The Versatile Master Artist

It’s like a classic quote from the fairy tale book ”The Little Prince” he recently read with Tony — ”You spend so much time and energy on a rose, it becomes your own, surpassing thousands and thousands of other roses in the world.”

This phrase is beautifully said.

Tony is his son, his most important family member.

This is not because he carries half of his blood, nor because his late wife, before passing away, held his hand and made him promise to take good care of Tony.

Rather, it’s because he has spent forty years caring for this little fellow.

Even if a stone stayed by your side for forty years, it would be imbued with your warmth.

Let it be silly if it has to be.

Even if his son couldn’t learn to tie his shoelaces, even if thousands of people outside cried and shouted to be his son.

The old gentleman was still unwilling to exchange him.

Jian Anuo shook off the water droplets from the deep red viola and casually placed the handmade instrument, worth over ten thousand New Zealand Dollars, on the grass beside him, stopping the assistant’s attempt to help.

He personally kneeled down on one knee, carefully tying the laces on his son’s shoes.

”Cat... Amy.”

Tony tugged at his father’s coat, mumbling.

Without needing instructions from the old gentleman, the assistant clapped his hands, and immediately a Filipino maid came over holding a shiny-haired little kitten.

It was a shiny-haired purebred Scottish Fold cat.

It was obviously a carefully selected breed, adorable like a little white angel.

In New Zealand, obtaining such an aristocratic cat, including adoption procedures and a full set of cattery and deworming vaccines, costs over 5000 New Zealand Dollars.

Tony’s eyes brightened for a moment, but a few seconds later, his expression showed doubt again.

”No... not, not Amy.”

”Amy is in your arms,” Jian Anuo patiently pointed to the plush toy in his son’s arms.

”Not a cat.”

This middle-aged big boy with severe intellectual disability and limited verbal skills rarely showed logic in his words, as he looked at the toy in his hands and earnestly repeated, ”It, this, is not, cat.”

Then his gaze turned to the plush cat in the maid’s arms, emphasizing again, ”That, is not, Amy.”

Tony clung to Jian Anuo’s coat sleeve, like a kid outside the house on Halloween who would make trouble if he didn’t get candy, repeatedly saying.

”Want Amy, cat, cat, Amy...”

The words CAT and AMY intermittently jumped out of the big boy’s mouth, with quite a rhythm, like a rap song composed of only two syllables.

Seeing this awkward yet funny scene, the assistant almost burst out laughing.

He certainly understood the meaning of these two words.

When Tony was little, in the 1980s and 90s, pet therapy was quite popular.

Doctors thought the intelligence level of severe autism patients wasn’t much higher than that of household pets. Perhaps compared to anxious parents, smart pets were more patient and could become friends who accompany autistic children into their inner world.

A Scottish Fold cat named Amy became Tony’s best playmate throughout his intellectual development from a young age to adolescence.

This therapy had a certain effect.

It’s just that there was one thing the doctors probably didn’t consider thoroughly; the lifespan of a Scottish Fold is almost never more than 15 years.

Amy was destined not to be able to accompany her autistic little master for life.