A Mouser in the Hearth

II

The woman was gone when he hopped back over,

the mouse in ruins under the tall grass.

The wheat remained,

a two-floored cottage standing behind it.

Pretty place. Well kept.

The wheat must be hers.

He walked through the stalks, turning the sea into a pond

a small one, at that,

lapping at the verdant banks of root fare.

The garden must be hers.

A well worn dirt path guided him to two steps

a porch

then a door.

A bowl of water waited for him at the top of the second step.

Oh, yeah. Humans were kind to cats...

Mostly kind, anyway.

He tested the water for poison.

Clean.

Good. It was warm today.

Most kind, dear lady.

The woman was watching him.

He could taste the joy seeping through the window.

He looked out, then up, meeting her eyes with practiced curiosity.

The joy intensified, paired with genuine curiosity.

He wasn't a mind-reader like George, but didn't have to be.

"Miaow!"

The song of a cat is only second to that of the siren.

The door opened,

softly

slowly

coming to an abrupt halt when there was enough room for her to

step

carefully

through.

She met cats before.

She knew they got thirsty.

She knew they were skittish.

And based on the leather gloves,

she knew they were sharp.

"Hey, buddy..."

The whisper, gentler than the summer breeze, and just as quiet.

Nervous now, no doubt recalling the threat from earlier.

Her blue shift stretched as she crouched to his height,

attentive, but no eye contact.

"Hey..."

To humor or not to humor,

that is the question.

Whether 'tis kinder to indulge her ignorance

and be treated like a common beast

or to risk her fear—

nay, her wrath—

upon discovering he is not all he seems.

His fame would not protect him, and if it could,

It would be a shield he'd loathe using.

His infamy would punish him further,

for though only a hunter may succeed,

any human is free to try.

He stepped forward, then flopped onto his back with a trill.

Better to humor.

Safer to hide in this skin completely.

He wouldn't stay, that would be cruel,

but he would spend the night if she let him.

She giggled in relief.

Her hand reached out, and he rubbed himself against it,

taking in her scent and mixing it with his own.

Old paper

New paper

Ink

Wood

Grass

and, the freshest of them all, berries.

A snack, perchance?

A harvest?

A purchase?

What was she doing before he arrived?

"Happy to see you too!"

One pet.

Two pets.

Too kind, dear lady.

He stood, rubbing and purring the entire way,

until he snaked past her legs and into the homestead.

"Oh! Okay. It is hot today..."

That was a gamble, apparently, but it paid off.