The Cat Who Had No Home
Long ago, when the air grew cold at the
bitter exhale of the gods’ breath and sweet at their inhale, there lived a cat
who had no home.
In the cold of winter, the best it
could do for shelter was to curl up against a pine tree and hope that, come
morning, it would find itself still living.
The heat of summer was equally cruel, for the cat would have to search
from morning until night for a trickle of water to wet its tongue and sustain
its body.
One day it passed a man, upright
with a golden flask upon his hip and the finest linens draped about him. The cat brushed against the man’s trousers, with
no particular want but that of companionship, for it had known loneliness and sought
its remedy. But the man tsked at the
cat. ‘Get off,’ he said. ‘Be gone with you. Can’t you see that your fur is shedding on my
fine clothes?’ And with a kick, he sent
the cat away.
On another day the cat came upon a
woman, who stood in front of a grand house with a watering can, drenching the
soil about the stems of the most beautiful rose garden the cat had ever
seen. The cat, in awe of such loveliness,
brushed its body against the woman's skirts in appreciation. But the woman said, ‘Shoo, you mangy beast. Get away.
I will not have filth of your kind around the splendor of my roses.’ And then, with a kick, she bade the cat be
gone.
And so the cat, bereft of companionship
and of beauty, continued to walk the world weary, hungry, and tired, until one
day it could walk no more.
By chance, perhaps—or perhaps not—a small
child, a pail full of water swinging from his hand, found the cat collapsed and
alone. The child lay the cat’s head upon
his lap and helped its tiny tongue to lick droplets from his fingers. When the cat could manage, the child carried it
home and fed it meat and cream until the cat was well enough to brush against his
legs.
‘Stay with me, little cat,’ the child
said, in hopes that he would not be parted from his friend.
And so it was that the cat found a
home.