Far away, where the rainbow's tail touched the ground, there was a tiny village — a village where no one grew old and no one went hungry. There lived a cat, whose tail shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow. Her name was Rainey. She could not remember how she had come to be there. She was happy simply knowing that she was warm and full each day.

Rainey's favorite game was calling her name into the rainbow. Whenever she did, the rainbow would always call her name back. When she shouted “Rainey,” the rainbow would softly repeat it, “Rainey.”

But sometimes — just very rarely — a slightly warmer, softer voice would join in. Rainey did not know whose voice it was. Still, every day, she looked forward to hearing that warm, soft voice.

Far, far below the Rainbow Village stood a secluded studio, one that had long been without light or warmth. In one corner lay a small cushion, and on it, a hollow remained where something had once curled up. Though the cushion had long since grown cold, the man could not bring himself to put it away. The pen lying carelessly on the desk had dried up long ago, and the man no longer wrote.

“Meow.” A pitiful cry came from outside the studio window. A hungry cat with matted fur, one torn, ragged ear — and a temper to match. It must be a stray, with no name, no home, and no one waiting for it.

Now and then, the man would leave food by the door. “What a stubborn little thing. The way you cry all day — I’ll admit you’re persistent. From today, I’ll call you Max.” Yet in the end, he never opened the door. His heart he kept shut tighter still. Ever since he had sent the cat he loved for so long over the Rainbow Bridge, he had vowed, time and again, never to let anyone else into his heart.

One day, as Rainey looked down from beyond the rainbow, her eyes fell upon that sad man. She did not know who he was, but she could feel his sorrow all the way to the end of the rainbow, and she wanted to make him smile. So she tried a little magic. It was clumsy, awkward magic.

One day, the man was walking down the street, lost in his sorrow as ever. Heedless of where he went, he stepped into the road — and a car came speeding toward him. Just then, something pulled him back. He fell and hurt his leg, but his life was spared. Yet what it was that had saved him, the man never knew.

From that day on, small, unseen hands began to help him. He would be caught just as he was about to fall; lost things would appear at his feet as if by magic; and on the long nights, his side would feel warm for no reason at all. Held up by those unseen hands, the man slowly, very slowly, regained his strength.

But while the man was hurt and could not go outside, the bowl in front of the studio door stayed empty. Though a harsh winter was fast approaching, Max waited for the man who never came, his starving body curled up before the closed door.

Winter was relentless. Day by day, Max grew thinner and thinner, and the bitter midwinter cold pierced him to the bone. Still, Max did not give up; every day he waited before the closed studio door. After all, he was Max — the stubborn, tenacious cat the man himself had named. But the sound of the man’s footsteps never came. Only the white snow fell, silently.

Before the warm spring could even arrive, Max — weakened and starved — could hold on no longer. And so, one quiet day, he drew one last labored breath, long and slow, and quietly faded away. That day, too, only the white snow fell, silently.

Before he knew it, Max had crossed the Rainbow Bridge and come to that very village where the tip of the rainbow touched the earth. Still fierce, still terrified, still alone. Poor Max. After some time had passed — how long, no one could say — the brightest one in all the village came over and quietly sat down beside him. Her tail shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow. It was Rainey. (A little cloud has drifted close, watching over the two of them. But that story will be told when the time comes.)

In that moment, Rainey caught it — a certain scent of a doorway, the texture of a certain sorrow, rising from Max. And everything came welling up at once. A warm lap. A sunlit windowsill. A warm, soft voice, gently calling her name.

That warmer voice, woven into the rainbow — it had been his, all along. All that while, he had been calling out the name of the cat he had lost. The only reason Rainey had a name at all was that someone had loved her enough to give her one. That was it. Rainey was his cat.

Now Rainey thought she understood. That the sad man she had saved was none other than her friend. And that the little one sitting beside her was the very cat that man had never been able to open his heart to. Rainey said nothing. She simply stayed by Max’s side, and did not move a single step away.

Spring returned to the world below as well. The man had regained some of his strength. Then, all of a sudden, he thought of Max. He went back to the studio he had abandoned so long ago. He refilled the empty bowl; he left the long-closed door standing open. But Max never showed himself again.

For a long while the man sat staring at the empty bowl that no one would come to. Then he sat down at the desk he had left empty for so long, and took up his pen. He had made up his mind: he would write the story of the cat — no, the cats — that had gone. And so the man begins to write his very first line.

High beyond the rainbow, Rainey and Max are about to play Rainey’s favorite game together: calling out their names into the rainbow. Rainey calls out hers first. “Rainey.” As always, the rainbow echoes it back — “Rainey.”

Now it is Max’s turn. “Max,” he cries. And the rainbow echoes his name too. “Max.” But — oh? This time, a slightly warmer, softer voice joins in. “Max.” And then, “Rainey.” Rainey turns to a bewildered Max and smiles, bright and wide. For now she knows, all too well, whose voice that is. Rainey, and Max. Both were names he had given them.