To late..

---

**Title: “Too Late to Make Him Proud”**

In a dusty little corner of a loud, heartless city, lived a chubby little cat and his aging father.
They had nothing but each other. No house, no warm bed, no full meals—only love and the dream that someday, things would get better.

Every day, they begged for leftovers in the market. Every night, they curled up under a piece of cardboard, using each other’s body warmth to survive the cold.
Life was cruel, but somehow, the old cat always found a way to smile.
He’d gently pat his son’s head and say:

> “One day, you’ll make it, son. And when you do, just don’t forget who you are. Don’t forget this love.”

The little cat, round and soft from baby fat despite the hunger, would nod. He believed him. He had to.
Because that hope was all they had.

As time passed, the little cat grew. He worked hard, doing small jobs—cleaning bowls at food stalls, delivering packages, running errands.
While other cats laughed at his chubby body and ragged clothes, he stayed focused.
He remembered his father’s tired eyes, his sacrifices, his hunger.

Years rolled on.
Through trial and tears, he built something. He started a small online store selling homemade cat treats. At first, it barely made anything—but he kept going.
He learned marketing. He learned branding.
Eventually, it exploded.

He became a millionaire.

No—**a billionaire.**

With success came cars, fame, fancy clothes. But none of it mattered to him like **this one moment** he’d been waiting for:
He was going to pick up his father in his brand new **silver Bugatti** and take him to their new mansion. No more begging. No more sleeping on concrete.
He pictured his dad crying in the passenger seat, holding his paw, whispering, “You did it.”

So, with a full heart, he drove to their old meeting spot—next to the broken bench under the mango tree.

And there he was.
Old. Fragile. Still wearing that same tattered coat.
But when he saw the Bugatti, his eyes sparkled with pride.

The son stepped out of the car, waving with excitement.
“Dad! I’m here!”

The old cat smiled wide and stepped into the street.

Then—

**“HOOOOOOONKKKK!!!”**

A loud horn.
A car speeding down the road, way too fast.

The old cat froze.
His smile dropped.
His eyes widened.

**“Oh no…”**

**BAM!**

Time shattered.

The son ran, screaming his father’s name.
Crowds gathered. Sirens wailed.
They rushed him to the hospital.

The son waited in the emergency room, shaking, his paws clenched.
He kept praying,

> “Please… just let me take him home. Let me show him… I did it.”

Then—

**“Tinggg…”**

A soft, cold beep from the monitor.

His father… was gone.

Just like that.

The room fell silent.
His world crumbled.

He sat on the cold tile floor, holding the coat his father always wore.
Tears streamed down his round cheeks.

The Bugatti was still parked outside.
The mansion lights were still on.
But now…
None of it mattered.

**“I was too late…”**
he whispered.
**“I had everything. But I lost the only thing that mattered.”**

---

And in that moment—through the pain, the grief, the regret—he realized something deep:

> *“Don’t wait until you’re rich to make your parents proud. They don’t want your cars or your money. They want your time. Your effort. Your love.”*

He had spent years chasing success, thinking it would one day buy happiness for both of them.
But happiness isn’t found in gold or glass towers.
It’s in little conversations.
In being there.
In holding their hand while you still can.

So if you're reading this now—pause.
Call your parents. Visit them. Hug them.
Say what you’ve been meaning to say.
Tell them you’re trying. Tell them you love them.

Because no dream is worth chasing if, when you finally reach it, the ones you wanted to share it with… are already gone.

**Don’t wait. Don’t be too late.**

---------------