A brown-eyed tom stared in shock at the bloody, mangled corpse of his love. Her blue eyes stared unseeingly at the sky; her mouth opened in a silenced scream. A spasm of grief rippled through his dark ginger fur, but he said nothing as he buried his nose into the dead she-cat's cold, filthy pelt. He had been numb as he watched her die, watched the life slowly fade from her eyes, watched her valiant struggles grow weaker and weaker until she could hold on no longer, listened as her heartbeat slowed until it, too, ceased. And then the grief had arrived in one huge wave, bringing him crashing back down to earth as he realized he would not hear her soft, soothing voice any longer; would not feel her gentle, loving touch ever again.
And then, like a video set on loop, the tom watched as their life together flashed before his very eyes – the day they met, hunting in the forest, confessing their love, her death. They were vivid memories, as if he was reliving each and every one over and over again. He could still smell her sweet, familiar scent; hear her joyous, carefree laughter. He closed his eyes, trying to pretend like he was still the young, innocent tom he had been when she was still alive and well; when they were very much in a doubtless, worry-free love. But he could not convince himself to let go of the nightmare that was reality. It was just memories, all of it. Just memories.
And then a pitiful, helpless mew startled the tom out of his reverie. His brown eyes clouded with grief and brimming with tears, he craned his head around to see the kit he'd forgotten; a spitting image of its late mother. The tears fell freely from the tom's eyes as he padded slowly to the small scrap of ginger fur, crying out for the milk it couldn't find. Pity swelled up in the tom's chest for the kit; it had no mother now, and he was not fit to take care of another cat. He was barely able to deal with himself. He licked the kit soothingly and its cries grew steadily quieter until they were just a desperate whimpering, as if the kit too had given up. The tom gently picked it up by its scruff and carried it to the edge of a dense woodland. He knew there were cats that lived there. Surely they could not turn away a kit without a family?
The young kit's eyes blinked open. They were a stunning blue, the exact shade as its mother's. The tom felt a staggering pang of grief as he remembered her lively gaze, and he shook his head. She would've been a wonderful mother; better than any other cat. This kit was his love reincarnated, an exact picture of her beauty. It deserved a fitting name. The tom racked his sorrow-ravaged mind for anything suitable, anything at all, until an image of the kit's mother flashed across his vision for one precious, fleeting moment.
He touched his nose lovingly to the kit's head. "Memory."
One word, one single, perfect word. Memory would be her name. The tom smiled a small, sad smile and their eyes met, and the tom saw in the little she-kit's eyes an unexplainable understanding that was there one heartbeat and gone the next. A bubble of hope grew in the tom's chest and popped – this kit would live a long, healthy, happy life. It had to. It was the last of its mother's legacy. Without this kit, all that would be left…would be memories.
"Memory," the tom whispered again, a light breeze cooling his body and ruffling his fur. The kit began to cry again and he felt the pity stir within him once more. He wished for a moment that he could stay with the kit, the daughter of his love; his daughter, and be a part of its life – raise it, love it, know it. But he knew it was not possible, the kit would not survive in his care. Reluctantly, the tom licked the kit one last time, and then turned and padded away sadly, back to his lover's forever still corpse to mourn.
Just memories.