It was a time of scarcity. I was just two years old, and we lived in a wooden house in Qianyang. We didn't have toys, and there wasn't much to eat, often going to bed hungry.
Every few months, a tall, skinny young man would come to our house. My mom asked me to call him 'Dad'. Whenever he saw me, he would lift me up and hoist me above his head. He'd take me for rides on his bike around the compound, and we'd go for walks hand in hand. When the pomelos ripened in autumn, he'd take me to the orchard and chat with the old man overseeing it. Before leaving, the old man would always pluck the largest pomelo for me.
But after 'Dad' disappeared for a few months, I always missed him. It was usually just Grandma, Mom, and me at home. Whether it was because I wasn't getting enough to eat or I was too weak to run around, I was always a well-behaved child who listened to my mom. I'd always take a nap on time. Whenever I woke up, there would be a little cookie by my pillow.
Mom said there was a cat living on the ceiling. Every night, while we were asleep, it would sneak into the store and steal a cookie. If it saw me napping obediently, it would come down and place a cookie by my pillow. Sometimes, if I didn't want to nap, Mom would say, 'Cats don't like children who don't take naps. If you don't sleep, it won't give you a cookie.' So, I would obediently go to sleep.
Thinking about how precious these cookies were, I was always reluctant to eat them. Every time, I'd nibble slowly, savoring each bite. I'd start with the outer edge and work my way in. It could take me up to half an hour to finish one, and that was the happiest time of my day.
One day, after waking from my nap, I saw no cookies by my pillow. Standing by the bed, Mom said that the cat on the ceiling had been discovered stealing cookies the day before, but it didn't manage to steal any. Its leg got injured in the process. I panicked and wanted to climb up the ladder to the ceiling to see the poor cat. But Mom said it was sleeping, and I would disturb it if I went up. For several days in a row, I kept clamoring to go up and see the cat. Mom said it was recuperating and didn't want to be disturbed.
After a few days, I saw cookies by my pillow again after waking from my nap. Mom told me the cat's injury had healed, so it could go steal cookies for me again. Only then did I feel relieved.
'Dad' never came back, and I didn't dare to ask.
Over a year later, we had to move to Zhijiang, which was very far away. When everything was loaded onto the car, I suddenly remembered the cat on the ceiling and wanted to bring it along. Mom said the cat was old, used to living here, and didn't want to move. With tears in my eyes, I reluctantly followed Mom and moved away.
I always missed that cat I'd never actually seen. It wasn't until one day that I finally realized there was never a cat on the ceiling. It was a story Mom made up. She always taught me not to lie, but she lied to me.
At the age of 18, Mom finally told me that the person who came to see me every few months was my biological father. He had been labeled as a rightist, sent to labor on a rightist farm, and later starved to death there. Although I had long suspected, my heart still wept.
Until Mom passed away, I never exposed her lie. Because I felt it was a fairy tale she wove for me, a beautiful one.
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