Lives

The child’s cries were loud. Intense wails periodically overlapped with chocking sobs and topped off with wet sniffles. He cries because he is lost. An immense field of tall white grass stretches out and around him as far as he can see in any and all directions. Though there is no breeze that he can feel, the grass sways to and fro in such a way that it mimics the rhythmic rise and fall of ocean waves. He doesn’t remember how he got to such a strange place. Clouds hang heavy and grey overhead; though appear almost frozen in time. A stark contrast to the dancing blades. Nothing about it is familiar and there is no one around to ask for help.

          No one, that is, until the head of an orange tabby cat pops up from a patch of white grass near the crying boy. The sudden motion startles the child, making him forget, for a moment, his own sadness. He loses sight of the cat as he desperately paws away the lingering tears and snot on his face, but when his vision clears he sees not one cat, but two. Same orange fur, same emerald eyes that seem to stare in to his soul. Surely it cannot be the same cat, the boy thinks to himself. Cats could look similar, almost identical even. Still, the child rubs his eyes all the same, just in case, and upon reopening them a third, identical, cat has taken its place close to the first two. Same scruffy hair. Same missing left ear.

           The three cats watched him, blinking at the same time, one remaining ear twitching at the same time. The boy watched them back, afraid to even blink at this point lest the cats decided to multiply again. The staring contest was swiftly lost, but when he was forced to blink no more cats appeared. Instead, the three heads of the tabby cats vanished into the waving grasses, appearing moments later wandering into the small clearing the child had found himself in. Though they all appeared old and weathered, they moved silent and graceful, approaching the child with green eyes full of life.

           The boy, in turn, was beginning to remember his earlier fear and backed away from the creatures, shouting at them to go away. His voice that came out surprised him or, rather, the lack of one did. What answered his desire to shout was not words but muffled sound. It reminded him of how people sounded when he would close shut his ears with his hands. Shouting louder didn’t make it better, but the cats did stop. In perfect unison they sat upright and seemed to wait.

           Feeling braver, the child took a step closer and shouted again for them to leave him alone, hoping that they could still hear him even if he couldn’t. But either they were just as deaf as he was or they were ignoring him, as the cats only continued to watch and wait. Was it hunger in their swirling eyes he saw? He couldn’t be sure. He turned away from them, refocusing on his surroundings while keeping the trio of cats in the corner of his eye. He felt his lower lip begin to tremble as he looked over the endless expanse of grass. Where was he? Where were his parents? Why was he here? The more questions that went unanswered, the tighter his chest became. He felt on the verge of tears again when he felt the sleeve on his oversized sweater being tugged downwards.

           One of the orange cats had slipped his notice. While two of them remained sitting where he last saw them, the third managed to sneak away and was now biting on the hem of his sleeve, attempting to pull him while continuing to stare up at him with those unnerving eyes.

           With a shriek of terror and anger, the boy yanked the fabric out of the cat’s jaws. It came out easily—too easily, as the cat was all too ready to release the boy, causing him to stumble backwards and into the waving white grass. The foliage readily received him and the child, bracing himself for a painful fall, was instead met with a softness he could only compare to his bed sheets as the tall grass caught him and seemed to actively cushion his fall as he was slowly lowered to the ground. He lay there for a moment, dazed, before reaching out with a hand towards the nearby grass. Several of the long stalks broke away from the synchronized dance to lazily spool around and support his reaching arm. When he jerked his limb away, they easily fell back into the rhythmic motions of their fellows.

           In a sudden panic, the boy crawled away from the grass, only to stop short when he realized how close he was getting to the trio of cats. The wanderer had rejoined the other two in their almost guardian like position of watching and waiting. With lower lip trembling and tears spilling, the child remained sitting on the ground as he pulled his knees up to his face. He hugged his legs tightly to his chest as he sobbed some more. The words “I want to go home” trickled out of him again and again, though he could not hear it.

           The boy was unsure how long he stayed like that. He may have even drifted off for a moment. All he knew was that the feeling of his shoe laces being tugged at was what caught his attention next. One of the cats had broken away again, maybe the same one maybe a different one, it was impossible to tell, and was lightly batting and tugging at the laces of his right shoe.

           His first, immediate reaction was to kick it away, but the boy had had time to calm down and think more rationally. It wasn’t their fault he was here, alone and scared. Plus, if he scared away the cats, he would truly be alone.

           So, instead, the boy watched the cat for a time as it slowly worked his shoe laces like they were the most interesting things in the world. Afraid to scare it away, he kept his leg from moving even when it started to cramp. And, intentionally or not, after a few minutes of playful effort the cat managed to untie his shoe. Seeing this as an end to the game, the boy mercifully lowered his leg in an attempt to stretch it out. Unprepared for this sudden motion, the cat nearly leapt a foot into the air and scrambled over itself in an attempt to distance itself from the offending appendage. Its two companions watched as it sprinted into the white grass with hardly a reaction on their end while the child called out an apology to the tabby in-between giggles.

           When the cat didn’t immediately return, the boy’s humor soon died away.

           “Should we look for him?” he asked the other two cats.

           They only watched him in response and so the child asked again, fearing that it wasn’t just his ears that weren’t working properly.

           “We really should,” he went on, “no one should be alone out here.”

           At this, the two cats looked at one another. They seemed to share something in just that look alone. It was something the boy didn’t know cats to do. While he didn’t have pets of his own, his friend Jeremy had tons of cats and all they ever did was scratch up the furniture and howl for food. When one of the cats stood and approached him, he couldn’t help but tense up. Jeremy’s cats were never friendly. The only time they got close was to jump around his body or scratch him. But this orange tabby simply grabbed the end of his overlong sweater sleeve and tugged.

           “Do you know where to go?” the boy asked.

           Another tug, and the boy followed. Stepping into the soft, welcoming white grass left the boys mind in a haze. Though the two cats disappeared beneath the reaching, dancing foliage, he could listen for the soft rustling and feel the gentle tugging at his sleeve. So focused was the boy on these small sensations, that he did not even realize that they weren’t going in the direction the third cat had gone, nor that the grey clouds overhead had begun to move. Instead of rolling across the sky, they descended down towards the earth, slowly but surely blotting out the child’s vision.

           However, the boy did not feel afraid. He could still hear the soft patting of footsteps, the gentle rustling sound of wave against wave, and the firm but gentle tugging of his sleeve.

           When the boy stirred, the mother felt it. She released the hem of his sleeve and reached across the wrinkled white bed sheets to touch the side of his face, careful to avoid the many bruises that spotted his skin.

           “He’s waking up,” she said in a soft yet astounded voice. “He’s waking up!”

           The boy’s father, who had thus far been pacing the small room in a pair of slippers, stared in open shock at the scene before him before racing out of the room, calling for the nurse who had left just moments before.

           Though the mother was faintly aware of the growing commotion, her mind and body were focused solely on the boy’s face. A wrinkled forehead, a slight tilt of his head, and the mother let out a breath she felt she had been holding for nearly twelve hours when his muddy brown eyes fluttered open.