1 Cat

There are two kinds of people in this world, but I am a cat. Sometimes I am a pussy, or a furball, or bagabones or hairy bugger or neko or mao or getouttahere but always I am the same cat. Just so you know, there's only one cat in this story. That is me. I think I am plenty of cat and enough for this story so don't feel sad human. Like many of my kind I like to wander the halls and fields and streets on patrol for food, pouncing on intruders with lightning speed should they be foolish enough to cross me. What was that noise?! Ah, rubbish bin. The humans love their rituals. Once a week they come outside at night or in the day like today, in the rain or the cold, and they bang their rubbish bins. Bang bang. I think they are trying to scare away hunters and monsters because they don't have claws to defend themselves. Life must be hard when you can't scratch or look bigger than your enemy.

I love the city. Everywhere is alive with fragrance and movement and colours. I can smell the lives of the humans who live near by, the attractive mate with the orange coat who lives in the house on the corner. I can smell the rats sniffling in their garbage beds, the birds of the sky and the machines of man. All this and more I can smell in one moment and it grows like a canvas of life across the day. I wonder where the scent will take me today.

I skip up boxes and stretch leap up the brick wall onto it's tiled surface. From here I can see the gardens below and the distant buildings of the city. From here the houses give way to shops and structures so high it would take me all night to climb. I plan to try before I am an old kitty with more meat than energy. These structures are very mysterious. The human people don't live in them but they visit often and stay a long time.

Oh I got distracted, didn't I? I'm sorry. Pretty lights and smells do that sometimes. I once stared at the moon all night and didn't realise how hungry I became until my stomach was louder than my singing. I was going to tell you about the two types of people who walk in this world I see because you need to know before it's too late for you.

Both types are simple. Light people walk, and talk and go about their lives in the structures they create. I can see some now, shopping, chatting with friends, working and cleaning. They don't do enough cleaning. Most of all they love and feed cat. Cat likes light people. Dark people are different. They mostly wait, in the corners, in the alleys, the quiet rooms and the roofs. They can fly on the wind like the largest birds but more like paper. They find a spot and they wait until they need to eat and when they eat cat does not want to be near. I saw it once and I couldn't go outside for a week. You see, this is what I want to warn you. I've tried before with many meows and leg rubs and startled faces but you don't understand. They eat light people. Maybe they eat cats too I've never stayed long enough to find out. But light people like cat so I like light people.

Ugh. The sky is falling to bits. Tiny tiny drops that splash on the ground like water. It's only light. Cat has seen sky falls that seemed like light would never come again. Because there would be no more room for the sun. It's not good but it's ok. I guess. I jump down and walk along beside the wall and onto a busy street. Machines roll past, light people step one side to another. I meow. Maybe someone will carry me inside. Meow. No one. Maybe it is a bad day. Meow is human talk. Talk, human. A man with bag and chest tail walks past almost on cat. Bad day. Sky is falling faster.

I go to the wall. Sit against it. It won't be long. I can smell the sunshine air. I close my eyes and summon warmth with a purr.

The sky stops falling on me. I look up. There is a light person with a cover on a stick. She is sad but smiles. Cat knows. She is pretty, even though she only has fur on her head, but it is dark fur like mine. Her bald body is wrapped in shiny smooth green on top, with a pink neck tail. Her legs are black like her fur but it's not fur. People are strange looking but she is kind. She bends down and rubs her hand on cat's head. She purrs, the softest angelic purr.

"You poor, kitty. Looks like we're both having a bad day, huh?"

I purr louder for her. This is friend, I decide.