In a remote village, nestled between dark woods and wind-blown fields, once lived a boy named Lorenz.
He was well-fed, well-dressed, and had all a child could wish for — but no kindness dwelled in his heart.
Instead of joy in games and laughter, Lorenz sought pleasure in the suffering of others.
The household animals, especially the cats, were his favorite victims.
Whenever his mother looked away, he would pull their tails, cut their whiskers, throw stones at them, or tie the animals to ropes strung over tree branches.
His father was rough and uncaring, and his mother feared confronting the boy.
Thus, his deeds went unpunished, and his heart grew harder with each day.
"They're just cats," Lorenz once said, as he burned the back of a black cat with a hot needle.
"They don't feel anything — and if they do, I don't care."
But fate is a silent witness, and those who torment the weak awaken forces no human can grasp.
On the night before the third Friday of August, as a storm swept the land and the heavens trembled, it happened.
A lightning bolt — as bright as the light of angels — struck not a house, not a tree,
but straight through the boy's window, as he sat on his bed, mocking one of the youngest cats with string and needle.
A thunderclap — a scream — and all fell silent.
By morning, only ashes remained where Lorenz once slept. The cat was gone.
No one knew how, or where to.
But Lorenz opened his eyes again.
Not in his bed. Not as a boy.
But small, hunched, and trembling.
He lay in the dust of a hayloft, his limbs weak, his body strange — furred, clawed, with a long, old tail.
He was a cat.
An old, toothless, mangy barn cat with matted fur and clouded eyes.
The air stank of chickens, manure, damp wood, and cold iron.
A rough bark made him flinch — a dog was approaching, growling.
Lorenz fled in panic to a dark corner.
He didn't know how, or why —
but he felt: something had happened that could never be undone.
And as he cowered beneath a stool, the farmer came in.
A crude man with wet boots, covered in dirt and dung.
He looked at the cat with a cold gaze.
"Ah, lazy Murr! If you don't catch a mouse today, you'll get what's coming, hear me?"
Lorenz understood the words as if they were meant for him.
But he didn't yet grasp their full meaning.
He did nothing. He stayed down.
He was tired. He was weak.
He wasn't used to being hunted — he had always been the hunter.
When evening came and no mouse was in sight, the farmer reached for the stick.
The first blow came without warning.
A gnarled rod, heavy with barn filth, struck the cat's back with full force.
Lorenz screamed — or tried to. But what once was a voice was now only a hoarse, pitiful hiss.
The second hit struck his hind leg, the third his side.
He crawled away, too slow, too feeble — and the farmer kicked him hard in the ribs.
"You worthless pest! Lying around all day, not a mouse in sight!" he roared.
"I'm not feeding you for nothing, you miserable stray!"
Lorenz stumbled, dragging himself beneath the cart, the rain lashing his fur — but nowhere was comfort.
Nothing was warm, nothing kind, nothing safe.
So passed the days. Weeks.
Every morning began with fear, every evening with trembling expectation.
If he brought no mouse, boots struck, stones flew, the farmer ripped out clumps of his fur.
He was never allowed in the house.
Never near the fire, or the feeding trough.
He ate bones and spoiled milk.
Drank water from puddles, rivulets, the livestock trough.
When he slept, it was with one ear open — always on guard.
Once, he had mocked cats — now he was one.
Without comfort, without love, without pity.
Even the farm dogs growled at him. The chickens pecked at him.
And each mouse was a struggle: he was too slow, too old, too weak.
But hunger drove him — and fear. Always fear.
Once he broke his hind foot jumping from the hayloft.
He howled in pain but dared not make noise.
He bit his own lip until it bled — just to avoid being noticed by the farmer.
Months passed. Spring faded into summer, but no sun shone for him.
Each night a nightmare. Each awakening a horror.
And no one saw more than an old, mangy cat.
Until one day.
It was a morning like any other.
The rain had stopped, but the cold remained.
Lorenz lay on an old flour sack, damp and musty.
His bones ached, his stomach was empty, his fur full of parasites.
He tried to rise — but his body did not obey.
His limbs heavy as lead, his lungs rasping with each breath.
"Just a short rest…" he thought, "just a nap… then I'll catch the mouse… I promise."
He laid his head on the cold, hard ground and closed his eyes.
His body quivered with exhaustion. One last, deep breath… then silence.
But when he awoke — it was night.
The sky pitch-black, the stars harsh and merciless.
From the stable window came a voice — coarse, angry:
"MURR! MURR, you damned beast!"
Footsteps.
Quick, heavy steps on wet stone.
Lorenz staggered to his paws. He wanted to flee, to hide — but it was too late. Too slow, too weak.
The farmer had already found him.
"Nothing again! Absolutely nothing! You lie there and steal the air — that's all you're worth!"
He grabbed Lorenz by the scruff, shook him hard, threw him against the stable wall.
Then came the blows.
Punches, stick strikes, the iron rod.
Lorenz whimpered, howled, yowled in pain, crawled across the floor, bleeding, begging —
He pleaded.
In his heart, with all his might, he cried out for mercy:
"Please! I understand! I regret everything! I just want to live, please, spare me!"
But what came from his mouth was only:
"Miau…! Mrrr…! Mreeeh…!"
"Shut up, you filthy thing!" the farmer shouted.
"Stop whining, you miserable wretch!"
He kicked Lorenz in the chest, then lifted him with both hands.
The cat's gaze was full of agony. His yellow eyes glistened with wetness.
Then the farmer screamed once more — and:
Crack.
A dry, slicing sound, so dreadful even the cows in the barn fell silent.
A jolt ran through the cat's body.
One last pain — sharp, like burning light —
Then only darkness remained.
Darkness without breath, without sound, without thought.
And Lorenz, who had once tormented cats with a cold heart,
met an end he had never imagined —
alone, battered, broken.
Without forgiveness.