His mother had called him at the crack of dawn, warning him that they would be returning home. A word that she always used to describe that place, but of which he had never understood the real meaning. He reluctantly got up that day.  

  

Returning for him meant starting all over again, for the second time. He had done it 14 years earlier, running away from "home", and fleeing to that big city he had slowly learned to get used to. The incessant sound, the noises, the crowded places; for him that had become his daily life. And now he would have to do it again.  

  

The only difference was that instead of running away, he was now returning. He remembered little of that place, despite the fact that he had already left twelve years old. He remembered the forest, but not its scent; he remembered that it was always deserted, but not silence. He remembered there was a large family, but not the faces of its members.  

  

Frowning, he tidied the house slowly, almost with anguish. He had to abandon everything again, to start again in the place of departure. The idea, as much as it pleased him, did not appeal to him at all. He was of age, independent, he did not find it right to have to return forced to his mother. Perhaps he loved his mother more than himself in order to be able to accept such a situation without arguing.  

  

He took a suitcase from inside the closet and began to check the various items inside the wardrobe. Should he take it all, or leave something there? He didn't even know if he would ever seriously return to that small apartment. He decided that he would leave a couple of changes as a precaution, he didn't feel much like selling the house. He would leave it in the custody of some of his friends.  

  

He walked back to the bed, picking up the previously abandoned phone, angrily. He scanned the contact list until he found the name he was looking for. He made the call and waited. After the second ring a sleepy voice answered.  

  

"Do you think it's time for a chat?" That slightly hoarse voice made him smile. It was already ten o'clock in the morning, as usual his friend had had an evening in some club.  

 

 

“It seems to me the right time. Did you sleep well?" A curse followed by a sharp thud made him look at the phone for a fraction of a second, dazed, before bringing it back to his ear to continue. "Forget the question, I have to ask you a favor."  

  

"What kind of friend are you?" Wake up at this time for a favor. " A grimace followed those words, and he snorted impatiently.  

  

"It's 10:09, stop complaining." An oath followed his words with another thud, this time louder than the last. "Tell me what you are doing?"  

  

"Sorry I have to go." And the call was quickly closed, leaving him with more doubts than questions, and a favor still pending. He opened the chat with his friend and wrote him to call him as soon as possible.  

  

He resumed packing his suitcase, and soon his mind returned to the house. He was trying to remember something useful, even if only in appearance, but it was really like a blank sheet of paper to him. Whistling as usual, he finished the suitcase and placed it near the entrance. He would not have brought anything else, after all he had nothing dear to him in that house.  

  

A lazy meow distracted him. Sitting on the kitchen table, his tail cleverly curled up to cover his silky paws, Biggie was staring at him with wide eyes.  

  

"Hey Biggie." The black cat, with a strange white ear and a patch on its right hind leg, got up and moved the tip of its tail, rubbing its muzzle against the boy's chest. Receiving a caress behind the ear, his sensitive point, he jumped off the table and began to inspect the suitcase.  

  

With a sigh he sat down on a chair, watching the cat study his green suitcase. He was about to return, and he didn't know what to do. He was no longer a kid, who despite everything could have socialized at school and made friends. He was already 26 years old, and he remembered nothing or anyone of that place.