mind waiting in the lobby for a moment? I need to talk to your mom." The man’s voice remained thoroughly gentle. Relieved by the realization that I wasn't going to get in trouble, I felt at ease.

Yun-hee sat in the examination room, her face tight with tension. Her hands, clasped politely in her lap, were trembling.

"Ma'am… what I am about to tell you might be somewhat difficult to accept."

She quickly cut in. "My child is just… a bit sensitive. She just dislikes cats… She’s a sensitive child, and that’s why I brought her here for counseling."

The doctor continued slowly, his voice measured. "The child is exhibiting some highly alarming red flags regarding empathy and impulse control. If this behavior persists, she could pose a danger to other animals—and eventually, to people."

Yun-hee’s expression froze instantly. "What on earth do you mean by that?"

"Your child’s behavior cannot be explained away as mere rebellion or mood swings. There is an almost total absence of empathy development, and she lacks any understanding of how her actions affect others. This is highly characteristic of early-stage… antisocial tendencies."

"…Antisocial? My child? Doctor, isn't she just a bit sensitive?"

"This is fundamentally different from sensitivity." The doctor’s voice was soft, yet unyielding. "Both her actions in harming the cat and her complete lack of remorse or awareness that it’s wrong… these are clear signals that she requires treatment."

In a shaking voice, Yun-hee asked, "What kind of… treatment are we talking about?"

"We cannot make a definitive diagnosis just yet… but children with Conduct Disorder or Antisocial Personality Disorder often exhibit a history of abusing animals."

"…Is it genetic?"

"There is a possibility, but we cannot say for certain. Traits like impulsivity and empathy levels are inherited to some degree, but whether those traits manifest into actual behavioral issues depends on a combination of environment, upbringing, and various other factors. At this stage, I strongly recommend a psychological evaluation followed by therapeutic intervention."

"No."

Yun-hee abruptly stood up, cutting the doctor off mid-sentence. Words like Conduct Disorder and Antisocial Personality Disorder were too terrifying, too heavy for her to stomach.

"We will come back another time."

I had been lying on the sofa for a long time, hugging a cushion. Suddenly, Mom stormed out of the examination room, threw her card at the counter to pay, and marched over to me. She grabbed my hand and dragged me down to the parking lot. Her hand gripping mine wouldn't stop shaking. Her pace was so incredibly fast that I could barely keep up.

A few days later, Milk was nowhere to be found. Mom told me she had given the cat up for adoption to an acquaintance who loved cats. It was strange to me, considering Mom loved Milk more than anyone else. But either way, I felt a wave of relief now that the annoying cat who pooped outside my door was finally gone.

On the other hand, a part of me felt a bit disappointed. I was going to miss my little plaything—the way she would throw a fit just from seeing me, and how she would convulse in sheer terror at the sight of my forks and chopsticks.

But out of all this, there was one truth that became absolutely undeniable.

To Mom, I come first.

A smile crept onto my face.