Stand by me

I always try to tell human mama important things. For example, when the food bowl is only half full, that is important. When there is a suspicious bird outside the window, that is very important. When I have been alone in a room for at least three minutes, that is the most important thing of all.

Human mama usually answers me. She says things like, “Really?” and “Oh dear,” and “You just ate.” I don’t always understand what she means, but I like the sound of her voice. It makes me feel warm, like the stripy blanket I used to sleep on when I was tiny.

The outside world still fascinates me. Every morning I sit at the window and watch it wake up. The sky changes colours, birds hop around looking far too confident, and strange rolling monsters pass by on the road. Human mama calls them cars.

I don’t trust cars.

They are loud and they never stop moving.

One day, while I was watching the world from my usual spot, I noticed a cat outside.

He was orange.

Very orange.

Orange like the sunset and pumpkins and the strange soup human mama sometimes makes.

He sat on the fence and stared directly at me.

I stared back.

He stared.

I stared.

Then he yawned.

I don’t know why, but that felt rude.

I pressed my nose against the glass.

The orange cat stood up, stretched lazily and walked away as if he owned the entire world.

I thought about him all day.

Maybe he had adventures.

Maybe he climbed trees.

Maybe he chased birds.

Maybe he had seen what was at the end of the road.

That night, while curled up beside human mama, I wondered if I was missing something.

My life was comfortable.

I had food.

I had naps.

I had toys.

I had humans who loved me.

But perhaps there was something more beyond the window.

The next morning, I got my chance.

Human mama was carrying shopping bags through the front door. Human papa was helping her. Everyone was distracted.

The door stayed open.

Just a little.

Only a tiny gap.

But for a curious cat, a tiny gap is an invitation.

I crept closer.

Nobody noticed.

I could smell the outside.

It smelled like grass and dirt and rain and things I couldn’t even name.

My heart thumped.

One paw.

Then another.

Then another.

Before I knew it, I was outside.

I froze.

The world was enormous.

The sky wasn’t framed by a window anymore. It stretched forever.

The grass tickled my paws.

The wind moved through my fur.

Everything smelled different.

Everything sounded different too.

Birds chirped from somewhere above me.

Leaves rustled.

A dog barked in the distance.

I suddenly felt very small.

I looked back at the house.

The door had closed.

My stomach dropped.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

I walked around the garden carefully.

At first it was exciting.

I sniffed flowers.

I investigated a bush.

I discovered that butterflies are impossible to catch.

But after a while, the garden didn’t seem quite so exciting anymore.

The noises felt louder.

The shadows looked bigger.

I couldn’t see human mama.

I couldn’t hear her voice.

For the first time in my life, I felt alone.

Then I heard a familiar sound.

“Meow?”

It was the orange cat.

He appeared on top of the fence as if he had been there the whole time.

“Oh,” I said.

He blinked.

“You’re the window cat.”

I was surprised.

“You know me?”

“Of course,” he replied. “Everyone knows the window cat.”

I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

The orange cat jumped down beside me.

“First time outside?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“You’ve been staring at a flower for ten minutes.”

I looked away.

“It was a very interesting flower.”

The orange cat laughed.

At least I think he laughed. Cats do it differently.

We walked together through the garden.

He told me about climbing trees and exploring sheds and chasing leaves during storms.

The stories were exciting.

For a moment I wished I could be just like him.

Then he asked me a question.

“What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?”

“Living inside.”

I blinked.

Nobody had ever asked me that before.

I thought about it carefully.

“There are blankets,” I said.

“Blankets?”

“The softest things in the world.”

The orange cat listened.

“And food arrives every day.”

His ears perked up.

“Without hunting?”

“Without hunting.”

“Interesting.”

“And human mama lets me sleep beside her.”

The orange cat was quiet for a moment.

“That sounds nice.”

“It is.”

We sat together in silence.

Then he said something unexpected.

“I’ve never had a human.”

I looked at him.

His voice sounded different now.

Quieter.

Suddenly I realized something.

I had been jealous of his adventures.

But maybe he was jealous of my home.

Neither of us had the other’s life.

Neither of us knew exactly what it was like.

The wind blew through the grass.

The orange cat stood.

“I should go.”

“Will I see you again?”

“Probably.”

Then he jumped onto the fence.

Before leaving, he looked back at me.

“You know,” he said, “adventures are nice.”

I waited.

“But having somewhere to come back to is even better.”

Then he disappeared.

I sat there thinking about his words.

A few moments later, I heard a voice.

A very familiar voice.

My favourite voice.

“Where are you?”

Human mama.

I jumped up immediately.

“MEOOOOW!”

The sound that came out of me surprised even me.

Human mama appeared around the corner.

The moment she saw me, her eyes widened.

“There you are!”

She picked me up so quickly my paws barely touched the ground.

I buried my face against her shoulder.

She smelled like home.

She held me tightly all the way back inside.

The house had never looked so wonderful.

The sofa.

The blankets.

My toys.

My food bowl.

Even the boring wall in the hallway looked beautiful.

That evening I followed human mama everywhere.

Into the kitchen.

Into the living room.

Into the bedroom.

When she sat down, I climbed into her lap.

When she stood up, I followed her.

When she laughed and called me clingy, I purred so loudly that I couldn’t hear anything else.

That night, as I curled up beside her, I thought about my life.

Maybe my story wasn’t special.

I wasn’t a heroic cat.

I didn’t travel across cities.

I didn’t climb mountains.

I didn’t defeat giant enemies.

Most days I slept.

Most days I watched birds from a window.

Most days I followed my humans around the house.

But maybe that was enough.

Maybe a good life doesn’t have to be exciting every minute.

Maybe being loved is its own kind of adventure.

I thought about my brothers and sisters and wondered where they were.

I hoped they had soft blankets.

I hoped they had full food bowls.

I hoped they had humans who loved them as much as mine loved me.

Most of all, I hoped they felt the way I felt right now.

Safe.

Warm.

Wanted.

Human mama reached down in her sleep and rested her hand gently against my side.

I purred.

Outside, the world was still huge and mysterious.

There were fences to climb, birds to chase and roads leading to places I would never see.

But inside this house was my whole universe.

My tuxedo papa.

My human papa.

My human mama.

And me.

A little white cat with a grey stain on her head.

Not the bravest cat.

Not the prettiest cat.

Not the most adventurous cat.

But a very loved cat.

And I think that’s a pretty special story after all.