On the way home from piano lessons, she found the corpse of a cat. It was a gray one she knew well, that wandered around the local area. It was thought to have been someone’s pet, as it was unusually friendly and would come circle around your legs if you beckoned to it. It wouldn’t run away when pet, and wouldn’t hiss. It was something of a friend to the girl. The cat died in a terrible way. The blood on the asphalt was blackened, but the blood that had seemingly splattered on the guardrail was bright red. The girl wasn’t brave enough to pick it up and bury it; she looked away from the corpse and hurried back home. As she did, she heard a music box, playing “My Wild Irish Rose.” Since then, she started to hear that same song again and again. When her “postponement” succeeded, she would hear it start up in her head. And by the time the mental performance ended, whatever it was that hurt her would have been “undone.” After doing her homework and eating her wrapped dinner, she thought, “I wonder if that cat was really the one I knew?” Of course, subconsciously, she knew that there was no mistaking it. But her surface consciousness wouldn’t accept it. The girl put on sandals and snuck out of the house. When she arrived at the place she’d seen the corpse in the day, she found no corpse, and not even a bloodstain. Had someone already come and picked it up? Was someone unable to bear it, so they moved the corpse? But no, something seemed off. It was like there had been no corpse or blood to begin with. She stood there befuddled. I couldn’t be in the wrong place, right? A few days later, she saw the gray cat. So it was all just a misunderstanding, she told herself, relieved. The cat walked over as always when she beckoned. As she reached to stroke the cat’s head, she felt a burning pain on the back of her hand. She quickly retracted it and found a scratch on it about the length of her pinky. She felt betrayed.